Chapter 25

Been too tired lately for some reason and I keep getting these migraines that knock me out for hours on end. So as a result I wasn't really feeling up to writing but then I felt better today so I thought I would crank something out. So when you are reading this chapter be aware that there is a decade jump here. I'm just moving things along so hopefully it doesn't seem too chaotic. In any case, have fun reading everyone. R&R.

"Arya," Gasping slightly at the pain in his right leg, he crawled forward towards her location. Above them, he could hear several loud roars. There was another explosion that threw him against the ground. In the midst of the debris, he launched forward letting the dirt and rocks rain down on him. Because the terrain was vast and out in the open, it made it all the harder for him to try and avoid any sort of direct conflict with the two Dragon Riders chasing them: Kialandí and Vinos.

Running forward, he caught sight of her hunched over on the ground clutching at her side. Despite her injury, her emerald green eyes were bright and they were ablaze with emotion. Dodging another swept from the air, he slid on the ground until he was on one knee beside Arya. She was injured from her fighting with Kialandí. Though Arya was strong, she had only been part of the Varden for twenty years and her strength could not match that of a Forsworn's.

"Let me see the wound, Arya," though he wanted to be tender with her, they were still a few miles away from the fringe of Du Weldenvarden and the possibility of lingering out in the open was not a choice for them. She winced slightly but shifted towards him, removing her hand to show him the gash in her left side which was bleeding profusely. He wanted to curse but leaned forward to further inspect it.

The flesh didn't seem that it was only pierced but there was something else to it. There was a slight purple tinge to her wound that made him cautious. He narrowed his eyes slightly to take in the wound, his vision becoming tinted red at the sight of Arya's blood flowing freely. "It will not heal," murmured Arya as she returned her hand to her side to stem the flow of blood.

Poison.

Without another moment's hesitation, he ripped off his cloak from his shoulder before moving to wrap it about her waist careful to not put a great deal of pressure on her side but enough to keep the blood at bay. "Head to Du Weldenvarden," Eragon ordered her. He saw a flash of protest in her eyes and knew that she was going to draw herself up to argue against him. But he pressed on. "You are injured Arya and you've been poisoned. If you keep fighting you will wear yourself down."

"And what about you?" asked Arya but he could tell that she was losing the will to argue against him because of her injury.

"Do not worry," his expression was determined. "I said that I would not die easily and I shall show you that I do not lie, Arya." Her emerald eyes seemed to flicker with hesitation, Eragon blinked when he heard Vinos' taunting voice from above. He turned back to Arya, gripping her upper arms. "Trust me, Arya."

Still holding her side, she nodded moving to her feet. "I'll be waiting for you."

For some unknown reason, her words touched him like a caress on his soul. He could only stare at her as she retreated towards Du Weldenvarden, her words ringing in his ears. She would be waiting for him. It almost sounded what one would say to a mate or a husband. Watching as her form began to grow smaller in his line of sight, he shook himself turning back to the task at hand. Vinos and Kialandí had ambushed them while they were making their way to Du Weldenvarden. How they knew he did not know but he knew for a fact that there wasn't a single spy in the midst of the Varden unless he had overlooked someone.

"I will make certain that you die today you meddlesome fool," he jumped back as Kialandí easily flipped himself over his purple dragon, falling ten meters through the air before landing lightly on the balls of his feet his sword drawn. He stared at the elf, noticing the red blood stains on his sword. Rage immediately overtook him. Coating the purple blade was Arya's blood.

Unsheathing Vrangr and Brisingr, he lifted his head to send Kialandí a frown. "What is it now? I had thought with the death of two of your companions at Brom's doing you would have learned your lesson."

Three years ago, two of the Forsworn both humans by the name of Dynet and Cerci were killed by Brom and his planning. He had used the power struggle between the Forsworn for his own ends and had taken care of the two of them. Now only seven of the thirteen remained. Their numbers were beginning to die out.

"There is nothing for me to fear from a Rider without a dragon," said Kialandí with a scoff. His eyes narrowed as he took in Eragon by himself. "I see it that your companion has left you. Do you believe yourself capable of defeating one such as me?"

"I did once," said Eragon bringing up the time when he had caused Kialandí to become impaled on his dragon once more years earlier. He tightened his grip on Brisingr. "And I have no doubt that Galbatorix was displeased with you and your failures Kialandí."

"Which is why I am bringing him your body as an apology," Kialandí raised his hand and shouted causing a shower of violet sparks to rain down on him. When one collided with his arm, Eragon winced. His skin burned and a raw red scorch mark appeared. Knowing that it wouldn't bode well for him to stay on the ground, Eragon started forward.

He didn't head for Kialandí but rather for his dragon.

The purple dragon remained on the ground intently watching them in case Kialandí needed his help. Having overlooked their dragons in his earlier encounters with them, he'd decided that it was a time to change tactics. If the dragons were going to be a part of their battles, than it would make everything significantly easier if he used their dragons against them.

As he neared the purple dragon, the creature bellowed at him trying to bathe him in a river of orange flames tinged violet. Ducking, he felt a sense of satisfaction when he saw Kialandí receive the torrent of flames instead. Had it not been for his wards, the elf would have been burnt to ashes.

"Kialandí!" Vinos shouted from above them. "I shall go see if I can find his elf companion." There were two loud claps as well as a torrent of air bearing down on them before Vinos and his dragon flew off towards the direction of Du Weldenvarden. Trusting that Arya would be able to take care of herself and escape within the forest of her people, he turned his attention back to Kialandí, shuffling about as to avoid being stomped to death by his dragon.

Come on, thought Eragon as he shifted and shuffled about the purple dragon trying his best to remain beneath it. Just as he thought he would, Kialandí shifted forward on his feet and lunged for Eragon easily covering the yards between them. Knowing that what he was going to do was necessary, Eragon took in a deep breath before slashing Vrangr to his side, cutting a deep gash into the purple dragon.

A large drop of red blood fell to the grass followed by two loud roars, one louder than the other. While the purple dragon roared in pain, Kialandí was blindsided with anger. Allowing the violet Rider's sword to slide past him, he turned and slammed his elbow down into the crook of his arm. Without breaking in motion, he brought up the pommel of Vrangr and slammed it into Kialandí's chest once, twice, three times until he heard several ribs crack.

He heard a roar behind him followed by the sound of something heavy whipping through the air. Still keeping his grip on Kialandí, he ducked. He'd learned after several years not to solely focus his attentions on only the Rider but also on the dragon as well seeing as it could be a dangerous opponent on the battle field.

"I see Galbatorix has decided that you are no longer worthy of his Eldunarí," said Eragon as he straightened blocking a swipe to the side. He threw the violet sword off and kneed Kialandí in the stomach, turning in time to swipe at his violet dragon's underbelly.

It let forth a rumbling roar of pain that ended on a whimper as it began to stumble, bleeding from its most sensitive area. A hand came out and slammed into his face causing his head to turn to the side abruptly. Blinking, he turned to avoid another enraged attack as Kialandí snarled at him.

"I will kill you!" Kialandí swore.

"Not if I kill your first," and with that, he slammed his head against the elf's watching as he stumbled. When he raised his arm, Eragon brought up Brisingr and sliced his arm off from the elbow watching as the limb fell to the ground still clutching the violet sword. Howling in pain, Kialandí stumbled and his dragon angered made to snap at Eragon but he easily dodge slicing the violet dragon in the jaw.

Clutching at his stump of an arm, Kialandí glared at him his face rapidly becoming white and pasty. "Even if you kill me, you cannot escape," he said, breathing heavily with blood spilling from his lips. "Galbatorix will never let one who knows his secrets go freely. You will be hunted for the rest of your life whether it is tomorrow, the day next, weeks, or years. You cannot escape us."

"I do not plan to," said Eragon as he flourished Brisingr. He stared down at the elf who had fallen to his knees unable to continue standing. "It will make my deeds all the more easier if fools like you come running to me."

"So confident…" Kialandí scoffed weakly. "I suppose this is vengeance."

"It has been long overdue," said Eragon as he held Brisingr before Kialandí. Then without another word, he stabbed the elf right through his heart watching as he went slump on the blue blade of Brisingr. Pulling back, he jumped back flipping onto his feet as he dragon let out a torrent of flames, angered and full of sorrow.

Bending his knees, he stared at the enraged creature watching is it bled out from three different areas on its body. "Sorry," muttered Eragon as he launched forward. Running in a random, zigzag pattern he easily dodged swipes of claws and tails and then when he was within the last few yards, he jumped up. Sheathing Vrangr in one fluid motion, he turned and circling through the air stabbed the dragon directly in its skull. There was a sickening crunch as Brisingr went through flesh and bone alike before stopping at the hilt, the blade buried deep with the dragon's head.

The violet dragon let out a bellowing roar of utter pain, thrashing violently before laying still, slumping to the ground. Breathing heavily, he glanced at the blood that freely flowed from the wound that he inflicted upon the dragon before drawing Brisingr out. There was a wet squelch and a fine spray of blood coated his front torso and arms, burning as it landed on his skin.

Jumping onto the ground, he took a moment to look at the fallen dragon and then Kialandí who laid a few feet away, his right arm missing from the elbow down. He took a moment to study the elf whose eyes were open and devoid of life. He had not killed him years earlier when he had impaled him on the spikes of his purple dragon but he did now.

"That was for Oromis," said Eragon as he walked over to the fallen arm. Nudging the limb away, he bent down as he sheathed Brisingr to grip the violet sword. Staring at the glyph on the blade, he frowned. Andlát.

Death.

What a fitting name for a sword of a Forsworn, thought Eragon grimly as he stared at the blood that stained the blade. It was Arya's blood. Careful not to touch the edge since the blade was coated in poison from what he had learned from Arya's wound, he bent down to retrieve the scabbard from Kialandí to sheathe the blade.

He was about to leave when something caught his eye. Protruding from the inside of Kialandí's tunic was a neatly folded missive. Reaching down to take it in hand, he stared at it for a moment before a faint roar off in the distance caught his attention. Arya!

Tucking the missive away, he hurried in the direction of the sound. Had she safely made it inside the fringe of Du Weldenvarden? Though the fringe was relatively much weaker than the inner sanctum of the forest, he could only hope that the Forsworn was tentative about harming the forest due to the fact that the elves resided within the domain of the lush trees.

Careful not to put too much weight onto his right leg in which the pain was now burning with a vengeance, he hurried forward. Arya's magic had been trying to heal the wound but it was rather deep with some muscle torn. He would have to heal it himself once he found Arya.

Not breaking in stride, he glanced up to find Vinos and his dragon turning away from Du Weldenvarden. Not bothering to chase them since he had already dealt with one Forsworn for the day, he continued forward. In any case, when Vinos saw that Kialandí was dead either he would show some gratitude to Eragon for laying waste to an opponent for Galbatorix's favors or avenge his comrade. Eragon had no doubt that it would be the former. Staring at their shrinking form in the sky as they headed west, he continued to push himself until he reached the fringe of Du Weldenvarden. It seemed as if Vinos was too cowardly to dare and attack the forest.

"Arya?"

There was no reply. Inwardly cursing to himself, he neared the young pines trying to find a clue as to where Arya was. What if she'd succumbed to the poison? Fear, chilling and rapid ran through him at the thought of her lying helpless on the ground without an antidote or a way to heal her wound. Turning on the spot, his eyes searching he blinked when he caught sight of a small drop of crimson on the grass. Hurrying to it, Eragon blinked taking in the rather faint trail of blood that led into the forest.

"Arya…" her name left him in a strangled breath. Not having time to think of anything else, he hurried in the direction of the trail. Brushing branch after branch from his way, and jumping over root after root, he continued to run wondering how far Arya had managed to get despite being injured. Hurrying past a young pine tree, he would have continued had he not caught sight of a doe so far away from its bed. Pausing for a moment, Eragon blinked turning his head.

There on the forest ground was Arya. She was curled in on herself, her skin extremely pale and sweat forming on her face. From where he stood away from her, he could hear her shallow breaths. The doe was bent over her, sensing that she was not a danger and seemed to offer her company. Approaching, Eragon said to the doe, "Eitha."

Turning its head to stare at him, the doe lingered for a moment before heeding his command. Turning, it gracefully bounded away deeper into the forest.

Placing Andlát on the ground, he reached down to take Arya's arm, "Arya," trying to lift her up, he paused when her brow knitted to show her discomfort. Hating that he was hurting her, he took in a deep breath and spoke to her in a low, reassuring voice. "Arya, let me see the wound."

Her eyelids fluttered opened and she turned her head towards him showing him clearly how much pain she was in. If he hadn't already killed Kialandí he would not mind disemboweling him for what he did to Arya. Despite her obvious pain, there was a hint of relief in her expression at the sight of him well and relatively whole apart from his injured right leg which was wrapped in vein-like tendrils of green magic.

"You came," said Arya softly as she stretched her body out so that he could unwrap his cloak from her. He blinked at the red blood that stained his hand and felt his heart freeze at how unnaturally pale she was. Was this the same poison that Ra'zac used? Was this Seithr oil?

He removed her hand which seemed to clutch instinctively at her wound. It was stained red and unable to bring himself to let go, he clutched her hand in his hoping that his hand did not shake. "Like I promised I did," said Eragon as he shifted the torn part of her leather top to the side to show him her wound in greater detail.

If anything her wound had gotten worst. The poison seemed to have seeped into her body and was no doubt running through her veins. His expression must have been something for Arya blinked up at him, her lips twitching slightly. "This is the first time I've seen you so…responsive."

"Responsive?" he reached for his cloak trying to find a part of it that was not soaked through with her blood. The upper half was still dry. With ease, he ripped it cleanly into strips before turning his attention back to Arya.

"Perhaps responsive is not the correct word," she agreed watching as he began to dig a small hole in the ground.

He nodded glancing at her before turning his eyes back onto the hole he had dug with his fingers. It appeared to be a decent size. "Reisa du adurna," instantly, the small hole in the ground began to fill with water. He turned back to Arya, still holding one of her small hands in his, "This will sting Arya but only for a little while. I am no healer but I need to see if I can clean the wound if only slightly."

He grabbed a strip of what used to be his cloak and soaked it in the cool water. Then pausing slightly, he took in a deep breath and pressed the cloth to her wound. Instantly he saw her flinch and her muscles jerk slightly. Then with great care, he began to gently clean her wound trying to draw away some of the poison that was still clinging to the open flesh. Her lips were pursed, brows knitted, and her hand clamped his but otherwise she did not vocalize her hurt which made him rather proud.

"I will carry you to Ília Fëon, Arya," he said as he wrapped the remaining strips of cloth over her wound once more. "It is not far from here and there are expert healers who can address your wound much better than I."

She nodded her eyes closing as a short breath left her. Taking Andlát in one hand, he bent down slid that arm underneath her knees before with his other slipped it underneath her back. Then as gently as he could, he lifted her up standing as he did so. "If I jostle you I will like to apologize in advance," murmured Eragon glancing down at her in his arms. She nodded once more but did not say anymore.

Aligning himself in the northern direction, he took one step forward before breaking out into a run. Careful of roots, he made sure to jump over them whenever they littered the ground before him so that he would not trip with Arya in his arms. And whenever branches were low enough that they covered his way, he merely tucked Arya in his arms and turned to his side running through the branches so that they scraped at his arms and back but never at his front where he cradled Arya.

All the while as he ran, Arya did not show many signs of discomfort except for a gasp when he landed particularly hard on his feet after sailing over ten feet of thick roots to which he instantly apologized for. As he ran, he tried to comfort Arya. Eragon had never been rather apt at comforting others apart from those close to him. He knew how to comfort Saphira because he understood her. The same held for Arya only his way of comforting Arya usually differed greatly from how he would comfort Saphira. Most of the time, he could give her physical comfort through their bond.

Instead, he tried to talk to her and find a means to comfort her in this way. Useless babble just seemed to tumble from his lips as he tried to think of a way to ease Arya's pain even if he couldn't do so physically. If he could perhaps distract her from it maybe that would be better. But the more he talked, the more he sounded rather pathetic to his own ears and he had a fleeting thought of Angela laughing at him and his attempt to reach out and comfort another person.

Surprisingly Arya did not seem to mind his mindless one-sided conversation. His words and pointless stories had filled the silence and fifteen minutes later when he found himself standing in the city of Ília Fëon he found himself slightly out of breath at his constant talking and running.

"What has happened?" an elf maiden ran towards him, her expression one of alarm as she took in Arya who was pale and shivering slightly in his arms. Her eyes darted to Arya and then her expression grew even more alarmed. "Arya Dröttningu!"

"We were ambushed traveling to Du Weldenvarden," said Eragon as more elves swarmed to their location to see their injured princess, their expressions one of pure rage. "Arya was injured and poisoned. She needs medical attention."

"Give her to us," one of the female elves held her arms out for Arya. He did so but the moment he placed Arya in her arms, a weak hand gripped his wrist as if to tug him with her. He glanced down at Arya and smiled at her reassuringly.

"You are in good hands Arya," said Eragon as he reached down to remove her hand. "I will be waiting for you this time it seems." He squeezed her hand gently as he released it. Then without wasting another moment, Arya was carried away the elves following her. He could tell from their hurried movements that they were in a panic after seeing their princess in such a weak state. No doubt a report was going to be sent to Evandar soon. He inwardly sighed. He had promised to watch after Arya for Evandar and yet she was injured because she was traveling with him.

His Arya had never been attacked directly by the Forsworn. But because he existed in this timeline, his actions also affected Arya because of her friendship with him. Had she not been with him, she would have never been attacked in the first place. I suppose my presence does hold great weight in this history, thought Eragon as he found a log out of the way to sit down on. As he did so, he turned to the injury on his right leg. There was a gash in his calve and blood trickled from it but not enough to be life threatening.

Reaching down, he touched his right calve with his right hand. "Waíse heil."

The skin seemed to glow for a moment with sapphire magic before coming together. When the light of his magic faded, he turned to glance at the newly healed skin. The pain from earlier was gone to be replaced with a cool feeling of intense relief. Taking this moment to catch his breath, he was about to get up and head in the direction where Arya was carried off to before he felt the missive from earlier in his pocket.

Pulling it out, he stared at the folded parchment. Curious, he opened it to find himself staring at elegant lines that composed the glyphs of the ancient language.

Kialandí,

Do not presume to order me about as you wish. If my memory serves me correct, you are the only fool amongst us. There is the blindsided Darius who is only out to seek blood but you are the only one of us that has managed to fail Galbatorix. Therefore I do not see where it is that you have such brazen audacity to order me to tell you what I have been pursuing these past years. You enjoy your time hoarding wealth and power and no one is the wiser to tell you the many more useful applications you can apply yourself to.

Even Enduriel has more intelligence to not question another when he is clearly the most permissive out of the thirteen of us. Perhaps you should visit his estate and learn a thing or two from him. In any case, I have no reason to divulge to you what I have been doing all these years. Galbatorix does not question me and neither should you. Or rather, you do not have the authority to do so. However, since you have been becoming a thorn in my side as of late then I shall tell you one thing.

I find it more enjoyable to play games not with wealth nor power but rather with appearances. You would be surprised with how much I have learned. Had you not been wasting away on your estate you would find for yourself how vast Alagaësia is.

With that said, I hope this letter finds you well or in ill health. I do not care. Let one message be clear to you, Kialandí. Do not bother me again. I shall not be as forgiving next. As long as Galbatorix does not question me or my loyalty then there is nothing for someone like you to worry over. Let us part on this one piece of advice, hoarding too many pleasures of life will leave you with nothing in the end.

Formora

He stared at the missive in slight surprise. Though he knew of the history behind Formora and Kialandí and how they had tricked and betrayed Oromis, he did not think that Formora would be so venomous to her fellow Forsworn. Blinking at the missive, he reread it again. The tone of the letter struck a chord of remembrance within him. Formora was sarcastic, condescending, and mocking.

Strangely she reminded him of Elvina.

Rereading the missive once more he mind kept repeating the last paragraph. What was it that Formora meant about playing with appearances? What appearances? Trying to contemplate the vague missive, he sighed. Now was not the time to worry over a letter of correspondence between the Forsworn. He had to worry about Arya's wellbeing. Standing up from the log, he made his way in the direction where Arya was carried off with Andlát clutched tightly in his hands.

It did not take long for him to find the house sung from tree where Arya was being treated. One of the guards told him that he had to wait until Arya was healed and well enough to have visitors to which he accepted. She was the princess after all. Instead, he merely leaned against a tree waiting to hear news of Arya's condition.

Soon enough night fell and the flameless lanterns were the main source of light but Eragon refused to sleep until he knew for certain that Arya was on the road to recovery. He waited through the night and most of the morning. It wasn't until the crack of dawn did the elf woman who had taken Arya from him earlier appeared from the house. Straightening and unfolding his arms, he made his way to her.

"How is she?" asked Eragon the moment he stopped before the elf.

"She is healing. We gave her the antidote for the poison and healed her wound," she answered before thanking him softly. "You have done us a great deed today by saving Arya Dröttningu."

"May I see her?" asked Eragon hoping that she would not deny him. The elf woman thought for a moment before she nodded. She turned to the guards saying softly to them that Eragon was a permissible visitor. Thanking her, he pushed the door to the house open, closing it softly behind him.

It was two stories with the lower story comprised of a kitchen and a living room. Ascending the spiral wooden staircase, he pushed the wooden door open at the top and emerged into a spacious bedroom. Letting the door close behind him, he took in the circular bedroom, his eyes falling on the bed and the figure lying on it.

As quiet as he could, he made his way over to her bedside to look down at her figure. She was regaining color in her skin. Instead of the pale white, it was returning to its normal honeyed appearance. Her expression was placid and unfettered and she looked truly at peace. Shifting on his feet slightly, he glanced at the space beside her wishing he could just crawl onto the bed and fall asleep with her lithe body cradled by his side.

That was a privilege from another lifetime.

"How odd," murmured Eragon as he stared down at Arya's sleeping form. "Twenty years has passed us by so quickly since you've joined the Varden." In thirty more years, would Fäolin have the courage to join you in your travels, Arya? He dared not say that aloud for he did not want anyone questioning his sudden train of thoughts.

Glancing at Arya once more, he reached down hesitantly and brushed a strand of her hair from her face, his hand gently curving about her cheek. Feeling her warm skin against him put him at ease. She was going to be fine, thought Eragon relieved. Holding his hand there for a moment, he gently rubbed the pad of his thumb across her high cheekbone.

"I will be waiting for you, Arya," murmured Eragon watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. The healers must have given her a potion to induce her into such a deep sleep. Normally Arya was a very light sleeper. "But when will you come for me I wonder?"

Staring at her for a moment longer, he retracted his hand and pulled up a chair to sit alongside her bedside. There was nothing he could do but watch her.

And that was all he did, all he had been doing, and perhaps all he will be doing when it came to Arya for he could not act on his feeling not when he led such a false life. Not when there were so many questions that he still needed the answers to.

Until then, I'm not worthy.

Leaning back in his seat, he sighed softly as he watched Arya dutifully remaining by her side.

Just an ExA moment. Seeing how Arya has been lonely in her seventy years of travel originally, I just wanted to emphasize the importance of Eragon's presence to her without showing it in her POV (which I'm still deciding on). This is just one of those moments that have been changed due to Eragon coming back in time. In any case, I feel like there is so little ExA to spare here for some reason, or is it just me? I'll try to update quicker but if I get sick again or end up napping ridiculous hours because of migraines, I'll like to apologize before hand. Thanks for reading! I hope to see you all soon!

P.S. If there are any errors please feel free to PM me and I shall go back and fix them! Thank you!