Chapter 11: Fracturing Minds

Pain… immeasurable pain… longing… shackled wrists… thirst…

Leering men… agony… whips that came in contact with his flesh, each like a lick of flame…. Knives, so many knives…

And a dark person who would enter the chamber, always saying things. Watching over the proceedings without remorse, yet without the slightest sign of enjoyment. Saying how disappointed he was, saying how he could be so much better.

But he only wanted the pain to end.

Eragon slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the strong light filtering through the fabric of the tent. He groaned softly and lowered his eyelids again, returning to that calming, cool darkness.

He had dreamed about something, something he was sure that had scared him beyond his imagination. Something about pain. A pain that he had not felt ever in his life, nor one that he was likely to feel in his future. Yet no matter his efforts, he could not succeed in recalling the blurred images. Only a haunting voice remained, drifting about his ears but never letting him hear for sure what it said.

Groaning, he coughed lightly and settled into a more comfortable position in his bed. The bed was clearly not his; the sheets were made of the finest silk, pillows filled with swan feathers. Had something happened? Why was he here? Why was his mouth filled with the taste of blood? And why was there a piece of cloth covering his right eye?

Shaking his head in order to clear it, he looked towards his left hand and an odd feeling struck him. He was sure that he had severed it—

Eyes widening, he sat bolt upright from his bed. "Murtagh!" he gasped.

A figure in the corner of the tent jumped, startled by his sudden movement. Turning around from the bandages she was washing, Trianna looked towards him with a shocked look.

The two of them stared at each other, both speechless, for a few moments before the sorceress finally broke the silence.

"You're… awake?" she spluttered. "From the wounds you received, I would not have been surprised if you remained sleeping until next month!"

"Murtagh." He breathed. "Where is Murtagh? What happened after I fell? How is Arya? Saphira?"

Trianna rushed over to his side. "Argetlam—"

"Answer my questions, sorceress." He said through gritted teeth. "They are of utmost importance."

The spellcaster curtsied, and stepped back. "As you wish, Argetlam." Smoothing out the folds in her dress, she started her report, her words clear and precise.

"The red rider retreated after you fell, as did his dragon, Thorn. They left in the direction of Uru'baen, where the Council and Nasuada assume they have returned to. Belatona's walls have yet been breached, and the commanders have sounded a temporary retreat to the south. Saphira, having been injured in the battle, is now being tended to by the elven magicians in the eastern parts of the camp. She is expected to make a swift recovery, as no wounds were fatal. I do not know the whereabouts of the elven ambassador, but from what I have heard is that she is alive and well."

Sighing in relief, Eragon sank down in his bed, his main worries leaving him like windblown mist. They were alive. Though not unharmed, they were alive.

Trianna placed the cloths back into the basin. "Argetlam, you need rest. Your battle with the red rider has cost you greatly, and it is a miracle in itself that you were able to wake so early."

Eragon touched the numerous strips of white cloth that were wrapped all over his body, wincing as he did so. Though covered with bandages, he could tell that the wound on his stomach where Murtagh had stabbed him was almost entirely mended, though there was a long way until it would be completely healed. Where the other minor wounds had been were now only patches of raw skin.

Frowning, he touched the bandage that was bound around his head. "I do not remember having a injury in this area. Why is this here?"

"Blood was seeping out from the edges of your right eye. It has stopped, but the healers bound it there as a precaution." Trianna seemed to be deep in thought. "But it is of no concern. There were plenty more wounds harsher than that, and the magicians managed to repair them to some degree. They spent more than a day on the hand itself."

Eragon nodded as he looked over his body. "How long have I been laying here?" he stretched his cloth-wrapped arms, testing them. His left hand was still unresponsive, and would only twitch weakly when he tried to move his fingers. Along with it came a strange dullness mixed with a burning pain.

"Two days, Argetlam." She stood up from where she was sitting, and walked over to his bed. "That witch Angela had said something about how unnaturally fast your recovery was when she examined the wounds, but I did not think that—"

Eragon's eyes widened. "Two days? How… in such a short time…?"

Trianna shook her head. "I do not know." Walking to a nearby table, she picked up a pitcher of water and poured the water into a mug. She handed it to Eragon.

"Here, drink. I do not even want to think about how much blood you lost with that act of yours. Few people get themselves pierced with a rider's blade and live to tell the tale."

Eragon took the mug, trying to conceal his wariness he had for the spellcaster. Ever since the time in Tronjheim, he always had qualms about trusting her; even when she proved to be an adept fighter in battles with the Empire. And among the people in the Varden he suspected was Blodhgarm's killer, Trianna was one of them.

Trianna laughed, seeing his hesitation.

"It is not poisoned. Trust me." She said in the ancient language. "Besides, what good would it do if I killed you? The Varden would be crushed like a dry twig under the King's might, and all my hard work would be for naught."

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "You could present my head to Galbatorix."

The sorceress chortled. "And be offered a place in his court? Three days after he seemingly 'rewarded' me, I would find myself in the deepest gutter in Uru'baen, flesh rotting beyond recognition and very much dead. His majesty has had a distrust of traitors ever since he created the Wyrdfell. If that were not the case, I would have found a way to kill you as soon as I could."

Amazed at the spellcaster's directness, Eragon couldn't help but laugh. "You would?"

Trianna smirked. "I work only for myself. That is mainly why I chose to be in the Varden; it is more of a gamble, and therefore both the risks and the rewards are much higher. If the Varden won this war, we of the Du Vrangr Gata would be awarded with gold and glory. If I worked in the Black Hand, Galbatorix would probably find an excuse to kill us all, as he has no use for spellcasters if there is no battle to be fought."

"Should I be frightened by what you have just said, or glad?" The rider sipped the water, deciding to trust her.

The sorceress shrugged. "Take it in any way you will. This trait of mine has been the reason behind almost everything I had ever done. From joining the Varden, lying and manipulating along the way… to that attempt to seduce you in the dragonhold. I tell you this now mainly because there is no reason not to, and because there is no harm in it."

"So you admit to doing that the first day we met?" Eragon grinned despite the pain and laid down his head on the pillow. "And why do you think there is no harm? You could have continued your effort in trying to charm me."

A sly smile appeared on Trianna's face. "Oh? And you would fall for me when you already have someone you would die for, one that could make you cast your life away in an instant? I think not, Argetlam." Leaning over, she whispered into his ear. "You are so young, and so pure. I would love to play with your heart, but it seems that it is already taken."

A shade of red appeared on Eragon's face and he growled, pushing the sorceress away from him as he lifted himself out of his bed. "Do not jest of such things, sorceress."

Trianna noticed what Eragon was attempting. "Argetlam, though your wounds have healed on the exterior, in truth your body is still very weak. You need rest—"

"My body is something that I have the most knowledge of. I know my limits." With a grunt, he stood up on his unsteady legs and stumbled out of the tent, paying no heed to the protesting sorceress.

"Argetlam—"

Eragon turned around and sighed. "Trianna, I can survive this little stroll. Trust me on th--"

"Eragon! You're awake!" cried a voice. Turning around, Eragon saw his cousin running towards him, arm in a sling.

"Once again, you've displayed your remarkable talent at surviving from fatal blows." Roran slapped his shoulder gently with his good arm, careful not to touch any healing injuries. "Do you know how worried we were when we saw you there, eye closed, hand-less and blood pooling on the ground? I had to convince Katrina for half a day until she would believe that you wouldn't die. And even I had my doubts."

The rider smiled wanly. "A Shur'tugal would not die that easily. Though I must admit, even I am surprised that I am still standing."

"We all are." Roran let out a breath and stared out to the city walls of Belatona. "And because of this, don't you ever do such a thing again."

"Roran—"

His cousin continued to look towards the city. "Dying is simple, Eragon. One swift sword stroke is enough to send even to most hardened man into the afterlife, where feelings are numbed and nothingness awaits. But for friends and family left behind? Endless anguish and misery. Remember that before leaping before a sword."

Eragon ran a hand through his hair. "Roran...I—"

A cool voice interrupted him. The cold voice that drew him near, had attracted him ever since he had heard it. Like soft notes from a silver bell.

"Stronghammer is correct in many aspects, but not all. Eragon, please come with me." Slim fingers wrapped around his wrist and before he knew it, he was being pulled slowly along the twisting paths between the numerous tents. The scent of pine needles was strong, and he knew who it was without looking.

"Ary—"

"Not now, Shur'tugal." She answered, moving within the flow of soldiers with fluid grace. Eragon frowned and held his tongue; Arya had seldom called him by his position. And her voice seemed to be filled with emotions that Eragon could not name.

At last, they arrived at a small tent that was on the very edge of the Varden camps. Leading him inside, Arya lit a candle and turned around to face him.

"You shouldn't have done so." Her words were straightforward and direct.

Eragon could feel her anger and her frustration. He had been expecting it, ever since the elf had grabbed his hand. As his ebrithil, she had told him similar things time and time again, but he never really obeyed her words.

The rider looked back into her emerald eyes. "Why shouldn't I have?"

"It was exceedingly foolish. What would have happened if you had lost your life under Morzan's crimson blade? What would have happened to the Varden, to the Dwarves, to Surda? What we had done, what we had strived for would have vanished in an instant. People would die by the thousands. That is why you shouldn't have."

"And let you be killed instead? If I hadn't acted—"

"Life is meaningless to those who cast their body and life entirely into war. And as I know that I am not a leader as strong or decisive as my mother, my death would aid the war if it ever came to be; all of Du Weldenvarden would be out for Galbatorix's head, and the Queen of the Elves would thirst for revenge. However, if you had died, the spark of fire that has been our hope would have extinguished completely. There would be no chance for—"

"Stop it." Eragon muttered. Arya raised a slanted eyebrow.

"You speak of your life as if it wasn't yours, Arya. And you refer to it as if it was something like coins or gold, a blade or an arrow. Must everything be seen in this way?"

"In war, this is the only way things must be seen. With unclouded judgment and a clear mind. In battle, every one of us is a weapon. It would do best if all warriors knew their place."

"Things do not have to be this complex, Arya!" Eragon started to pace around in the tent. "What reason is needed to save a woman?"

"I am not—"

"You are stronger than me in any way, Arya, and I know that. But there are times when you cannot fight alone. I did not do it because I thought you needed my help, but because it was what's right." Eragon turned away and started to walk out of the tent. "That is what I think. And since you would not agree no matter what I do, I'd rather end this discussion now."

"…Eragon." For the first time, the rider sensed uncertainty in the elf's voice.

He halted his steps. "Yes?"

"I may disagree with you on what you had chosen to do, but it does not mean that I am not grateful." Arya's voice seemed much more weak and quiet in comparison to before. "For what you did… I give you my thanks. I owe you a debt once more."

There was a silence.

"It was nothing." He answered, just as quietly. He stepped out of the tent and went to find Saphira.

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So effing tired… and my eyes are so sore…

Hope you enjoyed this. I didn't really know how to fit the things around, so it may be a little weird in some parts.

Please review, and give me some much needed advice.

P.S. Oh, and to those who asked: Unless a crazy idea of some sort strikes me, this fic is most probably going to be Eragon x Arya.