The years of aching and finding peace
Everything I have known to be has changed by those words, so thought Arya with sudden numbness. Everything she had ever known, everything she had so stubbornly believed to be true, her values… they wavered for the first time in seventy years. Eragon… how had this happened? How could she have let this happen? It was infuriating and yet strangely refreshing that a mere human could change her views… it was… anomalous. And Saphira, her words also resonated in Arya's mind as clearly as a splash of cold water.
Why do you hide?... Eragon had said, his battle weary face imploring her to understand, desperate for her approval. Desperate for her affection… but most of all, desperate for her happiness. But why? Why should he and why did he feel so much for her? Why, why, why? It complicated all things. Before his confession, the only goal in her mind was to focus on her duty and help the next rider to achieve his own goal; dethroning Galbatorix. She paced around in her room and rubbed her temples continuously. It was not so much as what he was implying that unnerved, it was more of the possibility that he was right. Were her feelings still important during these times, in times where there existed only the trails of destruction caused by a madman overrun by his grief? Was she permitted to enjoy things while they lasted? Was it so… wrong to do so? Were Eragon and Saphira right? So many questions… yet so few answers. She stopped by the small trees that she had grown to look like the glyphs of strength, peace and wisdom. Was she really strong, or wise? Did she even know what peace was? She brushed a white finger against the smooth surface of a leaf. Then she turned to her bay window which was opened to reveal the gardens of Ellesmera, their numerous flowers decorating the fields with bright lush colours. To her dismay, she did not smile as much as she used to when she looked upon this scene, though she did feel a sense of peace descending into her heart. She sighed a heavy sigh. Nought was clear to her anymore. Perhaps Niduen was right. Maybe she had grown too proud. And maybe… just maybe… the years had turned her cold also. She then left the window to settle on her bed, gazing up at the two fairths hanging above on the wall. The stern, proud elf with silver hair gazed back at her with equal intensity. His green eyes twinkled and his strong face reflected his nobility and once again Arya felt a surge of resentment.
Why did you leave me to all this father? Why?
Because of Evandar's death, Arya had to deal with the changes in her mother. Islanzadi had grown more and more protective of Arya over the years and finally Arya's patience had grown thin. The memories of those times came back to her from the time of her father's death…
Arya read her scrolls like the other elves of her age while inside, her heart lay strained by the worries of war. Her eyes were moving from word to word across the pages but her mind was elsewhere, searching, searching for her father's presence. Then she had a spark of idea… Blagden!
In her mind's eye, she covered the distances that separated her from Evandar, over the mountains, across the Hadarac desert and near the Jiet River. A flurry of white feathers obscured her vision and the curved beak opened to reveal the flicking tongue inside.
"Wyrda!" he cackled. "Like father, like daughter!"
"What?" fifteen year old Arya Drottningu asked, blinking.
"Like father, like daughter,
Like father, like son,
All as stubborn as mules
And all frightfully naïve!"
"Blagden, stop your nonsense! Where is father?"
"Wyrda!"
Arya sighed, she was wasting her time. She shoved Blagden's presence aside and proceeded to search for her father's. But no matter where she looked, all was blocked from her. All was hidden in a veil of darkness.
Confused, Arya came back to reality. She had released her magic just in time to see her maid Ilfaen rush into the chamber and the elves looked up in interest. Sensing that something was wrong, Arya threw down her scroll and hurried to meet her maid.
"Ilfaen! What is the matter? What is amiss?" a coldness seeping into her bones and chilling her.
"My lady! Oh my lady! You must come!" the maid's voice broke between tones of despair.
Arya's eyes widened and she felt her heart pounding wildly against her breast, as if it wished to be freed of its confinement within her.
"Why? Is it to do with my father?"
The maid ceased her pleas. "M-my lady…" she choked.
A lump formed in Arya's throat. "Is it… it cannot be…"
Ilfaen remained silent, averting her eyes.
"Tell me it is not true… my father…" and the ground rushed up to meet her.
Years after King Evandar's death, Arya was called to Tialdari Hall by Queen Islanzadi. Stern and face ever so unemotional, Islanzadi sat regally upon her vine covered stone throne. She beckoned for Arya to approach her. The elven council all stood to stare at her, their faces haggard due to the lack of sleep. Ignoring their expressions of deep distress, Arya swept past them to face her mother. Without looking at them, Islanzadi commanded the council to leave. The twelve elves left with no objections. After considering her daughter for some time, Islanzadi spoke.
"You agreed to take up the yawe, Arya," said she. It was a statement.
"Yes," Arya replied matter of factly.
"Why?"
"Because I want the blood of my father's murderer spilt out onto the dirt."
"Is that all?"
"I wish to succeed where my father has failed."
"But Arya! You cannot take up the yawe! It is just too dangerous! I've kept you safe for so long and I will not have my efforts wasted on a petty vengeance!" Islanzadi disputed in anguish.
"It is not a petty vengeance! This is about more than just restoring honour to our house, this is about my freedom! I will no longer be confined within Ellesmera! I wish to see the lands beyond, to see the differences between our race and the rest of the races. I have been sheltered here for too long!"
Arya's voice echoed and rebounded off the walls of the vine covered hall.
A cold silence formed between them. Islanzadi's face became deathly white and too late, Arya realised the impact of her words. The queen's eyes blazed with raging fire.
"So…ungrateful child… this is what you choose after I give you so much care for fifteen years. You no longer have the right to be called my daughter Arya Svit-Kona. Go and get out of my sight. I never wish to see your face again!"
At those words, all the remorse that had been welling up inside of Arya were swept away and replaced by a icy, burning anger. Without a backwards glance, she turned on her heel towards the door. She threw them open and stomped past the astonished elven council who had attempted to eavesdrop. How dare she! How dare she?! She knew how important this was to her… her freedom. And then, she determinedly made up her mind. She would never return unless it was due to political reasons.
Arya opened her eyes slowly and realised that she was staring at the ceiling. She hauled herself up into a sitting position and blinked groggily. Instantly, her head began to swim and a chill settled into her. What was wrong with her? The slope of her neck ached and line of her sternum was starting to have sharp pains that she could not explain. She hissed and sucked in her breath as another bout of pain came stabbing her chest.
And there was Brom, standing as strong and proud as ever, gazing at her with a fatherly affection. An affection that Arya was eternally grateful for. His dragon Saphira stood beside him, her sapphire scales glinting like diamonds in the afternoon sun.
"So, you are ambassador of the elves, now are you?"
Despite the meaning it could have posed, Arya felt herself smile. "I suppose."
"Ah, Islanzadi was herself again as usual wasn't she?" Brom remarked, snorting. "A mother's overprotective instinct, I think."
"Perhaps," Arya said a little dubiously.
Arya stumbled and fumbled for the window sill, dropping down to one knee, clutching at her heart with her free hand.
Eragon strapped himself up tightly and prepared to fly up with Saphira to face the new rider. Arya's eyes and his locked onto each others for a split second before Eragon glanced away. Duty… what was duty?
Arya's breath now came in ragged gasps and all the muscles in her body ached with a dull throbbing pain.
No… I was wrong… there is no such thing as duty…only choice.
And Arya knew no more.