Dragons

by Annonimous4862

For a brief amount of time, the hermit remembered, and he felt he had to do something... and perhaps he did. But then he forgot, and just returned to his questions.

10. Chapter 9

Focus.

Her quill flew at incredible speed, scratching the parchment in a constant rhythm. She had to get that report done by midnight. She would then proceed to magically send it to the borders of Ellesméra, where a messenger would retrieve it and take it to whomever. She had argued about the need of that, because since the queen was no longer in the capital, they could just scry each other. But her mother had insisted in formal notes.

She sighed, realizing she had drifted off again. At that rate, she would never get it done. Truth be told, she was bored out of her mind – how long had it been since she had some real fun? Everything seemed just so dull since – since –

Stop it.

She fought back the choking feeling that threatened to overwhelm her, because there was no time for that, because she was needed, and in her best state, to win the damn war that had taken so much for her. It had been almost a year since that dire night, the night when everything changed.

A year since her capture, a year since the death of her companions. A year since his death. Much had happened then – that single year was probably more eventful than the last twenty, and it felt like a whole century. But it was still just a year, and what was time to an elf anyway? It was nothing. It felt like yesterday.

Arya was grieving.

She shouldn't. She should be past it, she should shove it down her throat and move on. But she couldn't really help it. Everywhere she looked, she would remember him. She found her eyes drifting to the shelf, where three books laid, organized alphabetically. The middle one had the spine facing inwards, hiding the title.

She clung to the little things, because the big ones threatened to swallow her. She didn't have many belongings – she was a traveler after all – but among them were three books, her childhood favorites, the ones her father would read her before bed. She kept them neatly organized, alphabetically, spine out, in her bag. She liked her things like that- orderly.

Faölin knew that. He knew that very well.

The report. Realizing her ink had dried, he dipped her quill in the inkwell and begun writing again. For almost a page, she discoursed about the Varden's supplies. She had to admit Eragon was right about that- it was so ridiculously, absurdly monotonous.

Every morning she would wake up to find he had flipped the first book, so that the spine would face inward. She knew he did it just to spite her. Every morning, she would flip the book back to the right position. One day, she snapped.

Two hundred sheep had arrived from Surda, and the heck did she care about that? The heck did her mother, or all the elves, for that matter, care about that? That was Nasuada's problem, not theirs.

She went furiously out of her tent and after him. She found him happily chatting under a tree with Glenwing. She pulled him up abruptly, making him face her.

"Stop it." She snarled.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked innocently, but she could see on his eyes he knew exactly what was it about.

"The book. The book!" She grasped his shoulders. "THE BOOK! Stop flipping the book! STOP FLIPPING THE DAMN BOOK!"

She noticed she had been yelling - and shaking him. He stared at her with wide eyes, while Glenwing tried and failed to suppress a look of amusement. She realized she seemed a little insane.

"It's asymmetrical", she mumbled under her breath, an explanation, more to herself than to them, before turning away.

She shook her head to clear it and saw she had finished the inventory report. She moved on to Nasuada's state of health. Her mother had been furious, and rightfully so, after the woman had endangered herself by taking the Trial of Long Knives. She had raged hours on end on how humans were barbaric little creatures.

She avoided him the rest of the day – quite a feat, considering it was only the three of them in the middle of nothing. Glenwing helped. He was used to it – to their constant bickering.

Arya admired the Varden leader for her bravery and boldness, even if it was reckless of her. On the other hand, humans were barbaric little creatures. Nasuada's health had been improving, mostly due to Angela the Herbalist's careful tending. She put that on the paper, making sure to sound very reassuring. When her mother found out magical healing was also out ruled by the Trial, she'd raged twice as hard.

She woke up the next morning and went straight to her bag. She opened it, half expecting her books to be in the proper place this time, and she couldn't help but smile at what she saw.

She reached out for another piece of parchment, the fifth already, and she wasn't even halfway through. She still had to go through the whole political affair, Nasuada's dealings with Orrin and her generals, how where the relationships holding, and of course, reports on the Dragon Hunter – her mother wanted to know virtually everything. She sighed.

Two of her books were spine out. He had flipped a book, of course he had. Knowing him, it was naïve of her to think he would just drop it – if anything, her complaints would probably make him do it twice a day.

She realized she'd been staring blankly at the paper, quill in hand, and ink was starting to drip from it to the parchment, blurring part of her words. She muttered a spell to clear the mess and mentally scolded herself.

But he had flipped the middle book this time.

Inadvertently her eyes went back to the shelf. Three books, the middle one facing the wrong way. The middleone.

It was symmetrical.

Dropping the quill, she paced her face on her hands and held back tears. It was hard to be alone in her tent, because she had no need to keep stoic - or rather, no excuse. She couldn't force herself to remain so apathetic when no one was looking, so she usually fell in a desperate sorrow – for them, for him, for herself.

Focus. She had to focus on the war. There was no time for grief, no time for being sad. She had to be the efficient battle machine they expected her to be. She had scolded Eragon for his own lack of focus, even though it made her feel hypocritical.

She'd always had trouble focusing, and Oromis had suggested fairth-making to improve her all too short attention span. She took the habit with her when traveling.

She concentrated hard. She had gone for a swim that day, and while she was underwater, a school of fish had swum right in front of her eyes. It was something silly, maybe, but something she wanted to keep.

She spoke the words and let the images flow through her mind. The way the water bent light, the pretty stones on the bottom of the lake, and the fish. She gave special attention to the fish, their flexible tails, the way their scales caught the sun, their faces –

"Queen Islanzadí." What -?!

She turned to see Faölin, a huge grin crossing his features.

"What about her?"

"Nothing," he replied, his grin getting even wider. She shot him an odd look and turned to see the results of her faith –

Ah, shit.

She scowled, and heard him burst out laughing behind her.

"Very funny, Faölin", she chided.

It was all there – the little stones, the water, the fish, their scales perfect. The scene was exactly how she wanted it, except for when Faölin had interrupted her, and the little imp must have timed it perfectly, too, because now every fish had her mother's face glued to it. A hundred little Islanzadís, each one with a different face expression – smiling mother-fish, angry mother-fish, surprised mother-fish. It was creepy in a very disturbing way.

Glenwing rushed into the tent. "What -" then his eyes darted to the picture and he too was into incontrollable laughter.

She eyed the picture again. One particular fish had caught her eye for swimming away from the school and in her direction. That fish was there, except it had the queen's features, distorted in a duck face pose. The eyes were wide, and from her pressed together lips emerged a little bubble.

She couldn't help it. She joined them in laughter, too.

She was brought out of her affliction by approaching footsteps – probably someone passing nearby, but she immediately rebuilt her indifferent façade, just in case said someone was there to pay her a visit. She chided herself again for not doing what she should be doing – the report.

The footsteps halted in front of her tent. She finished her description of Nasuada's wounds and was about to begin addressing the next topic – the troublesome stranger who had arrived a few weeks ago. That was when said topic put his head through the flaps.

"Hail, Fahliil!" he greeted merrily.

Arya inwardly groaned. And there goes my report. He didn't wait to be invited in – she probably wouldn't, anyway. He casually strolled inside, tripping on the chest on the way in, and settled himself in her bed, sitting laggardly.

"Ysmir.", she addressed him coldly with the title, whatever it meant, knowing it would upset him.

"Yes, princess?"

She wasn't expecting that. He knew many things he shouldn't, but that, her heritage, was something personal he had no business with, and the only way he could possibly know that was through someone else. She turned to him with ire.

"Who told you that?" she hissed venomously.

He frowned, looking genuinely confused.

"Told me wha- Oh. Oh! " he smiled in that irritating way of his. "You just did."

He'd been just teasing, she realized with distress. He hadn't actually known anything. He did now, of course – Arya resisted the urge to slam her head in her desk in frustration.

"Colin", she said in a strained tone, "What do you want? I am doing something important."

"You are always doing something important. Though now I know why, Fahliil-Kulaas"

She had never bothered to ask what exactly did Fahliil mean, but she guessed the new term, Kulaas, must have something to do with her position. She considered asking him, but he never gave her a straight answer.

"Do you need me to read something for you again?" she guessed.

Usually, she'd be irritated if someone assigned her to such menial things, but it was different with him. She knew he didn't come to her for the task itself – many other people in the Varden knew how to read. No, he came to her just because.

He shook his head.

"No, I am free today. I just got back from a mission and Nasuada won't hear our reports until tomorrow." He paused, as if considering something. "And when she does hear the reports, I doubt she'll send me anywhere anytime soon."

Now what in the Menoa's thorny root did he do? Then she remembered that whatever he did, it would have to go on her report. Never mind. I do not want to know. "What brings you here then?"

"I am free today", he said again.

"Colin", she repeated in an almost begging tone, "I am busy."

"Pity for you, because I am not."

She intensified her grip on the quill. Just ignore him. Maybe he will leave. She continued writing, letting her irritation out on the paper. Her carefully drawn calligraphy began to look a little sloppy. -…has proven his worth as an asset.-

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously

She didn't reply, intent on pretending he was not there. She kept working on her report. - …generally uncooperative to direct contact.-

"What are you writing about?" he insisted.

-…but in general the asset should be considered dormant.-

He got up and she hoped he would leave, but of course, she wasn't that lucky. He began to pace around the room.

-…current indecisive fashion.-

She heard a clinking noise, but ignored it.

-…should not assume…-

A loud snapping made her turn in time to see him, standing in front of her chest. Her open chest. She was positive she had left that locked. He gave her a sheepish smile. She gritted her teeth.

-…goals align with our own.-

He was on the other side of the room now, eyeing her belongings carefully. He was not touching anything, however. That was good. She did not like when other people messed with her things.

-...must be carefully managed.- she concluded, closing the topic. There really wasn't much to say about Colin, for he had already been addressed on her previous reports and he hadn't done anything else worth mentioning since then. Or at least, not anything she knew of; she had no news of his last mission after all.

He picked up Glenwing's lute. Arya's face twitched in annoyance.

Upon arriving in Ellesméra, she had met with her friend's family to give them the news. It was unusual for elves to weep, especially in public, but she had caught a few tears on his mother's eyes as she handed Arya the lute. "It was his favorite instrument", the woman had said.

Arya didn't quite have the heart to leave it behind when she returned from the elven city. She didn't know how to play it, either, so it was mostly a dead weight, but one she did not mind carrying. Like the books, whose new copies she had immediately acquired in Ellesméra to make up for the lost ones. They reminded her of her father. And of course, they reminded her of Faölin.

He sat on her bed again, lute in hands, and played each string carefully, as if checking the tuning. Don't tell me he can play it, she thought incredulously. He stroked all the strings together, creating a perfect reverberating sound. He seemed satisfied - elven lutes, she knew, never went out of tune.

He cleared his throat and started playing. To an elf's ear, a human's song would usually sound like a terrible cacophony, and this one was no different. She noticed his voice was quite peculiar – low and deep, but with a raspy ring to it. As if he shouted a lot. Curiosity got the best of her and she eagerly listened, hoping to learn more about his world's culture.

"Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky; his roar fury's fire, and his scales sharpened schytes,"

From "wings", "roar" and "scales", she thought it safe to assume Alduin was a dragon. She noted with interest that it was regarded with fear, but also with admiration, which was unusual for humans, at least in Alagaesia – when they heard the word "dragon", all they imagined were fire breathing beasts.

"Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died; they burned and they bled, as they issued their cries,"

His voice had a sad tone that made her glance. Colin's face was completely unreadable, but his eyes held a troubled look to them, and Arya realized this was more than simply a song to him - he was trying to send her a message. She redoubled her attention on the lyrics.

"We need saviors to free us, from Alduin's rage; Heroes on the field, of this new war to wage,"

A war. Not a hunt, or a battle, but a war. It wasn't just a furious dragon on the top of a mountain that would eventually go down and burn a village. It sounded more like a dragon version of Galbatorix, and there was a certain resignation on the song that made Alduin seem distinctively evil – again, they did not need a warrior or a noble, but saviors.

"And if Alduin wins, man is gone from this world; Lost in the shadow, of the black wings unfurled,"

That verse particularly struck a nerve, probably because now she knew Alduin was a black dragon – like Shruikan. And the idea of an entire race being wiped out by a black dragon was one just too familiar for her liking. He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in.

"But then came the Tongues, on that terrible day; Steadfast as winter, they entered the fray,"

He had mentioned something about the Tongues before, hadn't he? Oh, yes, he had said only dragons and Tongues were allowed to call him "Dovahkiin".

"And all heard the music, of Alduin's doom; Sweet song of Skyrim, sky-shattering Thu'um; And so the Tongues freed us, from Alduin's rage; Gave the gift of the Voice, ushered in a new Age,"

So the Tongues were the ones who, through some sort of power, defeated Alduin, bringing a new age to their land. She thought the song was over then, but there was another verse.

"If Alduin's eternal, then eternity's done; For this story is over and the dragons are gone."

He struck the last note and the room fell into silence. She was still facing her parchment, the ink on the quill long dry. She put it down, realizing there was no way she would be able to finish her report with him on her room.

"Who is Alduin?" she asked finally, unable to hold her curiosity any longer.

"Al -du- in, feyn do jun," he whispered so low, she barely heard.

The way he said the name sent a chill through her body, as if it was not a word, but three separate ones, and the other words he uttered after seemed to complete the name's ominous feeling. He cleared his throat and spoke again, louder this time.

"Alduin World-Eater is a dragon god – the Nordic god of destruction" he explained.

It always comes down to gods and religion, she thought bitterly. It was a beautiful song lyric-wise, but in the end, it was all just a myth. Still, he carried a haunted look she could recognize well, the look of someone who had seen too much.

She might not believe in gods, but she knew he had gone through something very traumatic. It was possible, for instance, that he had seen a black dragon and thought it was Alduin – dragons were certainly scary enough even without being gods. She decided to save him the lecture – for now. She still had questions.

"And the Tongues?" she questioned.

"The Tongues are the masters of the Thu'um, the Voice. It's – well, I guess you would call it the dragon version of magic."

"The Thu'um", she repeated, the world rolling weirdly on her tongue. "Is that what you used to get Thorn to the ground?"

"Aye, but that was Dragonrend. It's different. Dragonrend is very…unholy"

She just nodded, deciding not to push it. The gods may not exist, but the power was definitively real, and pressing him might make him begin to speak in riddles again. Instead, she asked another question.

"So these people, the Tongues, they killed the god of destruction and saved the world?" she asked, putting what she understood of the story in a nutshell.

"Oh no – no, they – just no. Alduin was a dragon. You can't – well, at least in my world, one does not simply kill a dragon."

She rolled the quill back and forth under her finger. Picking up a new piece of parchment, she dipped it in ink and began to doodle.

"Explain", she demanded. She heard him sigh.

"Dragons are direct children of Akatosh, the god of time. They are immortal." he said. Again with the religion, she thought, but was more curious than irritated this time.

"You can't kill one, not really. You run a sword through their hearts, they fall down and die, except they aren't really dead. Should another dragon Shout over him and command him to rise, they do."

She wasn't sure if he was mixing a religious idea with actual facts. Do not attempt to raise the dead was magic rule number one. But she was beginning to accept things might work differently in other worlds. Not gods – it would take much for her to believe in that, but different ways of magic, such as what had affected Trianna. And it was much easier when dragons were involved.

Eragon had told her, for instance, that Saphira had turned Brom's tomb into pure diamond. The energy required to do that could not possibly have come from the dragon herself, or she would surely be dead. Dragons did things like that – unexplainable. Raising the dead was unheard of, but so were living, reproducing golden flowers, and spirits had created that right under her nose.

And maybe they didn't really die, only went into some kind of stasis, and then another would cast healing magic upon it, closing the wounds and breaking the coma. There were a great number of possible, logical explanations.

"They are unstoppable, then? Should they attack in pairs, one could just rise the other if he falls." she said skeptically.

"Not every dragon can raise another – only the most powerful ones hold that ability. Alduin could, of course, and I reckon Paarthurnax probably can, too. Odahviing couldn't, not back then, but now he might – I'll have to ask him later. I know the words myself, but I dare not use them, nor do I have any reason to."

She didn't get half of what he was taking about, as usual. He seemed to talk about the dragons in the past and in the present, as if they were gone and then back. She understood what mattered, though – not every dragon could bring others back to life, only a select few, such as Alduin, the so-called god.

"So that's why Alduin had to die", she commented, "So that the others could stay dead."

But there was a fundamental flaw in that plan, and she almost smacked herself when she noticed it. It was so obvious.

"But Alduin was a dragon, too. So he couldn't be killed either. He dies, some other raises him, and we're back to the start."

She was beginning to understand how bad the situation was. If what he said was true – and she had no reason to think he was lying, then a war against Alduin and the other dragons was completely hopeless. It wouldn't be like Du Fyrn Skulblaka, where dragons and elves mutually annihilated each other. In fact, calling it a "war" was already a sick joke. "Massacre" would be a better word.

He chuckled, as if he had found her words funny.

"Theoretically, yes. But no other dragon would possibly want to raise Alduin. Why would they, if they can have the power to themselves?" he stopped for a moment, "There is one way to kill a dragon for good – after slaying it, one should take its soul. Except only a dragon soul can claim another."

She remembered his words to her and Nasuada, and everything fell into place.

"And that's where you come in", she blurted. "You said you are a mortal with the soul of a dragon. You can kill them. You claim their souls."

For a long while, he said nothing, and she realized he must have drifted off. He did that a lot, lose himself in his thoughts. She couldn't hold it against him – it was a habit of hers as well.

"Hmmm.." he muttered after a while, "But I wasn't alive then, yes?"

"Weren't there any others… like you?"

His sharp intake of breath made her turn to face him. His jaw was clenched in a determined manner, but his expression was still unreadable.

"No. There wouldn't be any of us until Alessia, in the first era. That was… well, time did not work very linearly in the beginning of Nirn, but it was at least millennia after the Dragon War that Akatosh bestowed the dragon soul and blood on a mortal."

"That's an efficient god you have there", she commented pointedly. She expected the comment to anger him, but he just sighed dejectedly.

"He had a very good reason not to. There was…an issue."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"An issue?"

He shook his head slowly. "The Dovah Sil… corrupts. Not everyone can -" he stopped. "The First was -" he stopped again. She could tell the subject disturbed him greatly. "I don't want to talk about it.", he said finally.

Again, she decided it would be no use to prod.

"And how did they defeat Alduin, then? "

"They used a Kel, an Elder Scroll. The Scrolls are… fragments of creation. They exist outside of time, and tell both the past and the future. The Scrolls and their heroes exist interdependently, and their prophecies are always true. They hold destiny."

She could almost hear Blagden and his shrill calls. Wyrda!

"It was prophesized that he would return and face The Last Dragonborn in battle to take his proper role as World- Eater. If not stopped, he would devour Nirn as he had before, heralding the end of the world and the beginning of another."

"He is not evil then," she commented, "He is an agent of renewing. He destroys old things so that new ones might come to be."

The comment seemed to ruffle him.

"Unless the old things so happen to be your entire world, aye? You may not like everything about it, but I believe you wouldn't want it to burn to the ground, either."

She had to admit he was right about that. She nodded, conceding him the point.

"So the scroll did what, cage him until it was time for the world to end?"

"It sent Alduin some four thousand years to the future."

His tale only grew weirder and weirder, and she had to constantly remind herself that it all happened in another place, with other rules. Bending time did not seem possible to her, not in her world, but in his it could be. Maybe.

"Only delaying the unavoidable, then."

Then a thought crossed her mind. "And when did that happen?" Truly, what she meant was "How long do you have left?"

"Some four thousand years ago."

Oh. That explained a lot.

"And the Last Dragonborn?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Here." He replied emotionlessly.

"And Alduin…?" she questioned once more, hesitatingly.

"It is done."

It was a rather ambiguous answer. Either it was done and Alduin was dead, or his world was gone. Is that why he is here? She wondered, but did not dare to ask. A much more interesting question popped in her head.

"Did you – well…" there was just no sensitive way to ask it. She decided she would have to be blunt. "Did you see Alduin? Did you actually meet a god?"

If Alduin was really a god, that is. This whole story seemed a bit too fantastic to her. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I meet gods far more often than I'd like, Fahliil-Kulaas. I don't see why you are so excited about it. They are usually trouble." A crooked smile crossed his face.

"If you want to meet a god so badly, you should sleep with me. Vaermina visits almost every other night."

She ignored the obvious pick up line. "Vaermina?"

He made a dismissive gesture with his hands. "Prince of nightmares, dreams, psychological terror, evil omens and stealing memories. We had a little disagreement a while ago and now she takes her time to torment me whenever possible – which is usually whenever I am asleep and out of another et'Ada influence sphere. It is the actual reason why I like to sleep on temples."

She was getting lost, again. She always did when she talked to him; it was too much information and too little information at the same time. She decided maybe she should take the conversation to a more comfortable area, one that she was familiar with.

"There are no such things as gods", she said. "I did not need to anger anyone for nightmares to torment me."

"Of course not. Not every nightmare is Vaermina's work, like not every disease is Peryite's. "

She hadn't expected him to give in so easily. His belief was different from that of the dwarves, who seemed to believe their deities were in every raindrop, every stone. It was more…acceptable. Still, it did not prove them gods. He might just have gone against a very powerful magician.

"So how can you be sure your nightmares are caused by a god and not by your own mind?"

"There is no mistaking a Vaermina nightmare." He said simply. This kind of reply irritated her beyond measure; It was no reply at all.

"If the gods do exist, why do they not act upon our world directly, then? Appearing in a physical form, for example?"

"They do. Mostly the Daedra; the Aedra are more secluded, but I've met both. Anyone brave or stupid enough can attempt to summon a Prince. If the offerings and the day are right, they usually manifest. And sometimes, they come after you and it probably means you are in deep trouble."

Even in a comfortable subject, he managed to confuse her.

"So you are telling me there is more than one kind of god?"

"I guess…" he said carefully, "I guess you would call the Aedra 'gods' and the Daedra 'demons'. Though not every Aedra is nice – Alduin is one of them after all - and not every Daedra is evil either, well, at least, not completely. They all have this malicious little thing, you know? They are not like the Aedra who give blessings to anyone that prays near a shrine. There is always a catch when dealing with a Prince."

She didn't believe in gods and she didn't believe in demons either, and one of the reasons was that there was usually a very thin line between one and the other. They were usually all-powerful beings and what differed them was that the demons were 'evil'.

What most seemed to ignore, in special the dwarven priests, was that the ones considered gods weren't all that good, either. They demanded worship and sacrifice in return of allowing the beings who worshiped and sacrificed in their names to live, seemingly ignoring that if they didn't, there would be no one to do their biddings.

Beyond that, a god like Gûntera would watch a little child trip and fall from a precipice and do nothing at all. He would watch a young woman fall from her horse, break her neck and die without lifting one single omnipotent finger. He was evil by omission, because if he wasn't, then there would be no such accidents. That, or, of course, he simply didn't exist.

"How can you tell one from the other, then?" she asked, expecting some moralistic nonsense. His reply was surprisingly direct.

"Aedra are beings of creation and order, and their interference is limited. You receive their blessings through shrines, amulets and temples – your diseases are cured, your wounds mend, sometimes you gain some stamina or you feel stronger or barter better. That's about it, though. They don't talk to you directly, they don't come to Mundus and you probably won't see them. I did, but that's because I went to Aetherius."

He paused thoughtfully. Arya assumed Aetherius must be the realm of the gods, but she would ask him about it later. Right now, she was enjoying a religious explanation that was, for once, straight to the point.

"The last notable Aedra appearance was when Akatosh took over Martin Septim, two hundred years ago, and that was a really, really extreme situation. Mostly, when an Aedra wants you to do something, it'll ask for it in indirect ways. "

"Like passing on the message through a priest", she guessed disappointedly –it was the same thing with the dwarves and the "messages" were just the priest's inventions to get others to do their wishes.

"No, of course not. If they can talk to the priests, they can talk to you. By indirectly I mean… There was this one time I was at the temple of Dibella. I was trying to steal a statue –a man had offered me some good coin for it. I had picked the lock and pocketed the statue and was halfway out of there when a tankard suddenly materialized in the air right in front of me and fell down, alerting every single priestess in the temple. "

She ignored his casual thievery confession.

"So Dibella didn't want you to steal her statue?"

He eyed her oddly, as if she had asked something stupid.

"I was at a Temple of Dibella. There were sculptures of Dibella, paintings of Dibella and books about Dibella in every corner. Why would she care if I took the statue? That's just petty."

There was an undeniable logic in his words that caught her off guard. It was the sort of thing she would say, when speaking against the gods.

"Wouldn't you would be taking something that was there to please her?"

"It is a Temple. The altar is there to please Dibella. All the rest is there to make it look nice - to please the priestesses and the visitors, not the goddess. She bestows her favors on someone for their deeds, not for the amount of statues. That would be ridiculous."

Again, that was exactly her point when in a gigantic dwarven temple. So whoever spends more gold on it gets more favor? It seemed really cheap of a god to do that. Arya's interest on his religion was piqued. It didn't seem to defy logic, at lest not to the extent the dwarven one did.

"Why did she hand you in, then?"

"Some Forsworn – a crazy indigenous clan - had kidnapped a little girl who was her next Sybil, her prophet, of sorts. When the priestesses caught me, they quested me with retrieving her 'as a punishment'. I did a little pushing around and they ended up telling me they couldn't find a suitable champion to do it. Not even mercenaries would venture in the Forsworn lands, for fear of the dark magic within. "

"And Dibella picked you as her champion?"

"I am everybody's champion, honestly. I'm always the one people go for when they have something no one else will do – and if no one else does it, there is usually a very good reason. For some obscure motivation I cannot understand myself, I always end up saying 'yes'."

"If so, they could have simply asked. No divine intervention was necessary."

He shrugged. "Probably. But they wouldn't have met me otherwise - I don't linger in places for too long."

While it made sense, there was one question that no one was ever able to answer.

"Why didn't she keep the girl from being kidnapped in first place?"

"Because she can't. The divines can't directly intervene in Nirn, save rare exceptions. She could protect her, maybe, if she was inside the temple. But mostly, what they do is pick a poor mortal sod – usually me -, and ask him to do their biding through indirect means – like getting me caught. Then there is a little reward – in the end, I got to keep the statue."

She was about to ask the logic behind it, but he interrupted.

"They are gods, not caretakers – when things are really bad, the send help, but mostly, they refrain themselves to giving blessings. What you do with your life and others with theirs – that's up to you, and when it comes down to the Aedra, you are on your own. You can't have a Divine watching over your every step and meddling with every little thing. That would be -"

"Ridiculous." She completed.

He nodded. "The Daedra, though, they are a whole different matter. Daedra are beings of chaos and change, and they intervene directly. There are two kinds – the minor ones, like scamps - the sort even a beginner conjurer can summon. Heck, I summon them accidentally every once in a while. And then there are the Princes, the most powerful ones – the Daedra analogue to the Divines. There are sixteen – seventeen if you count Jyggalag."

"And they can simply manifest physically, wrecking havoc on the land to cause chaos?"

"Yes and no. That's where the Dragonborn come into play. It is not a story you will like to hear, though. It has to do with elves and I think you might be…insulted. And while I generally don't mind insulting you, it might give the wrong impression. It may seem I am judging the elves here from what I know about the elves there, and I wouldn't want to do that, would I?" he said sharply, clearly cutting their conversation short.

She didn't reply. Instead, she turned back to her paper, giving her back to him, letting her hands doodle absently while she took in what he had just said.

It was a clear accusation. Thinking back, she had to admit expressing her first impression about him had been rather unwise. She had judged him solely on his position as "Dragon Hunter", without taking in account the whole "not this world" part. And she would have kept her visions, too, hadn't it been for Saphira. The dragon had looked upon the man and seen not an enemy, but her kin. And the way she had proceeded to challenge him – it had been so natural; like a dragon would do upon meeting another.

Colin confused her. She didn't believe in gods or souls, and the idea of a man –dragon was too far-fetched for her, but she couldn't deny there was something different about him.

When they first met, he had jumped to aid Eragon and herself against a group of Galbatorix's soldiers. He attacked them later, but she blamed that on Eragon. It was stupid of him to prod someone's mind without knowing their capacity, especially when the man had done nothing to justify it. Arya knew if someone tried to peek into her thoughts while she slept for no other reason than to quell their paranoia, she would have been irked, too.

There was a moment during their fight she honestly thought he would kill her. He had held her by the neck, choking her, and gazed deep into her eyes. His eyes told a lot about him; she could read his feelings there. At that time, when they locked gazes, or rather, when he had captured hers – for that was exactly what he had done – they had seemed feral, imposing and hungry. She had felt herself suffocate, and not just because she was running out of air, either. His attack had been beyond physical, that she could tell for sure, but hadn't been his mind he seized then.

They had locked gazes, and she had felt her will begin to crumble in a way not even Durza had achieved. She had wanted to give in, not because of what would happened if she didn't, but because it felt natural – it felt right. It was right to have his will imposed over hers, and it was a little comforting too, to finally get it all out of her hands.

But, at the same time, there had been fear, unexplainable, as if a very important part of her was at risk and she could do nothing about it. Every instinct had told her to run, because… he had been hungry. He would devour her. And then he had blinked and released her from his grip and the crushing, choking feeling was gone, but it still took her a while to recover.

They ended up getting in an agreement and solving the misunderstanding. He seemed infatuated by her physical appearance, as every human was, which she of course ignored. He had met Saphira for the first time, and it was a wonder the dragon didn't notice the man's nature – but that was probably due to her excitement and relief on reencountering her rider.

Colin had seemed very uneasy then, which she had assumed to be a consequence of being in the presence of a dragon. She knew better now; he had tried, and succeeded, to hide whatever connection he held with the dragons. She had taken it for fear, and so had Eragon, but the young rider had made the mistake of voicing his thoughts, and she realized it had been the second time he had offended the man, which probably explained Colin's strong distaste for him.

They had parted ways and she assumed it was the last time she would hear of him. She had been wrong. News of his interactions with the witch child, Elva, soon reached her ears, how he had somehow calmed her, if only for a moment. She remembered immediately how Eragon's spell on him had failed. Not only there seemed to be something off about the newcomer, he also showed a peculiar knowledge of magic. That alone should have been enough to catch her attention, but she had neglected in favor of something more immediate – Thorn and Murtagh's attack.

They had greeted each other in the air, Eragon and Murtagh, and suddenly, through some unknown spell, there was Colin, crashing right into the nearest Kull. The hungry look on his eyes was back. She didn't pay attention to him then – she had priorities, such as funneling the energy from the elven spellcasters to Eragon.

Murtagh's power was beyond measure and they simply couldn't hold their own against him. The spellcasters began to faint, one by one, and she begun to feel dizzy herself. She was about to black out when he grabbed her and sent a jolting amount of energy into her body. It should have been enough to make him exhausted, but he had appeared unfazed.

And whatever he had done to her the first time, he must have done again, because she found herself heeding his commands. Perhaps it was the despair, the fear of losing another – Eragon was their only hope, and the boy was also a good… friend to her. Next thing saw, Colin was right under Thorn and he shouted.

She had never heard the words before, but she could tell whatever the spell did, she did not want to be on the wrong end of it. Thorn had hurled down, in pure agony, and despite being her enemy, she had been horrified. It was wrong to see such noble creature in that situation, and whatever Colin had done, it had been cruel. And then the weirdest thing happened.

He had approached the dragon and Murtagh's pockets begun to shine. They emanated a light, a shining smoke of sorts, and the smoke would go to him like water on a drain. The first tendrils touched him and seemed to enter him, and he'd seemed a bit shocked. It came a second time, making him stumble, and when the third group of tendrils reached him, he was out cold.

She deemed it a trap of some sort from Murtagh, but the rider seemed despaired at what had happened. Eragon had landed next to them and he could have killed them then, but he ended up letting his brother go. Arya was unsurprised at it – Eragon always paid his debts, and he owed Murtagh for the incident at the Burning Plains.

Colin was still unconscious, and would remain so for more two and a half days. Nasuada summoned her when he woke to aid in the interrogations - apparently, him and the Varden leader did not get along, either. Arya was more than a little aggravated when she found out they had placed him in a cell and drugged him. He was dangerous, yes, but so far, he was on their side, and making him a prisoner would only irritate the man and make their interactions even harder.

She was right, of course. When they got there, he was more than a little mad, he was pissed. He decided he would play games with them, and that's when she finally understood they weren't dealing with a simple commoner. He knew through means unknown Eragon had left, and flawlessly pointed out Saphira, Elva and the Elves' locations.

And still, he toyed with them. He defied Nasuada's authority and completely disregarded any kind of respectful attitude towards them both. He asked for a decent meal, which Arya had promptly agreed, if only to compensate his unjustified arrest and make him more cooperative.

It worked, and she saw herself listening to a very hard to believe story about other worlds. She would have labeled him mad, if not for Saphira. He had turned to her and spoke in a language never heard of, and the dragon had understood. And thus she had no choice but to credit him, if only a little.

She wasn't sure at which point he became interested in her, but he did. It wasn't necessarily a romantic interest, either – he seemed just plain curious. He came to her the next day and somehow managed to sneak up on her, and had she been an old human, she was positive she would have died out of the surprise.

It was also the first time she begun to make out his personality. He had a childish, impish demeanor and seemed determined to get under her skin. She regretted to admit he did an excellent job, though not for the reasons one might imagine.

Arya sighed. She supposed she owed him an apology, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Being proud was a flaw of hers, and it made admitting to be wrong something really difficult to do.

Half the time, they were at each other's arms. The other, they were at each other's throats. They fought a lot, and Glenwing was probably the only one that could keep them together while keeping them away.

It was less fighting and more bickering, actually. It became their own personal game. Glenwing kept track of it. They would argue about something minimal - If Faölin could please comb that stray streak of hair to the right side, because it was driving her insane. If Arya could please let Glenwing prepare breakfast because dear Weldenvarden, her cooking was awful.

They would not talk to each other the rest of the day. Then, at night, when the fire was lit, he would say it to one of them.

"It is your turn this time, Faölin."

"Thank you, Glen."

It was all he had to say. Soon, perhaps even the same night, she knew Faölin would seek her out and apologize.

"I am sorry. I don't think your cooking is awful at all."

"Yes, you do."

His lips would quirk up "Well, I do, but I appreciate you trying."

And just like that, he was forgiven. It was always harder when it was her turn to do it. She would take days to make up her mind and do it, but he was patient.

"Do you really have to do that?"

"Arya -"

"You know it drives me mad!"

"Arya."

"Fine", she would sigh, "I am sorry."

"And?" He always pushed his luck.

"You are a moron."

"You know you can't live without me."

She did.

"I wasn't aware you played the lute," she said suddenly, attempting to break the tension. She could almost hear the smile in his voice when he replied.

"Of course I do. The ladies love it."

"I wasn't aware you had knowledge of flowers, Lin."

Faölin put on that little smirk of his. She usually wanted to wipe it out of his face, but now, she couldn't help but think it looked a little cute. Not that she would ever admit it, obviously.

"Of course I do. How else am I supposed to be seductive? Young naïve maidens love it."

He was such a rascal. She wasn't really sure if she was being complimented or teased. With him, it was probably both.

"Did you love it?" he asked suddenly.

He seemed sincere, but she couldn't really tell if he was baiting her into admitting she was young and naïve, if he was asking whether she was a maiden, if he genuinely wanted to know whether she liked the gift, or if he had another different intention altogether. She frowned. She must have spent a good five minutes trying to figure it out.

Faölin noticed that.

"You're over thinking, princess", he said, arching a brow at her. He burst out laughing, making her blush. She never blushed, ever, but Faölin seemed to have this uncanny skill –

"Did you love it?" Colin asked, making her doodling hand slip.

"It was horribly out of tune," she answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

He snorted. She heard him get up and place the lute back on the shelf. A quick peek revealed he had put it upside down and she resisted the urge to get up and fix the position. She didn't want to look obsessive, even if she probably was.

She clung to the little things, because the big ones were falling apart.

They were back from the Varden and they still carried the egg. Politics aside, she really wanted it to hatch, even if it was for a human. Every time they returned with it, it felt like a failure. She feared it might never choose a rider, and one day, Galbatorix would decide he wanted every elf dead and they wouldn't stand a chance.

They stood at the top of a hill, the three of them, and Faölin had a clasp of his armor upside down and she knew he did it just to spite her. He was in the middle, and he wrapped one arm around her and one around Glenwing.

"Brave Faölin walks again the land of mortals, awe-inspiring beauty and might, accompanied by his two sidekicks, Broody and Sunshine."

Arya scowled.

"You are playing your part perfectly, Broody."

And suddenly the three were laughing and the weight was lifted from her chest and she honestly believed everything would be all right in the end.

She shoved the doodle away, suddenly furious. She was mad – at Durza and the King, for taking away what she loved most; at her mother, for putting the two of them up to it in the first place; at Eragon, for not noticing her obvious grief and making it all more difficult. She was mad at the gods, for letting it happen, she was mad at them for not existing, and she was mad at the world and the universe because it was all so unfair.

She rubbed her temples, trying to calm herself down. She did that when she was irritated; it was a little quirk she had picked up from her mother. She needed them. She needed Glenwing to brighten up her day with songs; she needed him to hold her back when she felt like hitting someone. And she needed Faölin to be there for her, to make a witty remark when she was angry that would completely throw her off, to –

"If you keep doing that, you'll drill a hole to your brain", Colin said casually from behind her.

A spurt of maddening ire took over her and before she knew, she had picked the nearest object and hurled it to his head. Said object so happened to be her inkwell, which hit him with deadly precision and force, shattering on impact.

She blinked when she realized what she had done. She had those little outbursts every once in a while, like when she had shattered Eragon's fairth of her. What she would usually do in suck awkward situations was get up and march back to her tent before she had to deal with the people, except she was already in her tent and Colin wasn't really offended.

He tilted his head slightly, like a confused dog would, and with the ink splattered in his face it looked quite comic – if not for the blood that started to seep where the glass had cut him. She looked in his eyes and saw curiosity and mischief and a little tint of irritation, but that was it. It made her even madder that he didn't have the dignity to be angry – she felt as if she had just kicked a puppy.

He got up and she thought he would leave this time, but instead he just walked to the tub and begun washing. He was using her tub again, she noted with irritation. That's because it is the second time you bloody his face. He finished splashing and shook his head, sending little droplets of water flying all around - one fell right in the middle of the parchment in front of her. Arya's hands twitched.

She didn't offer to heal him, so he did it himself, magically closing the cuts without uttering a word, but Arya refrained from asking about his magic. She got up, and because she couldn't stand it any longer, she went to the shelf and put the lute in the right place.

He watched her eagerly as she did, observing every movement. He walked right next to her and his eyes fell on the books. He picked up the middle one and shifted its position, placing it in the first spot –like Faölin did - and it drove her mad because it was asymmetrical. Her hands flew to the book and put it back to its place, spine out this time, so that all three titles were shown. She turned to him to see he wore a cruel little smirk.

She had to get that man out of her tent, now.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked in a defeated tone. His face brightened up immediately.

"Walk with me", he replied.

She followed him out of the tent, not sure where they were going, and not really caring much, either, as long as he wasn't disrupting her order. For a while, they walked in silence, and she noted for the first time he wasn't wearing his armor. He had gauntlets on, gloves and boots, his sword hung on his hip and he had apparently acquired a shield, which rested on his back, but his cuirass was gone.

"What happened to your armor?" she asked, breaking the silence. He shrugged.

"I woke up in the morning and it was giving off this weird glow, and that's when I realized today is a full moon night, so I decided not to risk it."

She couldn't possibly imagine the relation between the full moon, a glowing armor and why couldn't he wear it. He spoke before she could ask any further questions.

"So what's between you and Eragon?"

She clenched her fists and took a deep breath, not dignifying it with an answer.

"I don't know what you see in him; he is such a prick… He must be great in bed to compensate it."

If she had a hundred inkwells, she would hurl them all at his face right now. She opened and closed her hands, counting to ten. The only reason she did not strangle him was that getting her off her cool was exactly what she wanted.

"There is nothing between Eragon and I", she said finally.

"Really?" he sounded genuinely surprised. "Why not? He might be a milk-drinker, but sure does like you. And you like him, too, if only a little."

"I don't -"

"There is someone else, isn't there?"

"There's no -"

"Did he turn you down? Is that why you are always so … broody?"

"Shut up!" she snarled furiously again.

She'd always been a little grumpy – the whole queen-to-be issues were a pain, after all, but it wasn't until her father's death and her mother's subsequent withdrawal that it became her default state. It was exactly what Faölin noticed when they first met.

She'd been coming out of a meeting with the queen. With The Fall, the elves began to retract back to the forest, and Arya saw new faces almost every day. Every time a newcomer arrived, he had to present himself to the queen and state his business, explaining her mother's impatience. That day, however, she seemed especially aggravated.

He was on her way back to her room when they bumped into each other. He hadn't apologized, or excused himself, or formally greeted. He'd turned to her and said, "Why so broody, elf princess?". And just like that, he walked away.

She was surprised to see Colin had actually shut up. He had stopped and was looking at the surroundings. She saw with a startle they must have been walking for a while, because they had put a good distance between themselves and the troops. They were in a large open area now, though she could see the edge of woodland in the distance. He raised up his head to the sky, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. She waited, curious as to what exactly they were doing there. He opened his mouth, and he shouted.

There weren't any words she could discern, but his voice was louder than it was possible, traveling, carrying a clear challenge to anyone who dared take it. A couple seconds of pure silence passed. Then she heard a roar in the distance – Saphira's roar. Colin was smiling wildly, and that's when she realized exactly what was about to happen.

"Here?!" she yelled at him, "Now?!" Is he mad?!

His head was still turned to the sky, looking in the distance.

"Why not?"

"We are in the middle of a war, that is why! What if we were attacked tomorrow?"

"I'd worry about it, tomorrow. This has to be done."

Saphira landed in front of them, and he took a step forward, drawing his sword and shield.

"Drem Yol Lok, Dovah."

"Greetings, Dovahkiin."

"Does your challenge still stand?"

Saphira's only response was a wild roar to the skies.

She knew enough about dragons to see nothing she would do or say would stop them now, so she ran backwards to give them space. For a moment, they just stood there, facing each other, then Saphira roared again and Colin roared back, and they were at it.

Every elf had, at least once, studied dragon-fighting techniques, and Arya had been especially well trained in that aspect, due to her role in the fall, but mostly, because there was always a slim but terrifying chance that she would meet Shruikan while transporting the egg. Based off her own experience, she could tell Colin knew what he was doing.

He had moved off Saphira's front and to her flank, avoiding her bites. Saphira twisted quickly, however, and he had to struggle to keep up, let alone land a blow. Saphira's wings moved wildly, throwing him off balance. He bolted to the side, now facing her back. Watch out for the ta-!

He dodged back just in time to avoid a devastating tail blow that would have crushed him, and he took the chance to slice with his own weapon at the dragon's scales. Arya caught herself mentally cheering him – not because of any kind of sympathy, but because the odds were so ridiculously against him, it was hard not to.

Saphira opened her wings and beat them hard, staggering him while she took to the skies. The dragon glided forward, gaining altitude, then turned back straight at him, mouth already flaming. Saphira flew closer and closer, holding it back until she was near enough so that her fire would reach him and burn him to a crisp.

He's dead for sure now -

"Fo Krah Diin!"

The words carried clear despite the distance, and they had a freezing ring to them, like cracking ice.

Fire met frost in the skies. Saphira's hot breath collided with the cold emanating from Colin's mouth in a deafening hiss. Steam rose out where they touched, creating a heavy mist, and for a moment they were both engulfed in it. Then Saphira's wing beats dispersed the fog, and she saw Colin had sheathed his sword and was now shooting what seemed to be lightning from his hands. Saphira beat her wings harder, getting out of his reach – but out of her fire's reach as well.

Clopping hooves caught her attention and she saw a troop approaching, led by Nasuada herself. Arya groaned and rushed forward to meet them and explain the commotion, before they endangered themselves. She ran as fast as she could, closing the distance with incredible speed. Her fellow elves were there as well, headed by a not very happy looking Blödhgarm, but they refrained from interrupting – Saphira's orders, no doubt.

A heavy thudding signaled what could only be her landing, the ground shaking with her weight. Arya called out to Nasuada and spotted her somewhere to her left. She bolted in the direction –

"Tiid Klo Ul!"

Like a breath being caught in someone's chest, time stopped. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Time…stopped. Not completely, she noticed, but slowed down to an almost standstill. Her legs held in the air mid-step, and she could see, half in awe, half in horror, the little pebbles she had kicked while running falling down, slowly, as if not through air but through water.

She moved her gaze up, slowly, slowly, slowly, and saw a rearing horse, its paws frozen midair. The, like an arrow being released, time rushed back in. Arya tripped, dazed from the experience, and stumbled to Nasuada. Did he do that?! Suddenly, the whole story about sending a dragon to the future seemed a little easier to believe.

"Did you – Did you feel that?!" Nasuada asked, exasperated.

Arya nodded. "There is nothing to concern yourself about, Nasuada. Saphira and Colin are fighting."

She realized her first sentence did not quite go well with the second.

"Nothing to concern myself about? They are killing each other!"

She turned back to the fight.

"They are not – ah."

They were killing each other. Colin had somehow managed to severely wound Saphira's right wing, making it impossible for her to take flight again. A long cut laid across the dragon's muzzle, and she was limping on one leg. How had he achieved such feats in the little amount of time it took her to reach the Varden leader was beyond her. Then again, time did not seem to be too much of an issue there.

The man wasn't much better himself, however. His shield had been half-chewed off and he was bleeding heavily from at least four different spots. His lack of armor – Who fights a dragon without armor?! – was certainly prejudicing him, and from the way he moved, Arya could tell he had a couple broken ribs, if not more.

He was flanking Saphira again, but Arya noticed he was a bit careless when it came down to her front limbs – as if he didn't expect them to be there. He ducked, avoiding a blow from the dragon's claws and making a small nick of his own on her. Saphira hissed. Turning quickly, she struck him from behind with her tail, hitting his back and making him fall to the ground. His sword clattered a few feet away, and before he could go for it, the dragon had him pinned under her heavy paw.

"Yield", she heard Saphira's mental voice rumble. He didn't have a choice, really. He was caught under the dragon's paw and there was nothing he could do from that position –

"FUS RO DAH!"

It turned out "sky-shattering" was not a lyrical exaggeration, but actually a really accurate description of the power. His voice rung like thunder, unleashing a bitter fury that only made it more remarkable, and the ground literally shook, making Arya struggle to keep standing. The horses went absolutely berserk, bolting around while their riders tried to control them.

The spell, the shout, hit Saphira's side, and the force, whatever it was called, pushed the dragon, completely destroying her balance. Saphira had to lift her paw to stabilize herself, and Colin took the chance to roll away and retrieve his weapon. Leaning on it to help himself up, he stuck the sword on the ground and closed his fist, making the light of what she recognized as his healing spell wash over him. Where's the energy for that coming from?

Saphira snarled, recovered from the blow, and faced him again. He took his sword and they resumed their combat.

"Demons above and below", Nasuada said, and Arya thought it expressed her own feelings really well. "We must stop that."

"No." Arya said firmly.

"I do not care about their petty dispute -"

"Arya Dröttningu is right", Blödhgarm spoke in a very displeased tone from her side, and she was a bit surprised to find out he agreed. "It is not our fight to stop."

"It is reckless! They could kill each other!"

"You could have died in the Trial of Long Knives, too."

That shut Nasuada up, Arya noted with smug satisfaction.

There was a certain grace to the way they fought; it was almost like a dance. They would twist fluidly around one another, landing blows with exquisite ferocity. Arya never thought she would see a man, a human nonetheless, take on a dragon and actually hold his own. Except he wasn't really human, was he? And it was then, watching the two collide in battle, that she finally understood.

She saw then exactly what Saphira had seen so immediately. It was a little question Oromis loved to ask her. "If you put a dog's mind in a cat's body, is it a dog or a cat?" A cat was a cat even if it thought it wasn't. "A cat", she would reply without hesitation, and Oromis would hive her that kind, warm smile that irritated her because he knew something she didn't.

Is a man in an elf's body a man or an elf? She thought back to Eragon and how he had chased after her in Ellesméra – and how much he had changed since then – and how he still did stupidities, such as staying behind in Helgrind.

Is a dragon in a man's body a dragon or a man? The answer was so clear now. It was both. A cat would be a cat and a dog the same way Eragon was a man and an elf, and Colin was a man and a dragon. She didn't know how that came to be, but it was the truth all the same.

"There is a certain beauty to it", Blödhgarm commented. "I cannot hope to understand a dragon's wishes, but I can't deny that somehow, there was wisdom in Saphira's choice, even if it is not one I can see."

And he doesn't even know the half of it. Arya realized she really would have to apologize to the man later – if he came out alive, that is. The thought made her feel a little sick, not for any special concern about Colin himself – the man was an asset, and a powerful one at that, but nothing more - but because the thought of owing an apology to someone heaved on her very much.

They had argued again the day before it happened, and it had been Arya's turn to say it. She didn't do it on the same night like he would – she was just so damn proud. And now she would never get the chance. She would give anything to be able to tell him she was just so, so very sorry.

On and on the fight drew. The soldiers managed to control their horses and were now openly cheering – both man and dragon. She saw money trade hands and realized they were betting. One of the elves took out his coin purse, and Arya wondered on whom he was betting on. She had no idea who would win herself.

Saphira stuck a particularly hard blow on the man, making him fall to his knees. In a irate roar, Colin threw what remained of his shield aside, using the now free hand to cast a healing spell.

"Not his best move", Blödhgarm pointed out. "The shield was still usef – Now, what is he doing?"

Colin had abandoned Saphira's flank, instead moving directly in front of her. It was a terrible idea, and Arya wondered if desperation was clouding his judgment. The dragon's front had everything he wanted to avoid – the fangs, the front claws, the fire breath. Saphira snaked her head forward and bit, but he dodged to the left at the last second. They repeated this twice, him going a little more to the left every time, but Arya knew the man's luck would eventually run out, and so would the boost he had given himself through healing.

And then he did something that made her jaw – and everyone else's – drop. Saphira bit again, a little more to the left side so as to catch him evading, but this time, Colin dodged to the right, placing him in front of the dragon's exposed head. He propelled himself forward, half jumping, half climbing up Saphira's skull in amazing nimbleness. He used his free hand to secure a hold in on of the dragon's spikes, and with the sword hand, he struck.

Arya gaped. His blade went down again and again, cutting the dragon's neck, face and sides. Sometimes, it would slide into Saphira's mouth, slicing her gums and tongue. The dragon shook herself violently, her neck swaying in every direction, but still he held on. "Yield", he snarled from the top of her head.

Saphira let out a frustrated roar, moving her head twice as hard. She tried to get him off with her front limbs, but they weren't long enough to reach her head, of course not - that's why she needed Eragon to scratch her muzzle and jaws.

Colin struck again, dangerously close to her eye, and Arya saw that, had this been a fight to the death, he would already have impaled his sword in the dragon's brains. Saphira tried fruitlessly to throw him off. "Yield!" he repeated. The dragon roared once more, bellowing flames, but the heat didn't seem to bother him. Then she stopped, head still. Not even the horses dared make a sound. Saphira's voice echoed through their minds.

"I yield. Thuri, Dovahkiin."

Colin released his grip on her head, falling to the ground. All at once, the men behind erupted into cheers, clapping their hands. The elven spellcasters bolted forward and she found herself accompanying them, rushing to the dragon's side. She halted and begun to inspect an ugly wound near Saphira's right nostril. She noticed Blödhgarm and three others working on the wing.

"Have you any serious wounds?" she asked the dragon

"Only to my pride," Saphira answered bitterly.

"That's right, don't mind me", she heard Colin whine from the spot on the ground he laid sprawled on. "I am perfectly fine."

The clopping of hooves announced Nasuada and her men had finally reached them, and she saw the Varden leader dismount and question the elves about Saphira's state of health, much to their annoyance. Arya decided the dragon was already being very well tended to, so she spotted Colin and walked to him.

She helped him up into a sitting position, and letting his sword on the ground, the man closed both his fists, making a flow of restorative light envelop him, closing his wounds. She watched as he healed, pulling energy out of a mysterious source and fixing even the most complex cuts without a word. She couldn't hold back her curiosity.

"Where is that energy coming from?" she asked

"Aetherius.", he mumbled. What was Aetherius again? She realized she never asked him.

"I would show you," he continued, "But I don't think Sovngarde is something for elven eyes to see. You could ask Carn, but I doubt he would be able to present you anything other than a very elaborate magical mess. It's not something particularly easy for the mind to discern."

She had no idea what he was talking about, or who Carn was. She shot him a confused look that was also a little pleading – she knew he was aware of something amazing, but unwilling to share it with her. He sighed.

"Ask me again some other day and I might let you take a peek in my memories. I won't show you Sovngarde, but I think there would be no harm done in giving you a feel of Auriel's bow."

She raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.

"The bow Auri-el used against Lorkhan. It channels energy from Aetherius through the Sun and has a wicked effect when combined with Sunhallowed Arrows -" he noticed her blank face, "Look, some other day, okay?"

The light on his hands flickered twice, then dimmed and extinguished itself. She noticed he wasn't fully healed yet.

"Why did you stop?"

"I ran out", he said, as if that explained everything. Her other eyebrow went up.

"I ran out," he repeated, "Of magick, magical energy, whatever you call it here."

She decided maybe some other day would indeed be better. She offered him her hand and he took it, pulling himself up with a wince – he was still severely wounded. He picked his sword from the floor and slid it back to its sheathe. Nasuada had apparently given up questioning and was standing to the side, watching strained as the elves moved from Saphira's wing to her side. Her soldiers lingered around, unsure what to do, eyes darting from Saphira to Colin in a mix of fear and admiration.

Out with it already!

"Colin." He turned to her, and she struggled, forcing the words out. "I think I owe you an apology."

"I think so, too. In fact, you owe me many. What are we talking about here? The inkwell you hit me with today?"

He wasn't going to make it any easier, was he? She grit her teeth. Do it. You might not have another chance. A sharp agony cut her chest, but she forced it down.

"I think I misjudged you. I drew conclusions simply because you named yourself Dragon Hunter, and now I know it is… different from what I imagined. You must understand, though, why I reacted that way. Try to see it from my point of view -"

"Ah-ah. No excuses. I didn't see you through my point of view, even though in my world, elves are supremacists who torture people for fun and would enslave all races of men again, if given the opportunity. I gave you a chance even though every elf here has a little ring that screams Dragon Priest and your stuck up attitude reminds me of the Thalmor."

She had no words to counter that, because in the end, she knew she was the one wrong. She had forgotten his world had different standards, too, and by the looks of it, very different ones. It was damn hard to admit it, though.

"Fine!" she snapped. "You are right! I am sorry! Happy now?!"

He chuckled. "Apology accepted. Come on, Fahliil-Kulaas, let's have a drink."

"I don't drink", she replied. It was a half truth – she did drink, just not the Varden's brew, for no special reason other than it tasted horrible.

"You don't have to. But I want a drink and I need you to use your influence as Kulaas to convince the kitchen workers to hand me in some. Plus, I am out of coin."

"I wouldn't mind paying you a drink", a soldier who had overhead them commented. Others mumbled in agreement. Of course they wouldn't mind paying the man who had beaten a dragon a drink, especially if they had placed bets on said man and won.

"Ah, I thank you very much", Colin replied, "But I wanted to have a drink – with the lady." He gave them a suggestive little smile and the soldiers whispered in approval. She suddenly wanted to strangle him. She growled, making him chuckle again.

A loud rumbling from Saphira caught their attention and they turned to see her giving one of the elves the evil eye. The elf shot her an apologetic look and resumed mending. Arya noted Saphira had a particular sullen look. Colin apparently saw it as well, because he frowned.

"Dovah. Stop looking so glum. It offends me."

What?! He surely does have a way with words, Arya thought sarcastically.

"How can I not feel glum when I have been bested by one less than half my size?" Saphira snapped. No one else seemed to hear, so she guessed the dragon had spoken to them only. The reply earned an irate snarl from Colin.

"Dovah," he said, dangerously, "I have slain countless unnamed dragons, from Normal to Frost, from Blood to Elder, from Ancient to Revered to Legendary. I have slain Mirmulnir and Sahloknir. I have slain Vuljotnaak and Vulthuryol. I have slain the twins Naaslaarum and Voslaarum, at the same time."

His voice dropped to a low whisper. "Alduin, feyn do jun, mah wah dii Thu'um." Whatever that meant, it made Saphira's eyes go wide. He raised his tone then, "But by the Nine, Dovah, if even so you deem me unworthy, maybe you should take your complaints to the World-Eater himself!"

He breathed in, letting Saphira think about it, then spoke again, with a softer tone this time.

"You are but a few years of age, and yet you gave me more trouble than some Dov that aged at least millennia. So stop looking so glum. It offends me."

"Geh, Thuri."

"Pruzah." He turned to Arya. "Come, I really need that drink, Fahliil-Kulaas."

And I really need to finish my report. I suppose the queen will want to hear about all this, Arya thought, but followed him anyway. His narrowed eyes darted around the area, stopping on Nasuada, whom currently had her back to them, then on the nearest soldier.

"You," he whispered quietly to the man, "Hand me your helmet." The soldier shot him a puzzled look.

"Nasuada will talk my ear off, and I just want to have a drink", he explained. Grinning, the man removed his headgear and handed it over. Colin put on the helmet, partly hiding his face, and together they sneaked out of the battlegrounds and back to the camp. When they were far enough, he removed the head covering, shaking his hair off his face.

"Fahliil-Kulaas", he said wonderingly, "That's a mouthful, don't you think? I need something else to call you."

"How about my name?" she suggested, "Arya is only four letters."

"You know, that is not really a bad idea," he mused.

She rolled her eyes.

"Better than Ser Stoic, anyway."

What?

Her thoughts were interrupted by their arrival on the kitchens. He walked to the balcony and asked for a mug of mead, which was promptly denied on the basis that it was not included in the soldier's rations.

He pointed at Arya with his thumb, a triumphant smirk on his face. "I'm with her", he stated. She just nodded wearily. "Of course, Ambassador", the man replied, then rushed inside and back, carrying two flagons. Colin picked them up and took a seat on a nearby table, placing a mug in front of himself and the other on the empty seat, which he beckoned her to take.

She sat down and he raised his cup. Maybe I should warn him. He chugged a long gulp and immediately choked, his eyes bulging out.

"Nine and Seventeen, that's awful!" he coughed out in surprise, and then his face changed to a suspicious expression. "You knew, didn't you?"

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. He scowled, then drained the rest of his cup, and asked for another, despite the flavor. She had to admit the man had quite the stomach.

"So, what's your burden?" he said suddenly, once his mug had been refilled.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked

"Your burden. If you got any gloomier, you would have your own particular raining cloud over your head. What's weighting you down? "

She glowered at his prodding. "You have no idea what you are talking about."

"Hence the questioning", he replied smugly.

"It is none of your business."

"Nor is the rebels' issue with the king, but I'm helping anyway, aren't I?"

When you aren't challenging our local dragon.

"We are at war, Colin. It tends to weight people down."

He shook his head at her. "This isn't going to work if it is one sided. I've answered all your questions, haven't I? It's your turn now."

"People die. I kill people. I don't like it, only a madman would. Our chances of winning are slim. It is normal to be gloomy in this situation."

He drained his cup again. "Yes. It will chase you at night, the faces of those who went down through your blade. When you lay down, you'll fear defeat and its consequences. But what haunts in the dark does not haunt in the day. Something different troubles you – guilt? Regret?"

He stopped, looking at the now empty mug thoughtfully. "It has to do with the man, hasn't it? The one you fancy."

He was smart, Arya realized with surprise. Unlike Eragon, he had picked up the little signals and put them together. Not that Eragon was dumb, no, but he could be just so oblivious sometimes, particularly when it came down to her and her feelings. She remembered his fairth – the young rider had built an idealized image of her that he seemed unable to let go of.

Colin was different; he was sharp, he was perceptive. He seemed to see right through her mask, and she now realized his teasing went beyond just annoying her. He got under her skin and while he did, he whisked out information, reading her reactions – or lack of reactions – as one might read a book. He baited what he wanted to know out of her and she usually bit it.

"You are not half as dumb as you seem", she said, because he did seem dumb on first impression - he acted like an infatuated teen. She realized he had the makings of a great spy.

"I'll take that as a compliment", he replied.

"It's a fact. Are you a spy?"

"Haven't we gone through this already? I'm on your side." He said irritated.

"I know you are not spying for anyone. But, are you a spy?"

He considered her question. "It depends. I am a thief, and information is one of the things I steal. Journals, military reports, I can get those. And standing in the dark overhearing private conversations, I can do that, too."

The man in the balcony filled his mug again. Arya's hands inched towards her own, and she began to fiddle with it.

"But the whole pretending to be something I'm not, I don't do that. I'm not a schemer; I just don't have it in me."

She nodded. "You have a way with words. You trap people with them."

"It's unintentional, mostly. But you are dodging my question. What happened between you and the man?"

She drained her own mug, the already warm liquid tasting even worse than usual. It left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, and she made a displeased face.

"Faölin. That's his name." She wouldn't have Colin calling him "the man".

"Faölin", he repeated. "What happened?"

"We… had an argument. I had the chance to apologize, but I didn't. I regret it now."

It was so silly. She knew Faölin would have forgiven her if he were alive, she was sure. It wasn't even a real argument, just their usual bickering. But he had died, and she hadn't apologized, and the guilt was gnawing at her inside. She missed him so much.

For a long while, Colin said nothing. He seemed to be having an argument with himself, uneasily twiddling his thumbs. In an occasion, she would swear she heard him whisper to exasperatedly to himself, "But I just fought a dragon!". Arya watched him curiously.

"Ah, screw it," he said, slamming his tankard on the table, a look of renewed determination on his face. "Do you want to? Do you want to tell him you are sorry?"

Either he wasn't as smart as she had thought or he was just being cruel.

"He's dead, Colin." She said icily.

"That's not what I asked."

Was he offering her some sort of religious compensation? She would slam her mug in his face if he was.

"Of course I do. Didn't I just say I regret not doing it?"

"And if you had a chance, would you?"

"Where are you trying to get with this, Colin?"

"I'm assuming he was like you – he didn't believe in any god?"

So it was a religious compensation. Arya felt a pang of disappointment. For a moment, she had almost hoped –What? Talking to the dead? She mentally chided herself.

"It is not usual for elves to", she stated simply.

"A not commended soul, roaming amongst the infinite realms of Oblivion and Aetherius," he said, his tone neutral. "You'd have to be an amazing tracker to find it. An amazing Huntsman."

He got up abruptly. "Luckily, it's a full moon tonight. Well, I supposed it's settled then. Meet me on those woods near where I fought Saphira, tonight, at midnight."

She rose too, staring at him seriously. "What are you taking about?"

He winked at her.

"It turns out you'll get what you wish twice over. You'll meet your friend. And you'll meet the god who can find him. And I'll get in trouble again, but that can't be helped."

"Midnight, Princess!", he called out, before running out of the door and leaving her staring.

Arya threw a coin to the man in the counter. She stepped out of the kitchen pavilion to see it was already sunset. Colin's proposition was ridiculos. It was impossible, and more likely than not, she'd waste her time. Every sensible bone in her body told her to ignore him and get a good night's rest. The very idea of going was absurd.

And of course she would go.

On the way to her tent, Arya sighed. If I hurry, I might be able to finish my report.

---

*Dodges flying tomatoes*

It turns out I did manage to squeeze a chapter in, hooray me!

I am not a hundred per cent sure, but I believe it was Classy Cynic's suggestion that I did a take on Arya's point of view. As you guys may or may not remember, I was struggling quite a lot with writing her.

This helped me get to know the character better, though it was quite a pain to write, precisely because I didn't know the character well. And in the end she came out like that : usually grumpy, slightly OCD, a fierce skeptical, but mostly, someone very pained by the loss of two close friends.

It was also fun to write Colin through her eyes, because I had to not only think what he would do, but also what would she think of it.

Since it's something entirely new I'm trying, I'd be very happy if you guys could give me your honest opinions. Like it? Hate it? Should I try something like this again or stuff it in the closet and pretend it never happened? And mostly, did I get everyone in character?

I've sort of assumed you guys prefer longer chapters to shorter ones, and I certainly hope I'm right because this was the longest one yet.

On a side note, I'm celebrating reaching the 100th review and over nine thousand (It's over 9000!) views, and I would just like to say I love you all and you rock. Special thanks for ShadowedFang for beta-ing!

Thanks for reading!