Hey Everyone! I am so pleased with the reviews I have received on this story! The encouragement has been very helpful.
This chapter is sort of a "part II" of the last chapter, I just did not want to put them together for length reasons, but this chapter is not the end of the many questions raised in chapter 11 :) sorry... cant help myself sometimes.
Anyway... hope you enjoy!
Chapter 12: Aftermath
A tall, beautiful elf sped across the rolling plains of Belatona. Her mind was weakened and her legs screamed at her to cease their unrelenting trek across the earth, but her will pushed her onward. Behind her followed all the various leaders and magicians of the Varden she could find in haste. The racing beats of her heart stroked loudly within her breast, drowning out all other sounds. Her mind focused only on one thing, getting to Eragon.
Arya had witnessed the fierce battle between the riders and knew that Eragon would be sorely pressed to accomplish his task, even with the help of Glaedr. To sever the chains of Galbatorix would require vast amounts of energy, perhaps too vast for the young rider to overcome. And she had heard the awful dragon screams traveling on the wind and had known that they came not from Thorn, but from Saphira. All these dark thoughts of worry and fear rushed through her mind as she neared her destination.
Finally, the place of battle came into view. First, Arya noticed the two still forms of Thorn and Saphira. Thorn was flat on his stomach, head curled around to his side. Saphira lay nearby, rolled over on her side. Blood had stained her entire front left side where her armor had been wrenched and torn asunder. Arya's heart dropped in sadness and her first instinct was to aid her, but another sight soon came into view, one even more terrible. There knelt Eragon, eyes closed and body covered in blood, dirt, and sweat. The motionless form of Murtagh lay beneath him. Eragon's face was contorted in an expression of intense pain. Obviously the chains that bound Murtagh were of a different sort than the bonds which had held Lady Lorana. Arya could also sense the pulsing presence of a powerful being. Glaedr, she said quietly.
She quickly signaled for her followers to halt, fearing that a sudden approach could disrupt Eragon's mind, causing untold damage to him and whoever else chance might have. She approached the scene quietly and carefully. Slowly, she gathered all of her remaining strength and that of those who could help and began to channel energy into Eragon's body. She caught a brief image of Eragon's young mind. At the moment, little could be felt other than the steady pulsing of his flawless concentration. Glaedr was so far successful in replacing Saphira, but there was another part of Eragon that was laid bare before her and she could not help but take notice. His mind was indeed simple in nature, but there was a deep, powerful vastness to it as well. Her thoughts were interrupted as a painful ache began to wear away at her. She was nearing the limits of her physical endurance and would soon be forced to sever her aid to Eragon.
Finally, she released her connection and fell to her knees from exhaustion. After a few moments passed she steadied herself and slowly rose to her feet and surveyed the area. Eragon was still engaged in furious battle, but there were none left who could aid him, save the faint Eldunari that pulsed slowly on the ground. Arya turned her attention to the surrounding area. Many more onlookers had arrived and were beginning to encircle the scene as closely as they were allowed. Nasuada and the other leaders accompanied by Roran had drawn in close and were watching intently as Eragon waged his silent war. Arya swiftly and quietly sent for healers and medicines to aid Saphira. Angela was surely the best one to oversee the affair so Arya made sure to mention her to the horsemen she sent.
A faint hint of pale blue light caught the corner of Arya's emerald eyes as she surveyed the gathering crowd. The light had come from Eragon, but what or where it was, Arya could not say. Suddenly she noticed that Glaedr's heart of hearts was completely dimmed, save a small, swirling ember in the midst of his stone. At first Arya's heart fell in despair, but still Eragon pressed on, and the foreign light grew evermore. She studied him with more care, trying to discern the source of his resolve. Her eyes fell on his battle-worn face which was etched with lines of pain and toil. Blood had spilled and dried around his right eye and his brow furrowed as great drops of sweat and blood fell from his forehead. The light grew. It was brighter, yet its source seemed less sure by the second till it seemed that Eragon alone was the source of the steady light.
Arya stared in wonder till her eyes fell upon Eragon's trembling hands. There, upon his right hand, rested Brom's ring, the sign of elvish friendship. It was undoubtedly the source of Eragon's strength for now she remembered when Eragon had showed the ring to her many months ago, but he had never told her of the vast amounts of energy stored within.
Her thoughts were once again interrupted by a brutal sound. Eragon was beginning to cry out as if he was nearing the end of a bitter struggle and was calling upon the last amounts of strength he had left. Murtagh's body coiled and writhed, but he remained silent and unconscious. The pale light began to pulse fervently. Arya could feel the power flowing out of Eragon, but there was also something else, something dark and deep. The two forces were at war, neither willing to give over the prize, but only one could prevail. After seconds that seemed like hours, Arya felt the dark menace waver, then fall into utter and complete ruin. Eragon had once again managed to do the impossible, but at what cost?
Arya waited breathlessly as Eragon slowly awoke from his trance. Not a sound was to be heard from any who looked upon this awe inspiring scene. History was being re-written before their very eyes, yet few who looked on grasped the full weight of the circumstances at hand. Arya quickly noticed that Eragon was staring at her intently. She returned his gaze and felt suddenly concerned for him. And not only because he was their greatest hope, but because she realized how dear a friend he had become to her.
All at once and without much warning, Eragon's legs gave way to weariness and he began to fall, but before Arya even moved to help him, Eragon's cousin, Roran, had moved up and caught the rider with ease and care. Arya rushed to his side and gently placed her cool hand over his sweaty brow. Gasps of concern and worry came from the surrounding crowd. Arya's own mind cried out in the same manner, but she let not a hint of emotion reach her exterior.
Slowly, she stretched out her mind towards Eragon's. His thoughts were still guarded by a firm wall even in his unconscious state. Oromis had taught him well and now even in his defenseless state; Eragon still had a small measure of protection. But even with his barriers up, Arya could sense the dull resonance of the pain that Eragon had just endured to free his half-brother. Slowly, Arya removed herself from Eragon's mind and once again turned her thoughts to the situation at hand. Eragon's strain had been great, but in the end he outlasted the devices of the king. However, there were more pressing matters at hand.
First, Arya turned her attention to the lifeless form of Saphira that lay outstretched nearby. A group of healers led by Angela had already arrived and managed to remove the ruined armor from Saphira's body. The witch was busily rushing around the blue dragon, organizing and coordinating the various healers and workmen. Arya strode quickly up to her.
As she approached Angela, Arya could hear the seer muttering foul words and curses under her breath in every language Arya had ever heard. "Of all the self-righteous, fool-hearted, witless" her voice trailed off as Arya drew near.
"Angela, what is the severity of Saphira's wound? Can you heal it completely?"
Angela regarded the elf with a raised eyebrow before answering bluntly, "I am not certain, but I cannot deny that this is one of the gravest injuries I have seen a dragon sustain, and I lived through the Fall of the Riders!"
Angela's tart reply shook Arya, but she did not waver, "Is her life in danger?"
The witch turned away before answering in a quieter tone, "No, at least not while I am near, but I will be hard pressed to heal this wound fully."
Arya silently observed the witch while her mind was processing the possible consequences of the day's events. Suddenly, she spoke to Angela, "I will have men bring you everything you need here for it is not possible to move Saphira in her present state. Before the day ends, have someone raise a tent over Saphira for shelter. I will see to Eragon."
Angela half laughed half sneered, "I would not tend to that wretch after he abandoned his dragon to bleed in the dust while he made safe a sworn enemy of the Varden! I curse the fool in every tongue I know!"
Arya was not pleased with Angela for her words were harsh and rash, but nothing could be done. Eragon had acted in what way he deemed best. If Murtagh had been left even for a little while longer still bound to the king, there was no telling what Galbatorix could have forced him to do, even in an unconscious state. It had not been an easy choice, but under no circumstances could Eragon have allowed Murtagh to return to the king. Arya knew better than any just how difficult it must have been for Eragon to leave Saphira in order to save his brother. Still, Saphira's wound was no small matter. Much now depended upon the herbalist and her cunning ways.
Arya turned to leave when a strange sight caught her attention. There, lying next to Saphira's massive head was a large cat. Arya knew exactly what it was the moment she laid eyes on it. It was the werecat, Solebum, companion of Angela and one of the last of his kind. The werecat was aware of Arya's gaze and slowly, he turned his eyes towards her. To the astonishment of Arya, who rarely was taken by surprise, tears were streaming from the creature's eyes.
The elf was moved bitterly by the open display of sorrow. She bowed her head slightly to the werecat as a gesture of understanding and mutual grief. The creature seemed to accept and appreciate the gesture, but made no movement other than to return his gaze back to the lifeless form of Saphira.
Nasuada was quickly approaching Arya's position. Now for the real problem, thought Arya.
Nasuada hastily addressed the slender elf, "Is Saphira going to recover" she asked with poorly concealed concern and sorrow?
Arya hesitated slightly, "I have faith in Angela's ability, but this is a grave injury indeed. Only time will tell your answer."
Nasuada accepted and continued on in a softer, more serious tone, "Well, we have more than one problem to deal with at the moment."
Arya nodded slowly, "Murtagh and Thorn." She slowly turned her gaze to the red dragon and rider.
Nasuada followed her gaze, "I believe I know what must be done, however I would ask your advice in this matter."
The elf paused, slowly deciding her answer, but she could not come up with any sound advice for her own mind was torn in the matter. She eventually decided that everyone would need time to make the choice, and time she could give them. "I believe all decisions and councils should be postponed until Eragon and Saphira are recovered. Murtagh is technically under Eragon's rule now for he is a rider. Thus was the tradition before the Fall."
The Varden's commander nodded in agreement, "Aye, my mind is divided asunder. We will need Eragon and Saphira before we start. Can I entrust the safekeeping of Murtagh and Thorn to you till Eragon is awake?"
Arya was slightly shocked by this request. Of course she was the logical choice in the matter, but her physical state alone would prevent her from performing the duty fully. She needed to rest, but this was not a request she could refuse. "I will accept this responsibility. Do you wish for them to be kept together or apart?"
Nasuada paused before answering, "Keep them separate, but do nothing to sever their connection. I do not expect them to attempt to flee and I know from Eragon and Saphira that separation is one of the most sever punishments for a dragon and rider." The leader turned to Arya and spoke gravely, as if the weight of her words would shatter the space between them, "Allow them to communicate freely, but keep them physically apart. I would rather you kept them unconscious, but that I will leave to you."
Arya bowed her head slightly and Nasuada turned away to converse with the other leaders. Arya's eyes fell on Orik, King of the Dwarves. His visage was stern and his eyes were fixed solely on the fallen red rider. The great war hammer was rocking back and forth as his hands absentmindedly stroked its handle. That will be a difficult bridge to cross, Arya thought to herself.
She strode over to Murtagh who still lie helplessly on the ground surrounded by several Surdan guards. They allowed her by without question. She knelt slowly and reached through the magical barrier in her mind. Her mouth formed a long phrase in the ancient language as she performed a spell she learned long ago. It was a useful spell in that it kept one unconscious indefinitely using energy from the host, thus costing the spell weaver no energy to perform. A perfect spell for Arya to use in her weakened state. After performing the same spell on Thorn, she arranged for the pair to be kept in separate areas under constant guard until their trial could be held.
It had taken several hours for all of her work to be completed, but finally the sun was beginning to set and her work for the day was done. Her mind instantly turned to Eragon. He had been taken away by a few healers several hours ago. She hurried to find his place of rest so she could check on his condition. After a brief search she found him resting in a large, solitary tent on the outskirts of the Varden's encampment. A contingent of Nasuada's bodyguards, the Nighthawks, had been temporarily assigned to the rider as he recovered from battle.
The sun was setting on the western horizon, painting the western sky in shades of gold and red while the eastern sky was already dotted with faint stars as they peeped their heads from beneath the light canopy of sunlight. The heavy cloud cover that had loomed over head for much of the day had moved off. A cool, lakeside breeze was beginning to stir from the north, cooling the battle torn landscape. Sounds of men talking and hurrying about faintly stirred in the background while the breeze stirred tent flaps and flags. Arya quickly made her way to Eragon. The guards at the tent entrance allowed her to pass once she identified herself.
Slowly, she drew back the doorway curtain and entered into the shelter. It was a large, airy tent, with elegantly fashioned designs on its interior. Various lamps lit the room, giving it a light, golden hue. There was a chair pulled up to a simple oaken table in the corner. At the foot of the table Arya spotted Eragon's gear. The armor and clothing he was wearing that day had already been washed and prepared for the next time Eragon would need them. She also noticed a pack that must have held more of Eragon's personal possessions. A light reflected off of something metallic in the corner and caught the elf's sharp eyes. She turned to see Brisingr in its scabbard leaning up against what must have been one of Saphira's saddles. The sapphire in its handle shone brilliantly as it caught and reflected small amounts of light around the room. Arya could not help but marvel at its craftsmanship and deadly beauty.
Suddenly, a sound of movement caught her sensitive ears. Her glance quickly turned to a dividing curtain that shielded off a corner of the tent. She moved over to the curtain and peeled back a small amount of its folds to gain entrance into the smaller room. A man was in the room tending to Eragon's injuries. Arya brushed against the tent to create a faint noise so the man would know she was there. He quickly turned around to see who was entering the room.
"Ah, Lady Arya, it is well met. I am Carn, a magician and healer for the Varden."
Arya studied the man briefly. He was thin and pale, but he had a good hearted nature about him that immediately presented itself. "I know who you are sir. You often ride with Roran Stronghammer do you not?"
Carn was taken aback, "Aye, indeed I am my Lady. How did you know of me?"
"Word travels, but that aside, how is Eragon Shadeslayer fairing?"
A graver look crossed Carn's face, "Well, I am no master magician and my knowledge of healing is indeed small, but even I can tell he is sorely spent. I am not sure what he had to do to free the red rider, but it was apparently no easy task. Frankly, I am surprised that he survived, but he will recover. All he needs is time."
Arya thought of Eragon's ring and Glaedr, but neither Carn nor any other common member of the Varden had any knowledge of Glaedr or Aren. But by now everyone knew vaguely what had transpired. "I thank you for your services Carn. You may leave, I will watch over our rider for the night."
A slightly surprised look momentarily crossed Carn's face, but he did not question her. With a bow and a few departing words, he left the tent. Arya turned her attention to the bed resting the corner. There, lying in the midst of white linen blankets, lay Eragon. Arya quickly grabbed a chair, set it beside the bed, and sat down beside the unconscious rider.
Her eyes fell upon his angled face. He bore no mark or token from the battles of the day. The wound on his brow had been healed perfectly and he had obviously been washed and cleaned thoroughly. Long, thick locks of light brown hair fell carelessly from his scalp. The thin, linen blankets had been pulled halfway up his chest, leaving his upper chest and shoulders bare to the night air. The dim light of the tent cast a pleasant glow off of Eragon's flawless, bronze skin.
Arya sat there studying him for several minutes transfixed by his uniqueness. The longer she stared at him, the more difficult it was for her to tell weather he was a warrior, or a common farmer. His pointed ears, angled face, and slanted eyebrows all testified to his transformation, but his rough hands, bronze skin, masculine features, and broad shoulders all bore witness to his simple upbringing. The scent of sweet, spring herbs emanated from his skin, just as her body gave off faint hints of fresh pine forest.
As he lay there, so helpless and docile, Arya began to think the man in front of her could never slay a living being. But she was reminded by her memory of many fearsome and bloody battles this young rider had been through, and the rivers of blood he had been forced to shed.
"What a mystery you are" she whispered quietly into the air. There was no reply other than the steady, rhythmic breathing coming from the lifeless form in front of her. She watched as the thin sheets rose and fell to the steady cadence of inhales and exhales. A faint glimmer of pale blue light caught her eye. Her gaze was suddenly turned back to the ring on Eragon's finger. So elegant it was, yet full of untold amounts of power. Simple, yet deadly, much like its bearer. Arya carefully reached out her hand and lightly touched the cool, hard ring. After a few seconds, her hand finally came to rest on Eragon's, and there it stayed till Arya fell into the waiting embrace of her waking dreams.
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So what do you think? For all of you Eragon/Arya haters out there... dont freak out on me... this chapter is still meant as a sign of friendship between the two, albiet growing friendship. any loose ends or fragmented details you think i may have left out of this chapter will more than likely be answered in the next chapter, but please feel free to remind me of them in your reviews! And please... i absolutely love reading positive reviews... but i would really like some constructive ones as well! Thanks for your time and help!