Chapter 24 – Eka Vanla eom Flauga
"No matter what others will say there is no real definition of love. It is a want, a desire, a longing, sympathy, passion and compassion, tears, pain, joy, love is like water, it moves around each person in a different way."
~Lord Rider Vrael, last leader of the Dragon Riders before the Fall
Eragon shot to his feet just to be tackled back to his bed when Aelwyn bounded into his room, playfully rushing into him, entwining her long, slender limbs around him.
She smirked beautifully, sitting atop his rock-hard torso, her hair tickling his face.
He instantly regretted not having locked his door before changing his shirt. His tunic was lying on the bed, and right then he had nothing. That was something he didn't want to do with Aelwyn around.
"Aneira has returned," she purred, kissing his jaw. "I doubt she would mind if we were an hour late…"
"We should go greet her," Eragon said, smiling the tiniest bit, quickly rolling to pin her to the bed, once more the dominant figure. "You are so very persistent.
"Of course I am for someone as handsome and … alluring as you," she whispered, dragging him closer with her beautiful legs.
He could feel the pressure of her hips against his, the quick flutter of her eyelashes giving away her want she made no effort to hide. Her lips parted slightly, struggling against his iron grip.
He quelled the loveless desire with a quick burst of painful memories.
She looked up at him, arching her back up so she could kiss his chin, slowly trailing to his lips before she gently tugged at his lower lip, biting softly.
"No," he murmured. "Aelwyn, we cannot…"
"Please," she begged. "By the good fates, I want you so much, Eragon…"
He apologetically kissed her cheek.
"I cannot make this decision in your favor. Come, let us go speak with our sister."
Aneira waited patiently—and somewhat warily due to the huge dragoness looking at her with huge, unblinking eyes—as Aelwyn walked into the large hall, cold from the lack of a fire in the winter morning, a young man walking beside her.
The Hand did a fast double-take.
What was he?
His thoughts were completely blocked off from her powers, and what more, he looked like the cross of an elf and human, yet it looked normal and utterly obvious, unlike the half-bloods who seemed to only have subtle bits from both races. This man… he had the pointed ears of an elf and their grace, but the muscular build of a human warrior, the sharp gold-silver eyes of a keen hunter, and his strong-boned build was everything but elven.
Nothing dulled his beauty.
He was a good fate incarnate.
His fair, gold-brown hair flowed down to his shoulders in a gallant way, swaying with the wind, and then she glanced at his hands.
He wore black-gold gauntlets.
Immediately, she fell to her knees, her trainees doing the same when they saw the tell-tale gauntlets of the Lord Master.
"Lord Master, I am yours to command to the death," she said with awe.
It was known for the Lord Master or the Lady Mistress to take the strongest candidate and train them, but she never knew Sarissa had found such a god-like man to be her mate and her successor. She had chosen well, she could tell just by looking at him.
He held out a hand to her, "Please, do be comfortable around me. You must be Mistress Aneira, you are as fair and beautiful as Aelwyn claimed."
Aelwyn pouted, "I never said anything of the such."
"Yet all Hands are, so I automatically assumed," the Lord Master said, giving a small smile to his accompanying hand.
Aneira reverently took his hand as he helped her to her feet. She felt a fleeting flare of fear when she remembered she had taken off her gauntlets. It was dishonorable to even touch the Lord Master without gauntlets.
That fear turned to shock and quiet admiration when he bowed chivalrously, kissing her knuckles in a way that was neither lustful or cold, but warm and even though it was meant to be a way of showing respect, it felt like he had just accepted her request to know him better. It was like a show of friendship, and she loved the feeling.
Wonderful, a distractingly handsome and charming Lord Master. This is new.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mistress Aneira," he said with a beautiful, lilting voice, one even the elves could not match when they were singing their hearts out.
"It is a privilege to stand among your presence, Lord Master," she managed, though her voice came out dry and like a young woman who had met the handsomest man in the world.
It might as well be true, for he was probably the handsomest being that walked on Alagaësian soil, and he made her feel like a young child falling head over heels over him.
He smiled in a way that made her heart skip beats.
She then realized why Aelwyn had been so anxious to see him.
"It is a right for you to know and befriend your leader, Aneira. You may call me Eragon, for that is my name."
Just then, the doors slammed open, a full-blooded elf running into the room, beautiful, fair, raven-haired, her gorgeous emerald eyes, like the color of green beryl, glancing over the occupants, ending at Eragon.
"Eragon, who are they?"
Aelwyn frowned, "You can ask them, princess."
Arya raised an eyebrow, coaxing a frustrated groan out of the Hand who had seen too many raised eyebrows in her lifetime.
Aneira inclined her head, "You are Elfkind, are you not?"
"That is correct, mistress…"
"Aneira," she filled in.
Eragon indicated her and her entourage, "Aneira, this is the elven ambassador Arya, a close friend of mine. I think Aelwyn has taken a liking to her."
Aelwyn scowled, "Me? Take a liking to this elven woman with the twitchy eyebrows? Eragon, you have to be kidding me."
Then the Hand slung her arms around the shocked elf, leaning against the taller woman with a sly grin as she winked at an amused Eragon.
Arya coughed.
Aelwyn smirked, "What, princess, feeling uncomfortable?"
"Not at all. I was just about to mention that you were leaning against my unsheathed dagger. You may want to be careful."
Aelwyn raised an eyebrow.
"Such a hypocrite," Eragon muttered.
The council watched as the two Hands walked in, Aneira and her broad-shouldered, quiet mate walking beside her. Her four apprentices came in, all holding bundles of things, Eragon watching them with curiosity.
"You say Sarissa left them for me before her death?" he asked quietly.
Aneira nodded, untying her bundle to produce a beautiful black and gold scabbard.
She held it out to him.
He took it in his hands, the Nighthawks on the tips of their feet in suspicion. None of the people in the tent save Arya, Eragon, and Aelwyn trusted the other Hands.
He drew the sword out from the glossy black sheath, the golden strips twined around in a seemingly random pattern that would probably make a man dizzy from trying to follow the beautiful waves.
The blade was razor-sharp, as if he could cleave the very air he breathed.
He gave an experimental arc, appreciating the feather-light, black-metal blade, veins of gold running through it.
"The sword of the Lord Master," Aneira said. "The Lady Mistress has her own sword, but I doubt Sarissa ever used hers."
Eragon vaguely remembered seeing a beautiful scabbard and sword propped against the inside of the wardrobe, somewhat like his, but slimmer and a little less on the hack-and-slash type of sword.
He did a rapid twirl with the sword and slammed it into the sheath with a deadly hiss and clack.
Aneira set a few of the bundles on the table in front of her.
She reached into the bundle, and produced a dagger, throwing it to Eragon with blinding speed.
Arya leapt to her feet, but to her shock, she saw Eragon holding the ornate dagger between his fingers, looking at it with amusement.
The Nighthawks had their weapons drawn, Aneira eyeing them amusedly.
"Be at peace. It is normal for Hands to throw weaponry at each other."
The guards settled back warily.
"Weaponry, blades, bows, arrows, other… stranger weapons I have no idea about," she said. Then pointing to a second bundle: "More uniforms, black and gold. They also have very pretty belts."
Aelwyn smirked, nudging Eragon with her elbow, "I'm sure they would look absolutely marvelous on you, milord."
He just chuckled.
"There is something she was very particular about though, Lord Master."
Aneira took the last bundle from the arms of one of her apprentices, walking over to him.
She set it in his arms.
Eragon's heart stopped.
The violet-blue eyes of a young baby child looked up at him with a warm, adoring expression.
Aelwyn pursed her lips, leaning back against her chair, clearly at unease.
Arya's hands were over her mouth, Saphira's eyes unblinking as she stared at the child in his arms.
"I can tell Sarissa is the mother… who was the father?" he asked hoarsely.
Aneira frowned, "She never told you, Lord Master?"
Arya reached over, touching the brownish hair that angelically graced the head of the young child.
"Do you know someone else who has this hair?" she whispered into his ear softly.
The breath from her lips ruffled his hair.
"By the stars," he murmured, drawing Sarissa's child to his chest, quietly holding back his tears.
Nasuada bit her lip, Aneira looking torn between wanting to comfort him and her respect and reverence of the Lord Master.
Arya gently pulled him to his feet, "Come… we shall walk, Eragon."
No one said anything as they left, Aneira, Aelwyn, Saphira, Calayn, Kalyn, and Blödhgarm following.
Sarissa's child.
No…
Their child.
Eragon sat in his bed, the two dreamwraiths and Arya with him. The others had gone to plan a group of riders to make haste to Belatona to inform Roran and Katrina.
Arya's fingers were resting comfortingly on his arm, the other gently stroking the sleeping child's face.
"You never knew?" she asked softly. "How is it possible?... You were there nigh two months…"
Aelwyn strode into the room, sitting promptly by Eragon.
"The Restoration."
Eragon nodded slowly.
"She never told me…"
Kalyn hesitantly looked up at his liege lord.
"It was for the better, my lord. My mother, when she was pregnant with us, did not tell our father until we were almost a season-cycle old. She was afraid my father would become too worried with the children to protect their Lord Rider, no matter how despicable he was. Perhaps she was worried about your safety, my lord."
"What is his name? Did she name him?" he asked softly, looking over at Aelwyn.
She nodded.
"His name is Evilan Viyala."
Eragon swiftly set the child in Arya's arms, "I… wish to walk for a bit."
Eragon ran outside, leaping onto Saphira bare-back.
Saphira… I want to fly.
Her soft thrum of pleasure vibrated through the dragoness.
No, Eragon. We want to fly.
With one powerful down stroke, she rocketed into the sky, leaving their troubles behind if only for a few hours.
What does his name mean?
Eragon hesitated.
Eternal Victory.
It hurt. Even from the grave she hurt him, but this time in love.
He took a deep breath of the cool air.
Sky was freedom. Sky was simplistic. Sky had no barriers.
It was simply…
Simply flying.
Him and the one being his love would never die out for.
Translation: Eka Vanla eom Flauga (title) – I Want to Fly
TN: Vanla is mine…^^
AN: OK, THIS CHAPTER WAS REALLY, REALLY, REALLY HURRIED, SO SORRY, I JUST CANT FIND ENOUGH TIME AND INSPIRATION THESE DAYS, JUST WAIT, I'LL REGAIN MY WRITING LIGHTBULBS, PROMISE.
no relation to that cliché saying in the Titanic. Though that was a pretty good movie, I liked it… XD and I'm a guy… I'm so weird.
And now that I think of it, I think Aelwyn is kinda like Berdine… lol, only you people who read the SoT books would understand XD
and please do review o.o;; i need feedback so i know what you guys want and think, anonymous review is on, so anyone can review, but please, constructive criticism only... ^^; thank youuu
Cara – thanksss! ^^
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ESMT – I'm thinking about dedicating the next whole chapter to the two dragon rider half-brothers…. :D thank youuu~
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Obliterator1519 – loll, that would be interesting XD I'll see to that~
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Restrained Freedom – I hope this chapter was just as amusing. XD I found myself chuckling at Aelwyn and Arya. Those two are going to be quick friends, promise you that LOL, thankssss
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For the review too. :)
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