This chapter is dedicated to the 350th reviewer, The Meepsta. She's really awesome guys. She reviews all of my chapters and writes a mean Arya POV herself, not to mention her intrinsic hilarity! (A big word? Oh yes. I'm smart.) So she is now promoted to Awesome, and gets complimentary banana bread because... SHE'S AWESOME! Three cheers and a woot-woot for our favorite Meepsta people! :D
Hi, lovely readers! :)
I'm on vacation right now, which is why my internet is awful, which is why this chapter has no beta. It's muchos fun here though, because I'm visiting my cousin in Utah. You wouldn't BELIEVE the weather here! It's a fantastic 75 all day and then it drizzles in the afternoon! The rain makes everything smell fresh and clean, and the clouds are pretty thin so the sun shines through them in these lovely golden veins! And when the wind blows, you can smell wildflowers and pine trees. *jumps up and down clapping hands*
But back to this chapter. It's pretty short as chapters go, but it didn't need to be longer. (And before you ask, the poll has spoken. The green rider will be Arya. She doesn't become it in this chapter, but I'm setting the foundation.) This is more a dialogue chapter than anything, and the idea behind it was originally intended as a oneshot. But I felt before the massive, insane chapter that's going to be Belatona (next one btw guys) we needed a little relationship building before we took the plunge, no? I'm pretty scared of putting this particular one out there, because it has so much emotion. (My mom's yelling at me to stop chewing my lip.) But I hope I did good! *nervous shifting*
The numbers, the numbers. They never did add up perfectly. Frustrated, Arya shot the parchment on the table in front of her a venomous glare before setting it aside. The numbers could wait, because it wouldn't serve her purpose well if she tore up the paper that carried them. She wasn't herself today; not filled with her inner turmoil that seemed determined to boil to the surface. Today in particular. She had awoken this morning glad. She had been glad that it appeared the Varden was strong enough to take on Belatona when they reached it; glad that the last dragon egg was being presented to children of the Varden at the very moment; glad that every day, more and more werecats seemed to be appearing within the encampment, ready to fight. She had been glad of every life that existed around her. But then… then the elf had recalled this day, and what horrors it had held in the past. Now she couldn't bring herself to feel something so superficial and petty as glad.
"Luinae." Arya called softly as she ducked out of her oppressive tent. On her word, the dark-haired elf seemed to melt from the air to stand before her. "Luinae, I wish to go on a walk. And I wish to be alone."
The younger elf appeared as if she might protest, but something in Arya's voice taught her better than that. "Of course." She ceded, dipping her head.
Nodding in gratitude, Arya turned and began to weave slowly through the assembled tents of the Varden, facing away from the imposing blight on the horizon that was Belatona. Instead, she ambled towards the rolling, grassy hills over which they had come. As she walked, straight-backed and poised, humans, Urgals, dwarves, and elves alike never strayed into the path of the elven ambassador. For once, Arya was grateful for her aloof behavior, as it allowed her to carry on in peace.
Soon, she had left any crowds behind, and she walked among the knee-length grass with no audience. The plains around her stirred in oceanic waves with each kiss of the breeze, but Arya took no notice. Mind still forced into blankness, the elf woman crested a particularly tall mound and made as if to continue uninterrupted, but stopped, staring at her feet. Wildflowers grew unchecked here, and there was one in particular her eyes were suddenly drawn to. And once she had gazed upon that flower, Arya couldn't bring herself to move away from it, sitting down where she stood and staring at it with a clenched jaw. She didn't mind the fact that she was probably missing some 'important' meeting at the moment, for she did not desire the company of any creature right now, benevolent or otherwise. The only person she wanted to be with right now was dead, two years ago to the very day. Meditatively, she gently ran the sensitive tips of her fingers over the soft petals of the flower she had found growing on this secluded hillside. It was a wild Black Morning Glory.
For two years, she had survived without Faolin by her side, a feat that seemed quite impressive to her from where she sat. Two years ago, she could never have fathomed an existence for herself that he was not a part of, and so she had been forced to make one up as she had gone along. Without him, many of the little things that had once filled her with quiet happiness seemed unbearably hollow, and her naturally reserved nature morphed into one that was more melancholy. Remembrance, while comforting, had become her enemy as of late. She remembered with excruciating clarity all of those long, long hours in Gil'ead... when she had known that no one would have guessed what had happened to her, and that a rescuer was certainly never to come; known that her companion in all things had been torn from her, and that she was powerless to avenge both him, and herself. Remembering… she could hardly bear it.
Indeed, her memory was something that plagued her mercilessly. But it also kept her sane. Arya knew for what blessings she should be grateful for, and towards what beings she should direct her burning hatred.
Her sanity she retained, but this did not affect her happiness.
Tears brimmed to the surface of her forest green eyes as she remembered, well, everything. The happy, the sad, the agonizing, the soothing; these memories worked their way through a mind usually so carefully guarded against emotion, wreaking havoc. But these tears Arya did not allow to fall. She was not a child to be coddled from her sorrow. She was Arya Drottningu Shadeslayer, and she would not allow herself such weakness.
"Saphira told me I might find you here."
The elf's shoulders tensed and her entire body went rigid. The voice was kind and quiet enough to only belong to one person. "What do you want, Eragon?" she asked coldly, not even turning around. She was in no mood to deal with the rider in her present state, which was in stark contrast to how she had awoken.
Feeling, rather than seeing his frown, Arya experienced a small pang of remorse. It wasn't Eragon's fault that he wasn't Faolin. Goodness knows he had tried. "I apologize, Shadeslayer." she sighed shakily, "I just..." Shaking her head, the elf declined to complete this thought aloud.
"Do you know what day it is, Arya?" Eragon asked of her softly, in a voice that a more focused Arya might have accused of being slightly too familiar. But these few words alone were enough to knock the breath out of her slender ribcage with a hiss from between her clenched teeth. To his credit, the rider did not comment on this rather extreme reaction, but continued on mercilessly, "It is the day that the bravest person I know proved to the entire world that Galbatorix could be defeated. She displayed courage that would leave the greatest of every race's warriors cowering in submission." His features softened as she turned to look at him incredulously. "It is the day that everything I knew ended, and everything I now know began. I owe all of the happiness in my world to her. This person, she didn't know that then. I doubt she truly appreciates this fact even now. Hence my words." With lithe grace bespeaking of the elves, Eragon settled down at her side and considered the black Morning Glory that Arya's fingers still rested on. He as well brushed its deep violet petals with surprising gentleness, but his warm chocolate eyes captivated her own as he framed his words deliberately. "I admire no one more than her, because she embodies everything that I wish to see in myself. Courage, cleverness, a sense of duty, and kindness. I owe to her everything I am, and everything I will be. As does all of Alagaesia. This person, this one that is the greatest treasure of my heart as well as Saphira's; she is you, Arya."
The elf woman blinked, her expressive jade eyes becoming suspiciously bright as she felt... she didn't even know. Flattered? Misunderstood? Angry? Agonized? There weren't words to quite identify the reason for the pounding of her heart or the trembling of her slight frame. Eragon's speech had been delivered in a similar tone to when he had attempted to win her hand, but now he hadn't implied any such thing. Rather, he had bared what he thought was the truth before her. What he had just told her... she did not entirely agree with. Arya was not the savior of Alagaesia. Eragon was. But she could not really object to his being grateful to her, and she could not find it within her to be irritated at him either.
"I... I don't think... You have no cause to be that grateful. My actions were inadvertent, at best. And I..." she hesitated, "I am not so wonderful as you make me out to be."
Eragon's steady, tender gaze was disconcerting. "It is my privilege to hold my own opinions, Arya, and you yours." A mischievous half-smile tugged on his lips. "But in this case, I know myself to be right, and you to be misguided."
Once again, Arya blinked. But this time, she was unable to hold her tears within herself and she let them fall. Playful expression gone, Eragon tucked a stray strand of inky hair behind one of her pointed ears and murmured soothingly, "Never hesitate to cry, Arya."
For a moment, Arya considered him. Then, she surprised even herself by embracing the rider and burying her head in his shoulder. Wordlessly, he held her as she wept, and for a very, very long while, they remained this way on the side of the hill. The elf cried not for herself, but for Faolin, Glenwing, and all those she had lost. Yet she also cried for those still living, because there were things worse than death in a land rife with war and suffering.
And even after her tears began to recede somewhat, Arya didn't make to leave the rider's arms. His presence was strangely comforting to her. She wasn't afraid to cry in front of him. Not anymore. And she wasn't afraid to be herself when in his presence. It was faintly astonishing to her how much she had missed having someone like that in her life without realizing she did. And remarkably, the elf woman felt glad that Eragon had come to her. She felt glad that she knew him, and honored that she was his friend.
"Better?" said friend asked, pulling Arya away from him so that he could see her face.
The elf gave him a watery smile. "Thank you, Eragon." She told him softly, "I… I haven't been able to mourn freely since…" Troubled, she didn't finish, and closed her eyes.
"I'm glad you're able to do so now." The man told her huskily, giving her a little squeeze.
Hesitatingly, Arya returned the gesture. "And you?" she asked quietly, "When do you mourn for those who have died?"
"Every day." He responded, "In one small way or another. I respect their lives by living mine as best I can. For now, it's all I can do."
"That is… that is wise of you." The elf woman sighed lightly then. "A hundred years and I cannot bring myself to do this."
Eragon laughed. "That's because you're thinking like an elf." He informed her, "Other species know a few tricks as well."
"Such as drinking until consciousness is lost?" she offered slyly, words forming a bit shakily as her breathing returned from deep and desperate towards normalcy.
"Exactly." The rider confirmed, "As well as bathing as little as possible until a state of absolute repugnance is reached." The pair laughed a little at that, and Arya began to feel more lighthearted despite herself. Suddenly, Eragon paused and tilted his head to the side. "Saphira comes from Nasuada. She claims we shall be marching on Belatona soon. But in the meantime, how would you like to go flying?"
The elf nodded, and the rider stood and hoisted her to her feet. Together, Eragon's arm firm about Arya's shoulders, they walked down the hillside, away from the fragile silhouette of the solitary Black Morning Glory.
Was that good? I tried really hard to get it right! *panics*
Replying to Writer of the North...
All right! I'll throw our favorite kitten in there soon then, shall I? :P
Replying to Silver...
I certainly hope she got her milk! O.o
Replying to Durxa...
There. Are you happy? *laughs evilly* I HAVE THE POWER to say hi or not! Muahahahahaha!
Replying to Twilightmoonstar...
I'll see what I can do with the werecats. Maybe not next chapter, but possibly after that. :)
Replying to dunlace...
There is actually a plan to free Murty very soon, but you're right, it won't be stereotypical. *conspiratorial palm rub*
Replying to Draco Lucis...
I had a poll up on my profile page for a while there, and Arya beat out everyone else by about 30%. She wouldn't have been my first choice, but I write for you lovely people, and you lovely people have chosen! :)
Replying to Flavio S...
I hope you'll keep reading, even though the poll chose Arya as the green rider. I completely understand your argument, and I value your opinion. *hopeful face*
Replying to Korkman2...
Oh I suppose I didn't clarify that. His guard was with him I promise! They protected him from the Varden and the Varden from him, so it was all good! :)
Replying to justmeagain123...
Maybe I should buy a theater and do a little dance too! XD (Just kidding, I'm a terrible dancer! Too clumsy!)
Replying to chupacabrita...
Oooh! Oooh! I know her! I know her! She wrote that insanely epic fic called... Eldunari? I don't think she's read this though, so I'm going to move on to the YES! THANK YOU for feeling the non-weird love for Arya because you WAY wish you were that cool! I think there should be like, a ray gun or something that just zaps you into awesome. That'd be... well... awesome. :P
The review number is currently 360. That's a full circle! So let's blow that number with a bang, shall we? :)