Alright another chapter! And can you believe how excited I am? They are about to enter Ellesméra! Finally! In any case, RR!
Traveling was made easy atop dragon back, though it was unusual, as Eragon had to sit behind Arya for the entire journey. He did not mind, though — her presence was soothing to his mind. She spoke little and preferred to sit in silence, perhaps speaking to her dragon that flew below them. Eragon would have liked to travel all the way to Ellesméra, but for some unfathomable reason, Orik insisted that they visit the dwarf city, Tarnag. He felt apprehension settle over him as he thought of the visit. Eragon was young, but he was far from lacking intelligence. The dwarves would not take well to seeing Murtagh as one of their kind and when looking at him, they would only see him as an enemy, for what the Forsworn had done to the dwarves.
He felt rather sorry for Hrothgar as they approached the city. It was a bad choice of options for him to begin with. To choose between the son of a Forsworn, or a Rider who had served Galbatorix for four years. With Nasuada having claimed Eragon, he was left with Murtagh. Without warning, he felt Saphira lean forward towards the ground, folding her wings to her side. Fully bringing his arms around Arya as if to hug her from behind, he tightened his grip as the wind blew past his ears in what sounded like a scream and Arya's hair whipped him in the face. From anyone's point of view, it looked as if they were going to crash into the ground, but at the last moment, Saphira flared out her wings on either side of her and brought them slowly to the ground.
My, that was rather exciting, was it not? Saphira craned her neck to stare at them with one large sapphire eye, the corners of her mouth lifted in a grin. He rolled his eyes.
"A warning would have been nice, wouldn't it?" he said, watching as Thorn landed in front of them and Arya's dragon by their side.
"Barzûl!" Orik grumbled from where he sat. "Another dive the likes of that and I'll surely lose my life from fright, instead of dying honorably on a battle field."
Honestly, it was not that bad, remarked Saphira, turning her head to take in the sight of seven Feldnûost running towards them with dwarves atop their backs, sitting in what seemed to be bejeweled saddles. The lead dwarf, naming himself Thorv, spoke to Orik and Arya, and they replied in turn. He then instructed his companions to form up around them and without further prompting, led them through the tall city gates of Tarnag.
Unlike the other dwarven cities Eragon had visited, Tarnag was not built with the height of other races in consideration. Hanging throughout the city were the dwarves' flameless lanterns. Jumping down from Saphira's saddle, Eragon landed steadily on the ground and the other three decided to do the same, Orik seeming highly relieved.
From there, Thorv led them through the streets of Tarnag, which were crowded with various dwarves, all of whom stared at them. Though they initially held respect in their eyes, the respect turned instantly into outrage at the sight of Murtagh's helm etched with the hammers and stars of the Ingeitum. He bent his head closer to Arya, to whisper into her ear, "It appears Hrothgar's adoption may bring more trouble than he had intended."
"It may already have done so." Arya's green eyes swept the crowd as they approached a great hall. As they neared the hall, a group of armed dwarves streamed out from between the houses and formed a thick line, blocking the street. Eragon felt his face harden as he stepped forward, his hand hovering over his blade. Long purple veils covered their faces and draped over their mails.
Their dwarven guards mirrored Eragon, reining in their Feldnûost, their faces hard. He glanced to the side as Orik came to stand next to him, a hand on his axe. Are they refusing us passage?
It would seem so, Saphira replied. He saw out of the corner of his eye how she wrapped her tail protectively around Arya's dragon, still too small to defend itself.
A veiled dwarf raised a fist, crying out in their rough language. It was enough to have Thorv reply with a sharp retort. As they argued, Eragon noticed a gleam of respect Thorv held for the veiled dwarf.
Eragon frowned when the dwarf pointed his finger at Eragon then at Murtagh in accusation. His eyes narrowed. This will not be resolved peacefully, he thought as the scene unfolded before him. The dwarf stared long and hard at the two of them before pulling out an iron-wrought ring, wrapping three hairs around it that he had plucked from his beard and throwing it in the street, spitting at it. Then they broke ranks; a dwarf at the end ran forward, his dagger flashing with a speed Eragon did not realize that dwarves could possess. Pulling out one of his swords, their blades met, sparks flying. Reaching out with his free hand, he gripped the attacker by his beard and tossed him into three other similarly charging dwarves.
He glanced back at Murtagh who was surrounded by the seven guards, frustration etched on his face with his inability to lend his assistance. Arya sidled up next to him, her narrow blade drawn, her face intent, until they stood side by side. "We need to clear a way," she whispered, gesturing towards the hall with a motion of her head.
He nodded. "I'll charge and split their ranks and you can—"
He stopped when her green eyes flashed darkly. "We'll both charge." He stared at her for a few moments, before giving in with a nod. With that, they ran forward, their blades flashing in the light. As they planned, the dwarves broke ranks, fleeing into side streets, and Eragon saw that Murtagh and the others were hurrying through the barbican. He felt Arya grab his upper arm and drag him with her after their party.
They appeared in a wide courtyard with three banquet tables, decorated with lanterns and banners. Before it stood a group of dwarves, who were hurriedly conversing with Orik, his hand outstretched and the ring upon his palm. Sheathing his sword, Eragon turned to Arya. "I could've followed without your help."
Her green eyes met his and that strange feeling came to him again. "Is it wrong for me to want to help you?"
And that was how Arya sealed his feelings for her, even though he did not know it at the time. He stared at her long and hard, and she stared back, unblinking. This warmth . . . it was something he had not felt in a long time. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped as a gray-bearded dwarf came up to them. "I apologize for the unexpected hostility, Eragon Shadeslayer. I am Ûndin, son of Derûnd and clan chief of Dûrgrimst Ragni Hefthyn."
Another dwarf stepped forward, his frame that of a warrior. "And I am Gannel, son of Orm Blood-ax, and clan chief of Dûrgrimst Quan." He did not miss the flicker of Gannel's black eyes towards Arya in distaste.
"Thank you for having us," said Eragon. The clan chiefs greeted Arya in turn, but when they did not greet Saphira, he felt his eyes narrow. There was a reason for why the Forsworn had slain any dwarf in sight.
Ûndin turned back to Eragon, "I've prepared a feast in honor of the three of you. Please, allow my servants to guide you to your quarters and refresh yourself, so that we can begin."
He wanted to deny it outright, for he did not like eating with others and discussing worthless pleasantries. But it would seem rather rude for a guest to deny the request of host. And so a few hours later he found himself seated next to Arya and across from Murtagh at one of the long banquet tables. He could not contain his grim expression as he glanced back towards the direction of the entrance of the hall where extra guards stood. This was why assassinations happened so easily. Only fools would eat in the open when it was obvious at how the purple-veiled dwarves wanted to kill them.
When servants began piling food onto their plates, Eragon politely declined a large slice of Nagra. "I do not partake of meat," Eragon explained as he took a bite of a pear, answering Arya's questioning stare. "It is a lesson that I learned long ago."
He watched as the other diners ate the delectably spiced meat with great enthusiasm. To kill another for the purpose of fulfilling hunger, it sickened him. "Have you ever been here?" Eragon asked Arya, as Murtagh began talking with Ûndin and Orik with interest.
She nodded, spearing a piece of lettuce with her fork. "I have, though Tarnag has been inhabited only since less than two decades ago now, since when your father killed Morzan. Easily visible from the air and with no natural defenses, it was an easy target for any Forsworn."
"I see," Eragon murmured. Everyone saw his father as a hero. He sighed. If only he had come for Eragon . . . No, wishful thinking was useless. The past was the past, no matter how hard one willed it not to be. Wishes do not come true, Eragon thought, only miracles. But even miracles rarely occurred, and certainly not if one sat back and waited for one to occur. "Do you believe in miracles?"
His sudden question caught her off guard. She stared at him, bewildered. "Miracles?" he nodded, watching as her lips pursed in thought. And finally she answered him. "I believe in matters that can be proven with evidence."
He frowned, bringing his eyes to gaze up at the stars. "But then they wouldn't be called miracles." He blinked as he stared at the stars. Were they moving? Bringing his eyes to the food in front of him, it felt as if the entire world were swaying. What was happening to him? He felt himself slump over in his seat, as a strange force pulled him out from his body.
Emptiness. . .
He was standing in a white void, devoid of anything but a crypt, closed and bound shut with metal chains. Eragon stared at it. Something evil was inside, wanting to break free and take control, of that he could tell. Suddenly, one of the many chains that bound the crypt withdrew into the ground.
It cannot be! The chain reappeared an instant later, wrapping itself around his right leg, holding him in place.
The enchantment was breaking . . . his dream was going to become his nightmare. . .
Eragon blinked, his eyes focusing on his plate filled with fruits and vegetables. All around, no one seemed to be aware of what had occurred, to his relief. Save for the elf that sat beside him. He frowned when a goblet was pushed under his nose and turned to stare at Arya. Without asking what it was, he took it from her hands and drank, aware of how dry his throat was. "Are you feeling well?"
"I am weary, though a good night's sleep will put my mind at ease," Eragon replied. Something shifted behind her green eyes but she laid the matter to rest. Saphira, who sat at the end of the table, turned to stare at him, worry emanating from her. He shook it off.
The next day he found himself wandering aimlessly through the temple, Celbedeil, studying the odd arts. Everything, he observed, was made with a great deal of gold or similarly precious materials. The dwarves spent more money on their beliefs than on their people, Eragon mused, staring at one particular painting.
It was of an elf with angled eyes stared down a hooked nose and narrow chin, his shoulders high and tensed. Eragon. He held a white dragon egg in his hands. Eragon reached out to touch the image. "You and I are quite different," he whispered.
He heard a door open and close and turned to see Arya approaching from the far end of the gallery. She scanned the wall with a blank expression, though he could tell that she found the temple rather distasteful. Arya inclined her head. "Eragon."
"Arya," said Eragon. "How does the day find you? Well, I hope."
"It does indeed," her gaze flickered to the image he stood before. "Though I never thought you would take interest in the dwarves' mythology."
He shook his head. "I've long thrown away the belief that gods exist, whether they be humans' or dwarves'. I've simply nothing better to do and found my time spent inspecting the dwarf's temple."
"And what is it that you think of them?"
"Selfish."
His answer surprised her. Eragon elaborated, "They built all of this as a monument for their wishful thinking. Instead, they could have used the money to help the poor and the needy, maybe offer assistance to the Varden." He scoffed. "I do not see the good of visiting a temple layered in gold and precious stones and praying for a good season, or for a wish to come true."
"You have given the matter a great deal of thought." Arya observed. He shrugged, a slight rise of his shoulders.
"I had plenty of time to prefect such opinions." He let his eyes roam around the hall. "Wishful thinking achieves nothing. And that is where I find the fault in their reasoning. To pray for assistance, to receive no answer and continue to do so…is worthless."
His cold answer seemed to have caught Arya off guard. "You seemed to believe in miracles last night when you asked me, did you not?"
He turned to gaze at her green orbs with a small smile. "Miracles may happen, but not if we wait around for gods or some divine entity to do it. Miracles are things that we make for ourselves, here and now." He sighed. "But no one seems to realize that, always putting their faith before their reasoning."
Arya remained silent beside him as if deep in thought. "You may be human originally, but your thinking is much akin to an elf."
"Is that so?" She nodded. He raised a brow, but did not question her any further. "Enough of that, though. Is there something you needed to speak to me about?"
"Orik and Ûndin believe it best that we leave Tarnag. Az Sweldn rak Anhûin has inflamed the citizens against your brother." She looked rather tired by the sudden turn of events. "The crowds may attack us with true intent, unlike the other day, when they only hoped to intimidate us. We will need to leave soon, so as not to further turn the citizens against us."
Eragon nodded, returning to his room to gather his things. When he had returned to the courtyard, the dragons were already waiting for them along, with Murtagh and Orik. The citizens want to draw blades.
Then we shall leave all the faster. The troubles Hrothgar has brought us, Eragon replied with a sigh, watching as Arya's dragon stood by Saphira in what seemed to be alertness. Arya soon joined them, handing her pack to him without a word, allowing him to tie it to Saphira's saddle. Eragon studied the darkening sky.
Eragon began to rub his temples upon hearing the agitated tones of Tarnag's citizens, as if a large headache were bothering him. "I was prepared for Hrothgar claiming Murtagh, but I did not believe that he would do it in such a way that would anger the dwarves to such an extent."
"If any, the fault lies within Hrothgar for presenting such an offer in the first place."
He nodded. Silence reigned for several minutes. Finally, Eragon asked, "Are you ready to return to Du Weldenvarden?"
She gazed at him with questioning eyes, so he continued. "Like I said before, seventy years is a long time. It might make you feel uneasy around your own people. Neither Humans nor dwarves share any particular similarity in culture to elves."
Her gaze hardened and she stared at him for a long time, before lowering her eyes to the ground. "I do not know the answer myself. But maybe when we reach the outpost of Ceris, I shall be able to find it."
He nodded. "I'm sure you will."
They turned to find Ûndin approaching them. "I'm sorry for the hostility brought upon you. As guests, you deserve no such troubles." He spoke to the three of them, as they gathered about him. "This is where we shall part; I hope your journey to Du Weldenvarden shall be swift. I am only shamed by how your stay was darkened by Az Sweldn rak Anhûin."
Murtagh bowed murmuring his thanks and Eragon followed suit. He did not have to say a word to Arya, as she bounded up Saphira's side and onto the saddle. Eragon settled himself behind her, his hands coming to rest on her waist. Warmth seeped through his body as the scent of crushed pine needles reached his nose, refreshing his mind and sharpening his senses.
Saphira took flight, flying above Tarnag and the outraged citizens that flooded the streets at the sight of the three dragons leaving their city. She flew easily over the gates and veered towards the direction of Du Weldenvarden, along the Az Ragni. Now that they had dealt with the dwarves, Eragon wondered how the elves would take to the son of Morzan and Galbatorix's Rider of four years entering their forests. It was a daunting thought.
Alright so here comes a serious question. Did Arya truly love Fäolin? Were they even mates? I know this may sound stupid but think hard on this, readers. In Brisingr she spoke of Fäolin as a companion amongst the short lived races and that they had traveled together as close friends. BUT she didn't say that she necessarily loved him. Please tell me what you think for this affects the story quite a bit. Personally I don't think she loved him, I think she just thought of him as a close friend, not as a lover or a mate.