Hello again everyone! Chapter ten is up! I'm going to keep this note short so you can all get onto reading! I do not own Eragon. Happy reading and reviewing everyone! R&R!
The healing chambers within Farthen Dûr were bustling with activity. Eragon was pushed from side to side as he assisted his servants in healing the injured soldiers. He had slept only a few hours since the battle of Farthen Dûr. His body ached with the overuse of magic and the lack of rest and food. Desdemona had nearly gone mad when she saw his state, offering to give him her portion of food. He had adamantly refused.
It was during one of his breaks to eat a meager loaf of bread that a messenger ran up to him. Eragon turned to glance at the man, to see him freeze in fear. I must look frightening, Eragon thought. The purple bags under his eyes could not be doing him good, as he had not slept properly for two days. Desdemona turned to the man with a haughty gaze. "What is it?"
"Angela requests the presence of Eragon Shadeslayer," he stammered, "as the dragon Rider Murtagh has awakened."
He nodded with a sigh, finishing the bread. He stood, to his servants' dismay. "But my lord, you need to rest!" exclaimed Finny. Bard fervently nodded in agreement.
"I'll be fine." He handed his helm to Desdemona. "Hold onto it for me, Desdemona. I don't feel like carrying it around." She nodded with worried eyes. He hoped that this would be a simple event. With his lack of sleep, his temperament was dangerously higher than usual.
As he walked down the hallways and tunnels, he tried to stifle a yawn. Eragon did not even realize when he had arrived at Murtagh's room until he had stared for a great deal of time at the wooden maple door. With a tired sigh, he pushed it open. Stepping into the room, he blinked to adjust his eyes to the bright candlelight.
Five people were arranged around Murtagh; three were sitting on the bed, Arya and Rosalie were standing. Angela was knitting comfortably, with what seemed like dried bones, while his mother and Brom spoke to Murtagh, who was propped up on his pillow in bed. They all turned to stare at him once he entered the small room. A look of horror immediately formed on Rosalie's face as she took in the sight of him. "My lord!" she exclaimed, her hands flying to her mouth. "Have you gotten any rest of late?"
"I will be fine." He answered. It did not go unnoticed by him that Arya had a bandage wrapped around her arm. She must have been cut while helping the Varden find the Urgals in the tunnels. He turned his gaze to Angela. "You called for me?"
"I just thought you might like to hear that your brother lives," the witch said, flashing him a smile. "I've heard you've been quite busy, saving lives and healing wounds."
He sighed, feeling his temper flare. If she called him here just for that . . . "Eragon, dear, why don't you go and lie down for a few hours, I'm sure Desdemona and the others can handle the rest from now on," his mother said, rising to her feet to come over and study his tired features. He could see Brom right over her head, staring at him in concern, and it made his gut twist. He did not want to be here, taking part in a tender family meeting.
"Then I'll go now." He turned to leave, but another voice called for him. He felt his body tense and become as rigid as a brick, as he slowly rotated to stare at the young man on the bed, their eyes meeting. "Yes?"
"I wanted to thank you," Murtagh said, sitting straighter on his bed, "for saving me from Durza."
There was a moments silence as everyone glanced at the pair, as if waiting for something tragic to happen. He did not relax, but did not feel the need to ignore such a statement. Finally, he said, "Another debt you owe me."
His mother seemed to burst with happiness as she embraced him, murmuring about how sweet he was. Was that even sweet? He thought as she pulled away after affectionately kissing his cheek. Brom looked as relieved as his half-brother. His family was beyond the need of help. A mother who loved a man who had killed the father of her eldest son, her youngest son who hated her lover, his father, for abandoning him and resented his older brother just for living a simple yet happy life, and the half-brother and lover who had but recently learned of the youngest son's existence. How complicated could a family become?
"If that's all, I will take my leave." He left the room, knowing his mother was right. He needed to rest. He would accomplish nothing if he went around half-dead. There was only one place that he knew no one would be at the moment.
Taking a step through the quiet library, Eragon searched for a dark corner in case someone might walk in on his slumber. When he found a spot hidden behind a rather large bookshelf, he settled against the wall. His eyelids closed of their own accord. His sleep was peaceful, a blank void in time in which no dreams came to him.
At some point after that, Eragon was rudely awakened by someone. Tiredly opening his eyes, he found himself staring up at Arya's petite figure as she flipped through a large volume. He sighed, not moving from where he sat. Why is it that we always seem to bump into one another? Not that he minded. "Sleeping in such a position looks uncomfortable," she said, without glancing up from her book.
"Unfortunately, this is the only place that I had thought would be empty, due to the fact that there was a recent battle." Moving to his feet, he tiredly rolled his shoulders, twisting his back from side to side, satisfied when he heard a crack from his bones. "I see now that I was wrong. How is Murtagh?"
"Durza opened an old wound on his back; given to him by his father when he was a child. He has a disability to contend with now," Arya explained, her fingers deftly flipping the pages. He frowned. Arya turned her large green eyes towards him. "Your servants have been looking for you."
"How long have I been asleep?"
"Since I last saw you; which was two days ago." She said. He inwardly groaned, he had been tired enough to sleep two entire days. "Ajihad is returning from searching for Urgals. He wishes for you to be there when he returns."
"Where shall he be arriving?" asked Eragon, watching as she closed the book shut, placing it back on the shelf.
"Tronjheim's west gate." With that, she slid between the shadows of the bookshelves like darkness itself. Eragon followed. Eragon had seen Ajihad before he left to hunt the Urgals. At the time he had raged at his daughter, Nasuada, for disobeying him. He had to admit, she was fearless. Refusing to obey her father's wishes to leave with the other women and children, she had instead fought among the Varden's archers.
As Eragon and Arya rounded Tronjheim, a small group became visible in the pool of lantern light before the timber gate. Among them were the three dragons, Orik — the dwarf shifting impatiently on his stout legs — and Murtagh. Even from far away, his half-brother appeared far more tired than before.
Arya had destroyed the Star Sapphire, allowing Eragon to save Murtagh's life and kill the Shade. Even with such an accomplishment, the dwarves were furious with her for destroying their most prized treasure. They refused to move the great gem's fragments; leaving them in a huge circle inside Tronjheim's central chamber. Pedestrians had to carefully traverse the splintered wreckage.
He and Arya came to a stop by their dragons. Saphira immediately went to nudge Eragon with her snout. You seem in a better state after resting, little one, said Saphira tenderly.
Wouldn't anyone? He replied as he looked out into the empty land that surrounded Tronjheim, extending to Farthen Dûr's base, five miles in each direction. "Where will Ajihad come from?"
Arya pointed at a cluster of lantern stakes around a large tunnel opening a couple of miles away. "He should be here soon."
Eragon waited patiently with the others. Though he answered comments directed at him, he preferred to speak with Saphira in the peace of his mind. Half an hour passed before motion flickered in the distant tunnel. A group of ten men climbed out the ground, then turned and helped up as many dwarves. Ajihad, Eragon saw, raised a hand, and the warriors assembled behind him in two straight lines. At a signal, the formation marched proudly toward Tronjheim.
His eyes focused on the tunnel as they marched. Something did not seem right. Saphira seemed to sense it as well, for as he climbed onto her, she instantly took flight, flying for the tunnel. The assembly had only marched more than five yards, before the opening swarmed with life, and more figures jumped out.
Those are Urgals! Exclaimed Saphira.
"Behind you!" Eragon shouted, reaching for his magic as Saphira opened her jaws to let out a jet of crackling fire. He watched as the Urgals began to cut down the warriors with ease; surprise working to their advantage. The moment Saphira touched the ground, Eragon vaulted off, withdrawing his sword to cut down a group of Urgals. Arya and Murtagh — who arrived later — went to tend to Ajihad, where he lay on the ground.
When only one Urgal remained, Eragon grabbed him by the horns and threw him to the ground, his right foot coming to rest on the Urgal's head. Before he could crush it out of anger, the Urgal spoke in its thick, guttural accent. "A message from Galbatorix: this is what happens when you ally yourself with the wrong side, Gabranth."
A flash of surprise surged through him before he pushed his foot down, the sound of bones cracking reaching his ears. He would have to polish his metal boots clean later. In the center of the massacre laid Ajihad, with Arya and Murtagh by his side. When he approached, he felt his lips twitch downwards as he saw that the leader of the Varden was dead. The price for victory was high. Arya, Eragon, Murtagh and their dragons, accompanied Jörmundur and the warriors, bearing Ajihad's body on their shields. The procession back to Tronjheim was a solemn affair, with not a word spoken as each person came to terms with the consequences of Ajihad's death. Afterwards, Orik left to give King Hrothgar the sad tidings.
By the next day, it was apparent the news of Ajihad's death had spread far and wide. As Eragon and Saphira made their way to the nearest kitchen, people stopped and bowed, murmuring "Argetlam" or "Shadeslayer", but they seemed hallowed and saddened. Some dwarves made the motions, though not as often. They, on the whole, did not seem as affected by Ajihad's death. The haunted and somber expressions on the humans' faces did little to unnerve him, but he could share some of their sorrow. In the little time he had been with the Varden, he had come to respect Ajihad for the strong leader that he was.
As he was eating a warm bowl of vegetable stew, a pale-looking youth came to a stop by the side of the table. The boy eyed Saphira like he was afraid she would try to eat him. "What is it?" asked Eragon, not unkindly.
The boy started, flustered, then bowed. "You have been summoned, Argetlam, to speak before the Council of Elders."
Council of Elders? Eragon thought. There were such councils within the Varden? "Are you to lead me to them?"
"Yes, I am."
He stood, motioning for the boy to lead the way. As they walked, the boy admired his swords with bright eyes. He looked down shyly when Eragon caught his gaze.
"What are you called?" asked Eragon.
"Jarsha, sir."
"You have performed your duties well, Jarsha, you should be proud." Jarsha beamed and bounced forward. Eragon may rarely give praise, but he never declined the chance to see a child happy.
They reached a convex stone door, which Jarsha pushed open. The room inside was circular, with a sky-blue dome decorated with constellations. A round marble table, inlaid with the crest of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum—an upright hammer ringed by twelve stars—stood in the center of the chamber. Seated there were Jörmundur and two other men, one tall and one broad; a woman with pinched lips, close-set eyes, and elaborately painted cheeks; and a second woman with an immense pile of gray hair above a matronly face, and a dagger hilt peeking out of the vast hills of her bodice.
"You may go," Jörmundur said to Jarsha, who quickly bowed and left.
Ignoring their stares, Eragon seated himself in the middle of the swath of empty chairs, so that the council had to turn in their seats in order to look at him. Saphira hunkered directly behind him; he could feel her hot breath on the top of his head.
Jörmundur got halfway up and made a slight bow, then reseated himself. "Thank you for coming, Eragon. This is Umérth," he indicated the tall man; "Falberd," the broad one, "and Sabrae and Elessari."
"And what is it that you need of me? With Ajihad's funeral, I would've thought you would be too busy to call for me," Eragon said, his face impassive. When dealing with politics and power, it was always best for the other party to be unsure of what you were thinking.
Jörmundur nodded, "We face a crisis that must be dealt with swiftly and effectively. If we don't choose Ajihad's successor, someone else will. Hrothgar has already contacted us to convey his condolences. While he was more than courteous, he is sure to be forming his own plans even as we speak. We must also consider Du Vrangr Gata, the magic users. Most of them are loyal to the Varden, but it is difficult to predict their actions at best of times. They might decide to oppose our authority for their own advantages. That is why we need your assistance, Eragon, to provide the legitimacy required by whoever is to take Ajihad's place."
Falberd heaved himself up, planting his meaty hands on the table. "The five of us have already decided who to support. There is no doubt among us that it is the right person. But," he raised a thick finer, "before we reveal who it is, you must give us your word of honor that whether you agree or disagree with us, nothing of our discussion will leave this room."
He inwardly grinned. They had forgotten about Saphira, she could tell anyone she wished even if he did give them his word. Many overlooked the intelligence of the dragons. "You have my word. Now, who do you want to lead the Varden?"
"Nasuada."
Instantly, he had understood why. She was young and most likely inexperienced, he assumed. A puppet for the council to control. He did not show his distaste. A grab for power. He had seen it happen many times in the Empire, nobles plotting and scheming to bring their titles above others'.
Even so, Nasuada has steel in her. She proved that when she fought amongst the Varden's numbers, observed Saphira. She would be like her father.
One can only hope that Ajihad was prepared for this to happen.
"I will not question why you have chosen Nasuada, but why must I be told beforehand?" asked Eragon, willing for them to state their true intentions.
"Ajihad's funeral will be held in two days," broke in Umérth. "Directly afterward, we plan to appoint Nasuada as our new leader. We have yet to ask her, but she will surely agree. We want you to be present at the appointing — so no one, not even Hrothgar, will complain about it. We also need you to swear fealty to the Varden during the event. That will give back the confidence Ajihad's death has stolen from the people, and prevent anyone from trying to splinter this organization."
Fealty.
Saphira quickly spoke to him. Notice, they do not want you to swear fealty to Nasuada—just the Varden.
They must think we are fools, Eragon thought somewhat amused at their situation. Their grab for power is so obvious; they should just say it outright. But. . . .
"And why should I?" Eragon asked, watching in satisfaction as the council began to move uneasily in their seats. "There are but two other Riders who can give you their fealty. Arya and Murtagh. Perhaps not Arya, but Murtagh can offer you his services, and yet you choose me. Is there any particular reason for your doing so?"
"Because you've brought the Varden victory, the people will be overjoyed to see their hero devote himself to their cause," Falberd said. Lies. It was only because he had slain Durza, if he had not they would have surely chosen Murtagh. And Arya was out of the question, for the only loyalty she truly had lay with her queen.
After a long moment, Eragon nodded. "Very well, I shall attend Nasuada's appointment."
To their amusement, the council seemed to ripple with relief. They are afraid of us, Saphira said. He nodded. As they should be. Jörmundur immediately called Jarsha to bring Arya, Murtagh, and Nasuada to the chamber. As they waited, no one spoke, seeming uncomfortable in Eragon's presence. When Jarsha returned, the three entered, Murtagh and Nasuada taking a seat by the table while she stood a distance away. He could understand why, he disliked being close to such people as well.
Falberd immediately explained to them the reason for calling the three of them and Eragon watched as Nasuada and in turn Arya had agreed to Nasuada's appointment. Then condolences were spoken — Something he did not take part in, which earned an angry look from Sabrae, though she quickly turned away when his eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance. When they were done, he was glad to leave, only to be stopped as Nasuada called out to him as he rose from his chair.
Eragon reseated himself and waited for the door to close. He turned to the young woman with a raised eyebrow. She wore a gown of the deepest shade of black, deeper even than her skin, broken by the royal purple sash that stretched from her shoulder to her hip. "This is the first we've met, Rider. You haven't greeted me before, have I offended you?"
"No, Nasuada. Circumstances has forced me to keep quiet in the presence of others. You should understand this, since we are both players in this particular game of politics." Knowing that someone could be listening in on them, he delved into his magic and warded the room off from listeners. "Atra nosu waíse vardo fra eld hórnya. There, now we can speak freely without being overheard."
Nasuada's posture softened. "Thank you, Eragon. You don't know what a gift that is." Her words were stronger and more self-assured than before.
He stared at her, curious. "You are well aware of what the council plans, are you not?"
"I am," she said, black eyes gleaming. "But I will not make the task easy for them."
He smirked. She was made of steel, no doubt. Give her your fealty, Eragon. I trust her more than those wretched fools, Saphira said. He nodded and stood, drawing his blade as he did so. For a leader to rule over their subjects, they needed a position of power. Offering his fealty to Nasuada would ensure her authority could not be challenged. He saw fear flash in her eyes as he approached; her gaze darting toward the door. She slipped her hand into the folds of her dress and grasped something that he assumed was a dagger. Eragon stopped before her and knelt, his blade flat in his hand.
"Nasuada, Saphira and I have been here but a few days, but in that short amount of time, I came to respect Ajihad — and in turn, you. You fought in Farthen Dûr when others fled, including the two women of the council. I trust you to rule the Varden like your father has done before you and therefore offer you my blade . . . and my fealty as a Rider."
Surprise flitted across Nasuada's face. She gripped his blade—staring at the clear silver metal that held a deadly air about it—than placed the tip on Eragon's head. "I do accept your fealty with honor, Rider, as you accept all responsibilities accompanying the station. Rise as my vassal and take your sword."
He did, letting a smirk travel his lips as he sheathed his sword. "As my liege lord, I can tell you openly that the council had intended for me to swear fealty to the Varden."
Nasuada laughed with genuine delight. "It seems that you are a formidable person, Eragon. It is a pleasant idea to have someone as intellectual and powerful as you as my vassal." She smiled, her teeth flashing. "I may not know you well, but I can see that this game shall turn out very interesting with you as a player."
"I shall serve you honorably," Eragon said, as he bowed to her slightly. He had not intended to swear fealty to anyone, but he trusted Nasuada more than he trusted the Council. And as he stared at the new leader-to-be, he had to agree with her, this would be a most interesting game indeed.
Opinions everyone? I know the last part seemed rushed but it was too tedious to type out. This chapter doesn't have anything real good but the next one will be where Arya gets mad. Hehe...I have that scene planned out to perfection (hopefully). But please review; I'll like to hear what you all think of the story so far.