A/N: Guess who's back? ME!
This is kind of a belated Christmas/New Years present. I'm not sure I'm 100% happy with it, so reviews are awesome :)
On with the show/story/whatever :) Enjoy
Iorunn sighed in relief, hammer dropping to her waist. A slaughtered pack of Shrrg lay before the hunters of Durgrimst Vrenshrrgn. They had tracked one of the injured beasts back to the small pack prowling the western slopes of the Beors. The dwarven stalkers hid their scent with magic, heavy feet barely rustling the undergrowth thanks to the soft leather of their boots. As night fell on the fifth hunting day, the pursuers surrounded the mountain wolves and swarmed through the pack, slaughtering mercilessly as the predefined groups battled their respective beast. The matted hides of the wolf pack would keep her Durgrimst warm for many seasons to come, the respective meat a tough substitute for boar in times of famine.
None of the dwarves had been slain in the highly practiced raid. In all, a highly successful expedition. It is not for naught that my clan be named after the beasts we hunt Iorunn thought with a smirk, moving amongst her troupe, congratulating the final slayers of each wolf. Their names would be sung in the lower halls of Tronjheim the next eve.
The leader of the dwarven clan yelped as she fell onto the harsh ground, arms thrown in front of her in shock. Groaning at the embarrassment, Iorunn rolled onto her back, looking at her boot, which had caught in a stubborn tree root. Silently noting the most exuberant onlookers, she snarled at the leather hugging her foot. Jerking her leg seemed to do little, merely causing more of her dwarves to smother laughter at their thrashing leader. Mercifully, Iorunn's second in command, a surprisingly young, but remarkably intuitive dwarf came to her rescue.
He quickly hacked at the root with a short sword, a slight blush the only hint at his amusement. The smartly clad young male stepped back once the obstacle was cleared, knowing his leader would want to stand by her own means. As expected, the grimstborith pushed herself back to her feet, strong forearms hidden by the thick coat she wore. Brushing the grime from her being, and succeeding only to smudge the mess, Iorunn cast her gaze among the now silent group of hunters, lingering on the worst offenders who had been unable to contain their mirth at her predicament. Smiling thinly, Iorunn cleared her throat to once more commend the hunters, as her eyes caught a dull flash within the tree line. The air seemed to thicken with fear, and the head huntresses suddenly realised the feeling of a hunter becoming the hunted. Silence no longer seemed friendly. The forest was too silent, the quiet birdsongs distinguished as light in a cave. Something was out there, preparing an ambush identical to that which she had performed mere minutes ago.
Bringing her hammer up, Iorunn swiveled sharply, seeking out any hidden attackers in the trees. No other irises could be seen, but her honed instincts told her otherwise. Once more, the youthful second in command showed his worth, calling the hunters to attention while he noted his leader's concern. There was nothing they could do in preparation for the warriors that suddenly burst from the trees, swords and arrows butchering the dwarven hunters.
The circle is now complete. The hunters become the hunted, bitterness coating Iorunn's thoughts; the Vrenshrrgn funeral words coming to the forefront of her mind. Waves of the elven army fell over the dwarves, such was their numbers that the shortest race was trampled by the oncoming beings. Tactics and advantages discovered by the nation-wide games were useless in an ambush, and despite the hunters bravery and skill, they were swept away to the halls of the Gods. Iorunn smiled at her final thought: seeing her father once more, knowing death was upon her.
Although none of the dwarven clans complained of the sudden absence of feldunost amongst the ranges, many leaders wondered at the departure of the carnivorous beasts to the north western slopes of the Beor mountains.
The world crumbled beneath the weight of a siege as effective as it was unexpected. Laucki had remained absent from the small cell for days, sending his spy to gloat to Eragon. Fiolr had been keen to boast of the elves destruction of townships on their path to the dwarven halls, although he had not been quite so gleeful when describing the invasion of the Beors to the broken rider. The lieutenant's final task ensured Eragon remained disheartened and weak; regular sessions with Bid'daum's eldunari. Magic sealed the physical connection even as Eragon screamed at the forced mental probe igniting his back pain.
A bitter laugh escaped his torn throat as he marveled at the irony of the situation. A broken rider, forced to hold the broken soul of a dragon, while the world broke around them.
The eldunari itself was largely unremarkable, its pale white shell glowing faintly, not unlike Vrangr had in the depths of Urubaen. Unlike many of the ancient souls restored from that hell, Bid'daum's heart of hearts was small enough to hold comfortably in his hands, were it not for the festering pain that ignited upon contact.
Sitting up from the floor, drenched in his own sweat, Eragon once more considered the trial of splitting a soul. Despite the excrutiating pain he endured, the confusion that Bid'daum must have suffered was incomprehensible. Two souls created from one, completely separate and yet mirrors of the other. A clatter brought the rider back to his surroundings, a plate of indiscernible food sliding across the floor under the sneering gaze of his jailer. Two blunt implements rattled next to what he assumed was some attempt at a stew of scraps.
Rolling the wooden fork between his fingers, morbid thoughts sprouted deep within Eragon's subconscious. It would be so easy. Just a jab to the neck, and it would be all over. The short term pain would last barely a minute, freeing me. Ideas of rescue were but a fantasy he no longer bothered to laugh at while dark thoughts consumed him like the shadows of his cell. There were others who could, and likely would, save the races from Laucki. The riders would survive, even after he himself passed away. It would help Murtagh, the painful reminder of his past deeds against Eragon dead with him. Blodhgarm would be freed of his duties to protect Eragon. Arya could remain queen without his presence reminding her of the choice to remain monarch. Saphira would be free to do as she please, not be bound to him...
Saphira and Arya. Names from a time seemingly long ago, when wars were led to free the land of a tyrant rule, not prevent its destruction. Names he had barely considered since the introduction of the pale eldunari. Revulsion cast any thought of self harm to the recesses of Eragon' mind. Self-pity and the rationalization of such ideas would help him no more than complaining about the food provided.
Sitting up straight in his cot, back gently touching the stone wall so as not to pain the tender muscles he dared not look upon, Eragon thought back to the fateful hunt in the depths of the Spine. The beginning of a new, incomprehensible life. Dragon riders were the product of stories, epic stories, but stories none the less. Who would have picked a farm boy to lead the resurgence of free riders in the land. Clearly not the elves, he thought to himself with a laugh. For the first time since his capture, Eragon Shadeslayer smiled, the small cell temporarily forgotten along with the problems of the world.
Eragon... A voice sounded in his mind, trailing away quickly.
The two dwarven guards playing a heated game of runes never noticed the quiet click of low heels in the largest tunnel separating Tronjheim from the outside world. There had been no sign of elven activity in the area, all war efforts were focussed to the northern caverns, far from the depths of the dwarven colonies. "Besides, Orik was a fool to accept the rider's. Riders bring naught but trouble mine father always told", the younger watchmen reasoned, "so what could the elves want with the dwarves, great opposers of the shurtugal?"
The older man stroked his wispy beard, deftly collecting the runes the younger player had sacrificed in his distraction. "It is not our place to question our King, young Kisva. Orik led us through the war with his brother, Volund sweeping away the enemies at Urubaen alongside the flames of Brightscales and Brisingr. Do not forget that it was a rider that defeated the dark forces knocking on our door." Kisva shuffled anxiously, his eyes flicking to the eternal darkness of the tunnel ahead. Hvedra had paired the hot headed younger generation with some of the more accepting guards from the army, attempting to curb the alarming lack of tolerance rising in the community.
The queen's plan had succeeded in part, until a watch had begun a competition to see which generation was most proficient at runes. The concept had spread like wildfire, and within a week of the new regime, sporadic scouts had been sent to 'awaken' the guards from their games.
Kvisor growled lowly at the lesser runes on his board, "I do not question mine mighty king, Orik, old Güntel. Mine thoughts rest on the rider Eragon. Who is to say he will not return and wipe out all life in Alagaesia with a mere thought. With a frown, the young guard began to shuffle his runes on his board, searching for a yet unseen combination.
Güntel shook his head at the sprightly dwarf; headstrong, invincible in his own mind, yet notoriously naive to the world. Güntel had kept his magical abilities a secret, wishing to protect his family through the dwarven armed forces instead of the shady magicians corp. His understanding of the ancient power convinced him no single man could wipe the world with one spell without his own destruction. Let alone the dangers of wordlessly casting. So he was silent to Kvisor's challenge, smiling as he noted the quiet steps approaching from just behind the two.
"Had Orik been amongst us Kvisor, you would be banished for your accusations against Eragon, mine husband's adopted brother." A sharp flick to the back of Kvisor's head whipped the young dwarf's neck down, wincing at the slap to his ambitions the comment would surely ensue. Turning to the queen, who stood imperiously behind the two guards, Kvisor bowed gently to Hvedra, his neck twitching at the whiplash. The darkly clad queen smiled thinly at him, turning to Güntel.
"Mine forebear held you in high praise brother Güntel. Do not allow your reputation to tarnish by a repeat of today's actions. It is not pleasing to see the forward-most guards of the greatest dwarven city idly counting runes while the elves run rampant across Alagaesia." Güntel nodded sagely, apologising quickly to the fair queen. He flinched at Kvisor's abrupt challenge to the queen.
"Pah. The national games have shown the world weakness in the elves. They are not as invincible as you would have us believe. Only a fool would fear an elf." Kvisor snarled with a smirk.
Hvedra paused before responding, blinking rapidly. No matter how her vision flickered, the brash young dwarf still stood before her, the smirk plastered on his face. Güntel merely shook his head in disgust, subtly sweeping the rest of Kvisor's runes from the table. Hvedra smirked at the greed of even the more respectable dwarves, glaring at Kvisor. "I shall allow that comment to pass, but should you ever face an elf in battle, do not presume you have any more chance than a slug under a foot of stone."
Kvisor's smirk was replaced by anger, and he rose to confront the queen further. As his mouth opened for a sharp retort, fire burned through his chest as a flaming arrow pierced his hide. Güntel dived for Hvedra, knocking the woman over as a storm of glowing arrows flew through the spot the queen just left. Reaching for the relay of magicians along the dwarven tunnels, Guntel was brief in his descriptions. Attack. West entrance. Recommend reinforcements. His mind worked furiously as Kvisor finally fell, the clatter of armor muffled by adrenaline. The arrow protuding was more elegant than dwarves ever bothered and far more deadly than the humans could manage.
A low thunder of running feet drowned out the heavy breathing of the queen below him. Years spent in the tunnels of Farthern Dur lent the experienced warrior the sharp reality of just how many elves were approaching. Brusquely touching his mind to Hvedra, who allowed the loyal guard access to her mind, he reached once more to the magicians posted along the entrance tunnels. The full weight of the queen's influence flowed through the relay as Güntel ordered the most immediate and comprehensive solution. Belay that last. Seal the tunnels. A tremor ran down his spine as the words passed along the messengers.
The effect was instantaneous. Measures taken after the invasion of the shade proved their worth in the sudden ambush. Cracks quickly formed around the walls, the mountain groaning at the crumbling foundations of the imploding tunnels. Güntel grinned savagely at the startled yells coming from further down the tunnel as the walls collapsed upon the elven army. His death was a small price to pay for the destruction of the elves and the extended safety of the dwarven capital. Farthern Dur and Tronjheim were immediately sealed from the world, as had once been under the ascension of an evil rider, even as the darkness of death overtook Güntel and his queen.
Gannel lowered himself to the ground, gently kneeling on the cold stone of the temple floor. The death of Hvedra in the passes to Tronjheim shook the dwarven population as much as the imminent invasion of the elves. With Orik secluded with the leaders of the nations, responsibility had fallen to Gannel to provide hope for the clans.
A particularly heated discussion with the surviving Grimsborith's led Gannel once more to the temple he oversaw. Some of the cynical leaders of the dwarves questioned the validity of the dwarven gods and Gannel's devotion to worship. What they didn't appreciate was the extra time Gannel spent in the cool, dark rooms sacrificing to Guntera during the wars. He would kneel for days on end, breaking only when his loyal followers demanded he sleep and eat.
There was little doubt in his own mind that only the gods could save his race now. Rumbles had shaken the quiet of Farthern Dur for a week after the tunnels collapse. The elves were coming, and only time and thick rock held back the ravaging horde. A brief missive from Orik had declared that all elves near the dwarven capital should be assumed as hostile and be dealt with appropriately. The bulk of the message from the king spoke of the take-over of an ancient evil that instructed the armies against all nations, only Illirea and the depths of Du Weldenvarden spared from invasion as yet. A return message had been sent in the dead of the night to the eastern reaches of the caverns, through networks barely large enough for a dwarf. Gannel hoped and prayed that the report could bypass the elven battalions before reaching Orik.
As his body relaxed into the familiar humble pose on the floor, the priest's mind stretched out, projecting his calm call to the Gods. The stone seemed to close around him, the foundations of his belief reaching to his mind. Throughout the process, Gannel remained at peace. It was not uncommon for his worship to lead to ideas that he would later take to the council. The voices were sometimes gentle as a cool breeze, yet could equally be as sharp and ringing as huthvir colliding with rock. Yet as the dwarven worshiper knelt before the stone busts, the voice felt different, as if many voices clamoured for the attention of his mind. And as the voices collided with Gannel's mind, sliding over his barriers as easily as the Gods, he knew something was wrong. The voices were lilted, confused and too familiar to be that of the gods. Gannel's final sane thought was that if rock could not stop the elven minds, it would certainly not stop their physical invasion. And then the mad voices swept through the consciousness of the priest.
In days to come, despite the insistence of Gannel's loyal followers, the priest would not move, his body rigid and his eyes as dark and blank as the darkest tombs of Tronjheim.
The incapacitation of the dwarven priest brought the rest of the dwarves to their knees. Farthern Dur was silent within weeks, each dwarven family and clan retreating to the deepest halls, secret passages leading to areas bored through the thickest rock during the construction of Tronjheim. Clan truces broke as friends fought for food and supplies, each family as desperate as the next. Bodies were left behind as the weak were trampled under the rush away from the city. No dwarf was safe, and none were under any illusions as to the danger they faced, the deep rumbles an ever present reminder of their approaching foe.
Verdra looked across the dense forest around her tree-house, contemplating all they had heard in the past week. An urgent scroll from the dwarves appeared to have slipped through the attacking elven army, the pigeon arriving at Orik's quarters. The news quickly spread throughout Ellesmera, which had been waiting with bated breath for days following Arya's revelation of Eragon's location. "Teirm" was all the elven queen had said to the riders before retreating deep into the forest, leaving Dathedr in charge during her absence. Firnen had flown after his rider, and neither had been seen in days.
The elven council had been adamant in their decision not to move the remnants of their army towards Teirm until Arya returned, despite Dathedr and the rider's arguments. Numerous times during the debates, Thorn had restrained Saphira from torching the elven leaders and their glacial decision making. Roran had begun to understand why so little of Ellesmera had changed in the nine years of Eragon's absence, while the rest of Alagaesia moved quickly towards the future. That the dwarves were now under direct attack left Teirm largely undefended. The port city was renowned for its defenses, the tiered roofs ideal for thwarting an invading force. It was an impossible choice for Verdra: save the leader of those who had given her new life, or save her birth people, who were destined to lose the coming slaughter.
"Sitting around here debating backwards and forwards with the elves is pointless, you must see it!" Godok spoke with passion as he paced behind Verdra, footsteps heavy with his discomfort.
The younger dwarf turned to her male compatriot, attempting a compassionate smile despite her private agreement with his sentiment. "Godok, all of the riders are frustrated at the pace things have moved. We are used to ebrithil's decision making. Despite his looks, Eragon is human. For better or for worse, human choices are made swiftly and decisively. The elves, and to some extent our own people, do not embark on any journey without sifting through enough advice to counsel a king."
"And it is for this reason that I come to the remnants of my people in this hour of need. Those who have been privileged to the thinking of mine foster brother will be better prepared than elves who spend their days in the trees, heads in the cloud." Verdra looked up at Orik's silhouette outlined in the natural doorway. Godok immediately bowed to the dwarven king, head bowed. "Your loss is a terrible blow for us all, mine king."
Orik smiled sadly and stepped into the room. "And yet, we do not have the luxury to mourn the loss of loved ones. My duty is to my people, not my personal desires." Verdra stood and looked to her former king. "It is good to see you also Verdra, Eragon has taught you well."
Nodding to Orik formally, Verdra cut past the pleasantries. If he means what he said, we should not dawdle. "What can we do for you king Orik?"
Godok shot the younger dwarf a scandalised look, to which she raised her brows. A rider's responsibility was to the land, not the pleasantries of socialising. Had not Eragon spoken on this before we left Evarinya Mor'ranr?
Orik grinned further at Verdra's question, clapping his hands together. "This is why I ask the riders on their opinion. I can see mine foster-brother in each of you. What I ask is advice on how to lead our... mine, people in this time? It is not a question I can answer with mine own heart, and despite his age, Eragon Shadeslayer showed his wisdom in the ranks of the Varden far greater than could have been expected.
Verdra's eldunari spoke softly in their head, shielded from Godok or any wandering minds. The dwarf king is right. Eragon had to learn quickly the value of wisdom, and how it is to be used. It is only natural that his pupils retain some of those ideals from his teachings.
Ilumeo roared outside the hut, causing Orik to turn with upraised brows. Godok and Verdra can navigate the tunnels better than any elf.
Jonkirn snorted in agreement, flames scorching the side of the tree. We will be restricted by tunnels, but so will Elves. Images of towering flames rushing through a dark tunnel washed across their sense, and Orik shuddered with the thought.
"It was a foolish race that ever considered war with dragonkind." The king spoke, shaking his head.
Verdra looked at Godok, touching the dwarven male's mind gently. The dwaf swayed a bit and nodded an apology to Verdra. Sorrow is not just an outward emotion. We will have time for it another day.Godok's face cleared and he stood taller, in control of his expressions.
Many of the elven army will have been crushed by the collapsed tunnels. Their numbers will be weakened. Godok said, hints of Verdra's plan slipping through her mental shield.
We are but two riders. Verdra replied, strengthening her own shields. Godok needed to understand the reasons behind her idea before they left.
The dwarves need leadership. Since the invasion, the clans have been on the back-foot, without guidance. We can be that until Orik's return until the armies recuperate. The man's reply was hesitant, his fear at the budding idea escaping across their link.
A raucous laugh drew the dwarves eyes simultaneously, causing Orik to burst into laughter once more at the mirror image. Verdra raised a thick brow, and Godok frowned in question. "You're planning together, aren't you? I could see your minds working, a copy of the other. I've been around those who commune mentally enough to see the symptoms."
Godok smiled at Verdra, and she motioned for him to speak. "Well, here's what we're planning."
The lithe body pushed itself off Murtagh in the fading darkness; the memory of the soft skin drawing a smile to his face. "I can't keep doing this." Nasuada spoke quietly, her voice muffled by her ebony hair.
"What?" A subconscious part of his brain registered her words, but he forced the concepts from his mind.
"I can't stay away from my people." Her voice was more forceful, as if reassuring herself at the same time. Sighing, Murtagh sat up slowly, the years of war and wandering in the north shaking the dregs of sleep from his thoughts.
Trying to calm the human queen next to him, he quietly rebuffed her, "Leaders are safe, Decisions can be made." Even in his own mind the reason felt weak and pathetic.
"Leaders are safe, everyone else is dying. Decisions aren't being made!" Her sharp retort made him frown, regardless of its truth.
"Well make some decisions then. The riders cannot do everything for everyone at once!" he snapped at her, angry despite himself. The riders had barely formed, and suddenly he had been thrown the trials of leadership in the middle of war. Nasuada's quiet statement stopped his protests.
"That's not... I should go," the queen said, swinging her legs off the bed. Accentuated reflexes kicked in as he brushed his hand against her shoulder, knowing a grab would isolate her more. Time in the dungeon's of Urubaen did not go unscarred, no matter how powerful a healer you saw.
"Nasuada..." he whispered as she paused, her back to him. When she did not respond he pushed on. "I'm sorry. As much as I hate it, I know." Still she did not respond, waiting for something more.
"I know how it feels to be helpless when you know you can do better. I know what it's like being trapped away from the world." He whispered, silently moving closer and rubbing the small of her back with his fingers.
"It is not an easy life we lead is it?" she finally laughed softly, turning to him gently, the morning sun framing her ebony features.
"No. But I never asked for easy." He paused, considering the problem from her perspective; rather than temporal head rider.
"Send a message to Ilirea. They need orders. No doubt the lords are preparing defenses, but your men will need orders and motivation. Besides, there are a few tricks of the city I have kept close to my chest."
She responded with a nod and smile, lighting up the room for him. That smile was equivalent to a hearty round of applause from the solemn human queen.
He shivered as she cupped his jaw in her palms, looking into his soul and speaking exactly the words he needed to hear, as if she knew the very heart of his troubles. "You are the leader of the riders, the most powerful council to roam the earths. It is no longer your time to dismiss the calls of leadership. Strength runs in your blood, in Eragon's and Roran's. we are defined why what we do with the time that is given, not who we are. It's time to leave the shadows Murtagh."
A loud snort and puff of smoke accompanied Firnen's heavy landing nearby Arya's seated form. She knew the signs of derision in his stance, if the feeling hadn't been rolling off her partner's mind.
This is, once again, futile. I may support your decision for the ancient one to speak of your fate, but hiding away to understand it is as useful as making wings from feathers to fly with, while you have a dragon to ride. If you are determined to walk this path, speak of that which you know, and do not concern yourself with that which you do not.
Slowly, Arya nodded half heartedly. Angela's words rung in her head, as fresh as just spoken, not from days in the past. Pine leaves lay around her, the twines parted from the bud. Methodically, she had pried each stem away from its other half, watching two sides being torn from each other as she contemplated her prophesied future. Many things she knew or could have guessed. Some things concerned her, while others were inexplicable to the rider.
The rose blossom between the crescent moon was clear for the herbalist to see, and mirrored that which Eragon had heard. An epic romance to outlast empires, to one of noble heritage. He would be immensely powerful, and wise to even the wisest kings. None of which was difficult to understand, except the circumstances. She loved Eragon, that she knew as well as the blade she wielded into battle. But, noble heritage? Did the runes mean noble by blood, or succession or something else entirely. In the recesses of her mind, Firnen hummed but said nothing to assure her.
Long life was perhaps the most redundant statement the elven queen had heard in her short reign. Similarly, the wandering path, choices to shape the world. She was a queen and rider, how could her decisions have little impact upon the world. Angela had paused at that point, her eyes hooded as she spoke. "Be warned, not only will the path you walk shape the world, but will influence the very fate of Alagaesia. Darkness and Light will clash, the victor ruling for millennia to follow." It seemed the confrontation with Laucki would be more decisive to the lands than any had predicted. That the fate was influenced by her choices weighed heavily on her heart. How was she to know which choice to make, which was right?
You will know. When the time comes, so do not brood on that which has not come to pass. What else do you know of the bones? Firnen was gentle but determined in helping Arya past her troubles. Once again she thanked fate for giving her a partner to share herself with. The irony of the next part of the prophecy was not lost on her.
"A solitary peak. You will be seen by many, many will try to subdue your power, yet few will know you intimately and as a friend. It is a sad fate to bear."Despite the prediction, it was an adequate reflection of her life. Envoy to the queen, captive of Durza. Friend to Faolin, Eragon and few others between, the lonely mountain was the way Arya lived.
Twin peaks, not as solitary as you might believe. You and I shall stand tall above all else. Firnen laughed softly at his own spin on the runes, as if that belied the reading.
Arya almost smiled at him. Thank you Firnen. My thoughts may betray me, but I do appreciate your company.
More than Eragons? The emerald dragon snorted, as she smiled up at him, not bothering to reply. Come, there is spare else amongst the runes to remember or reflect. What is it that troubles you? Arya continued her linear progression through the descriptions of the life before her.
The hammer poised over the seas. A power to create or destroy lives and empires. In itself not an unreasonable idea. Queenly duties demanded some rulings would destroy or create lives for her subjects. But...
Nothing. But nothing. Do not read more into the runes, lest you be consumed by their power. The future is as fluid as the ocean, and your mate has already proven that the runes do not account for every situation. Why is it that you continue to angst over that which you cannot change. You were not always this way.
Why do you ask when you know the answer? Arya returned bitterly.
Why do you resist? Firnen asked cryptically, though she knew the heart of his question. Reverting to the vocal ancient tongue, she stood and ticked points off her long fingers in anger, the broken pine needles flying at her movement and self despise.
"My life has been torn in two, right from birth. Celebrated as daughter of the king, despised and disciplined for my exuberance.
Loved as daughter, despised as subject of queen
Called to duty above all, yet finding love to rival all." Firnen merely lowered his head until a great yellow eye was level with her own, both unblinking in their stare and resolve.
You are at a crossroads little one. This must stop, the self doubt, despise and all that corrupts. You cannot continue to cause yourself and those close to you pain for your indecision. It will destroy us. She started at his use of 'us,' but said nothing as he finished, raising his head once more. Do not allow the queenship to do such a thing.
Her reply was hopeful for the future, but decidedly sombre at the state she had been reduced to. "I will do what I must."
Darkness in the forests of Du Weldenvarden were no limitation to a rider as Firnen soared high in the skies, rider and dragon relishing the freedom of flight. Maneuvers that would make Arya scream in terror merely left her with a grin plastered to her features, the melded minds of the two allowing a closer companionship and bond than they had experienced. The land below took a yellow tinge, heat from the animals below shining like beacons in the dark.
We have a stalker. They said, both acknowledging the presence through their combined senses. The hooded being had followed them from nearby their place of reflection, easily keeping pace with Firnen's flight.
It would be rude to keep our admirer waiting. Their voices agreed, and Firnen nodded even as Arya watched a yellowed self nod while gripping the saddle with sharp eyes.
A brilliant pillar of green flame heralded Firnen's land between the trees as Arya leapt lithely from his back, Ebrithil slipping from its scabbard to her arm.
A laugh escaped the hooded figure as Firnen roared none too gently at their follower. "Well met indeed. I had wondered that you may reach Ellesmera and ignore my presence. I can say I am glad to be wrong." The black hood flicked back, revealing the navy features of Blodgharm.
Letting out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding, Arya sheathed Ebrithil and nodded to the elven guard, friendship ruling over royal procedures.
Blodgharm laughed again gently, nodding back to the queen and bowing slightly to Firnen. "I am glad for your restraint. I do not have time for such pleasantries."
"What do you have time for then? And how is it you moved so quickly across the seas and through the forest?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"Before Eragon left, instructions were sealed in a chamber that would only open upon such a situation as this arising. I am sworn not to reveal these instructions except that which is necessary to your safety and the protection that you can bring to the world with your power."
"Which is?" She answered with a frown. Eragon seemed to have predicted his incapacitation, and did not trust the queen of the elves with knowledge on how to revert such a situation or help prevent it.
Blodgharm shook his head gently, "How would you have reacted had he said anything? That he was concerned for his return. Without the knowledge of the prophecy, would you really have accepted his measures and concern?"
Arya opened her mouth to affirm her response, but a mental nudge from Firnen stopped her. Really? His deep equivalent of a scoff pulled her short. If she was being honest, she could still barely consider the idea that Eragon was fallible. He had defeated Galbatorix, shades and impossible odds, it was barely comprehensible for him to consider defeat.
He continues to surprise, does he not? Firnen hummed gently.
"Do not be overly concerned for Eragon's secrecy. None but he, Saphira and myself knew of the plan; although both rider and dragon recognised that anger and sorrow may limit their reason should such a calamity occur."
Calming herself, Arya relented, gesturing towards the city and beginning to walk. Once Blodgharm strode beside her, she spoke quietly as they walked lightly over the forest floor. "What did he wish to say to me?"
The gentle sounds of the forest around them filled the space between her question and Blodgharm's response. Arya absorbed it all, listing all the birds she heard in the ancient tongue. It was an exercise Oromis had taught her long ago to relax and embrace the world.
"The full set of advice is rather long winded, detailing which response to employ, however its abbreviated version is that enough time is spent in council's debating points that had no use in our world." Blodgharm looked away, as if embarrassed.
"Is that it?" she asked incredulously.
"That is what he said you would need to hear. However you should also note that the two dwarves flew south merely a few days ago. Their people are under attack, and are ready to protect the land from which they came."
He is right. Firnen joined the conversation gleefully. We have sharpened our claws for too long, let us use them in the destruction of our enemies. Blodgharm turned back to them and laughed at the analogy, while Arya continued to walk silently, running her hands along the branches of nearby trees.
"Is he, and are you, not bias?"
It was only a subtle change, but she knew the wrong thing had been spoken. Fur bristling slightly, Blodgharm's gaze darkened. "Yes, we are bias. But I am a realist. His wisdom has not been idle for nine years discussing elven politics. He may not understand the intricacies of love to the full, but Eragon Kingkiller is competent in many ways. Eragon's power far outmatches yours, or ours, or any of the apprentices. I cannot speak for Murtagh Morzansson, but unless if he too trained against the wild females for nine years..." He trailed off meaningfully, not needing to elaborate on which females her referred.
Arya stopped, her head whipping to face Blodgharm. "What?!" she breathed. Female dragons were notoriously dangerous, even to the riders. To 'train' with them was paramount to casting a spell without words, it was unheard of.
The blue elf merely shrugged and continued walking in the direction of Ellesmera at a slower pace to allow her to catch up with dignity. As they drew closer, familiar scenes passed them, the outlying huts of the city high above them.
"The city has not changed with time or sleep." Blodgharm said quietly after they greeted one of the elves from high in the canopy. Arya frowned, thinking on her return with Eragon, before Thorn, before Dauthdarts and before Firnen. The city had been just as she remembered, and liked.
"It is nice." she defended, but the guardian appeared to have not heard.
"Everything the elven race does, they do slowly. In the nine years since our departure, I have seen and been part of greater change than which occurred for three hundred years prior."
It is what scares you most, is it not? Firnen asked gently, neither pushing nor accepting a non-response.
With a start Arya realised it was that which scared her. Change. With that thought came the reminder of the conclusion to Angela's prophecy.
"Look closely at this bone. You can see how its end rests on that of the sailing ship. That is impossible to understand. Your fate will be to leave this land forever."
A/N: Just a few cliffhangers?
Let me know what you think, this chapter is a bit jumbled (in terms of POV and all that). I'm hoping the next few updates won't take as long as this, so fingers crossed.