So, I'm pretty surprised that you all reviewed so quick and as promised I have uploaded it for you all. And your reviews makes me a very happy writer! Well, with the exception of one but there will always be those type of people. Anyways, I hope you all love this chapter its a mixture of CP's own Agaeti Blodhren but with my own twists and turns! (So thank you for writing it so beautifully CP) and because I feel that three chapters are a lot in a week, I'll let you wait for the next one a little longer! I'm evil! :) Happy reading!
As the days began to get ever closer to the Agaeti Blodhren, Eragon found himself experiencing the best and worst days of his time in Ellesmera. His mind troubled him constantly, despite Islanzadi's and Oromis's search for a cure. The bloodlust of the spirit sharing his body made it hard for him to concentrate on anything else, but he found it easier to keep it in check when he had company. Yet, in contrast, he and Saphira had never been so close. Disregarding her own safety, she kept her mind connected to his, living and feeling the experiences, her him and he her. Her presence made everything much more relaxing and comforting. And every now and then when Arya's duty permitted her and he wasn't feverously researching through scrolls and texts, the two of them along with Eridor and Saphira would walk through Ellesmera. Over the course of their wanderings, Arya introduced Eragon and Saphira to elves of distinction: great warriors, poets, and artists. She took them to concerts held under the thatched pines, something he found very soothing to his mind. And she showed them many hidden wonders of Ellesmera, some more mythical than the rest.
Ever since her distressed confession, he found himself trying to share her burdens as a fellow rider and a friend. He told her stories that he knew would interest her. How he'd come to hire his servants, that as a child he was talented in playing the flute for his mother, and how he would always find himself attached to the ocean and the beauty of the sky. He told her of his first flight with Saphira in which out of his own fear and excitement ended rather badly as he fell from the saddle and into a pile of hay in the country side. Eragon had tried to avoid subjects such as Galbatorix and Shruikan and instead told her of a loyal servant he had by the name of Tornac and how he had learned the skills of the blade from him. And he told her of the city of Uru'baen and how when he climbed one of the seven elfish towers to watch the sunset, it was as if the sky was on fire, something she was most interested in. But he rarely, if ever, spoke of himself during those times.
In turn, Eragon learned of Arya's own life. He heard of her childhood, her friends and family, the struggles she had with her mother, her sense of duty, and her experiences among the Varden, which she spoke about the most freely. She described raids and battles she participated in, treaties that she helped to negotiate, her dispute with the dwarves and their beliefs, which he thought was uncanny of her, and the momentous events that she witnessed during her tenure as ambassador. However, he didn't just listen. He would ask questions in return and for the most part, she answered them with an honesty that he came to appreciate greatly since his time in Ellesmera.
One night, as they were sitting under the canopy of an ancient oak tree, Arya was describing the time when she had first attended a wedding between a rather respected leader of the Varden and his betrothed. As she explained, he couldn't help but feel amused at the small distaste she had for the ceremonies. "Though elves don't see it necessary to dictate our bonds to laws or secular items, it was an odd enough experience to witness it before a crowd of people. Who we chose to take as a mate is solely our decision, no one else's. We shall live together for as long as our feelings persist, and if not, then it will be a parting of the ways."
"Ah, but then humans, being a short-lived race can only express their loyalty and devotion through that ceremony. Without magic and immortality, it is hard to live freely of other's influence," countered Eragon.
"But how would you justify infidelity when you've vowed to protect and nurture one another for as long as you both shall live?" Arya asked cornering him with her logic. And to this he grudgingly didn't have an answer. It was how it went between the two of them; though Eragon would best her in sparring she was superior to him in knowledge and logic.
Between her and Saphira, a measure of tranquility began to settle in Eragon's heart, but it was a balance that could be easily disrupted when he was influenced by the madness of the spirit residing in him. But with the coming of the celebration, he was glad for a distraction from his morbid thoughts.
The entire city bustled with activity as the elves prepared for the Agaeti Blodhren. Eragon had never seen them so excited before and he had to admit that spending time with Arya made him feel as if she was representative of her race. Oh how wrong he was. They decorated the forest with colored bunting and lanterns, especially around the Menoa tree, where the tree itself was adorned with a lantern upon the tip of each branch. Even the plants took a festive appearance that Eragon knew was due to the elves' singing through the night.
Each day hundreds of elves arrived in Ellesmera from their cities scattered throughout the woods, for none would willingly miss the centennial observance of their treaty with the dragons. Eragon also knew that many came to see for themselves the beauty of the three dragons. The trio did not disappoint and would often fly about the city, causing a rainbow of sapphire, emerald, and ruby to color the city. He would chuckle when he heard the excited gasps and compliments the elves rained on the three dragons. A week before the Agaeti Blodhren, Eragon had forgone walking with Arya because he was busy with his creation for the ceremony and she with hers. Saphira, too, would often fly off to work on hers, something that he didn't question but was very interested in seeing with his own eyes. What he wanted to give to the elves was something that they'd value beyond anything else, something that was the cause of their sadness and sorrow and he had the right tools for it all, his memories being the most monumental contribution. He labored day and night, not putting forth any magic but instead his feelings and desire for what was lost so his project could take life from his emotions and not magic itself. As he worked on his project and Murtagh and Arya worked on theirs, the time they met for training was slightly subdued due to their preoccupations.
He had refused to show Oromis for it would not create the reaction that he desired. Never had he felt a desire to accomplish something so greatly in his entire life. Eragon worked day and night from dawn to sunset but it gave him a feeling of wondrous freedom and peace, two things he hadn't felt in a long time.
On the eve of the Agaeti Blodhren—which was the last three days—Eragon, Saphira, Orik, Murtagh, and Thorn accompanied Arya and Eridor to the Menoa tree, where a host of elves was assembled, their black and silver hair flickering in the lamplight. Islanzadi stood upon a raised root at the base of the trunk, as tall, pale, and fair as a birch tree. Blagden as usual rested on the queen's left shoulder, while Maud, the werecat whom Eragon liked a great deal, lurked behind her. Glaedr was there, as well as Oromis, who was clothed in red and black. He also recognized other elves such as Lifaen and Nari and to his great distaste, Vanir.
"Wait here," said Arya. She slipped through the crowd and soon enough, returned with Rhunon, making good on her promise to bring the elf to the celebration. The smith blinked at them and each of them took turns in greeting her, to which she would nod and give a short reply. Then she spied Orik and addressed him in Dwarvish, to which he responded with enthusiasm. Arya resumed standing next to him and he was not surprised to see her dressed in the same manner as her mother and Oromis, black and red.
"It seems that you've managed to bring her out of her forge," commented Eragon as he watched Orik and the smith converse. "Did she take well to it?"
"Rhunon was her usual self," said Arya with a light smile, which he contributed to the celebration seeing as this was also her first time in participating in it. "It took no more than words and a few brusque complaints before she left."
He nodded, not doubting her answer. They stood there until the stroke of midnight, every once and a while Eragon would point an object of interest to her and she would explain, Islanzadi raised her bare left arm so that it pointed to the new moon and a soft white orb of light gathered itself above her palm from the light emitted from the lanterns that dotted the Menoa tree. Then Islanzadi walked along the root to the massive trunk and placed the orb in a hollow in the bark, where it remained, pulsing.
Murtagh turned to Arya. "Is it begun?"
"It is begun!" she laughed. "And it will end when the werelight expends itself."
Eragon watched as the elves divided itself into informal camps throughout the forest and clearing that encircled the Menoa tree. They produced tables laden high with dishes and then they began to sing in their clear flutelike voices. The music was part of a larger melody that wove an enchantment over the dreamy night causing Eragon's blood to boil and his mind to take wild abandon with a desire to dance and run freely through the dark forest. He restrained it with such firmness, that it was impossible to go mad, but Murtagh seemed to be having a much more difficult time. From then on out, he let himself partake in the celebrations, knowing what his limits were. Eventually, as they celebrated, time lost all meaning to him, for he did not know how much time had transpired as he danced among the elves and let himself enjoy their merriment.
He remembered dancing about Arya, who proved a beautiful dancer as she twirled and twisted with such grace it was hard to picture her in battle. Their hands would bring them together and their feet would push them apart. As he danced, he caught a glimpse of Murtagh spinning in circles while holding hands with an elf-maid.
He remembered the elves perching on the branches of the Menoa tree call out to the dragons below, asking riddles and questions, laughing when they were answered by any of the four dragons.
He remembered sitting against Saphira to watch the same elf-maid whom Murtagh danced with sway before a rapt audience while she sang.
He remembered the endless poems, some mournful, others joyful, and most contained both. He heard Arya's poem in full and thought that it fine indeed, and Islanzadi's, which was longer but of equal merit. All the elves gathered to listen to those two works…
He remembered the wonders the elves made for the celebration, many of which he would have deemed impossible beforehand, even with the assistance of magic. Puzzles and toys, art and weapons, and items whose function escaped him.
He remembered meeting elves who had altered their appearance in what they thought was beautiful, such as webbed fingers and gills, or a mane of wolf hair and fangs for teeth. Everything seemed to dance in and out of his mind as if he was there but his mind wasn't.
He remembered Arya pulling him aside to ask him a question but it was lost to the music and merriment of those all around him. But she was soon pulled away by the other elves and her mother to continue the celebration leaving Eragon to where he stood with Saphira.
He remembered Murtagh having an attack from his back, and trying to help his half brother ease the pain with his magic as the elves continued to dance and sing in their revels. To keep them away, Saphira and Thorn stood guard over him as he helped Murtagh.
On the third day of the Agaeti Blodhren, or so Eragon later learned, he brought out his creation for the elves to witness. It was a vast, bulky object that took up multiple tables that they elves had cleared for him. He reached out to grip the black cloth that obscured it from view feeling all of their interested views on him, especially those of Oromis, Arya, Islanzadi, Murtagh, and the dragons. He faced them and said, "I am no smith nor am I skilled in weaving or carving. And Nor can I rival your accomplishments with spells. Thus remained what I could do and my desire to see it rise again even though it is but a small recreation of it." With a flourish of his hand, he removed the cloth revealing to the audience the recreation of the island of Vroengard, where the Order of the Riders resided.
It was not the poisoned island that it is now, but the beautiful land in which vast buildings stood and mountains shadowed. Flying atop of it were dragons that he had carved and built, functioning with the magic of his emotions and desire. They released torrents of fire and bellows as they circled the island. Everything was precise and exact as he extracted the memories of Vroengard from the Eldunari that Galbatorix had enslaved when he came into contact to them. He heard the elves' gasps and cries at the replication of what were lost. Glaedr and Oromis were perhaps the most emotional next to Queen Islanzadi as they surveyed it.
Yes, this is what we lost in the Fall, Glaedr said mournfully, the destruction of our home.
The elf lord, Dathedr, said, "You've underestimated yourself, Shadeslayer. In the century that has passed since the Fall, we've come to forget the beauty of what once was and it is thanks to you that we can remember."
Islanzadi raised one pale hand. "This creation of yours shall be added to the great library in Tialdari Hall, Eragon-finiarel, so that all who wish can appreciate it." As she said so, she approached the island and a dragon, whom she recognized flew towards her and bowed his head in respect and soon enough the others did as well, seeing the authority of Islanzadi. Eragon couldn't tell but he'd thought he saw tears in the queen's eyes as she gazed down at the Vroengard.
Afterwards, it was time for Saphira to present her work to the elves. And seeing as it was also his first time seeing it, he was surprised to find her flying back with a molten rock thrice the size of a regular man. She landed on her hind legs and placed it in the center for all to see. Then with a bellow, she bathed it in flames. When she closed her jaws the rock was aflame seeming to move under the hypnotic light. This had the elves laughing and dancing shouting words of praise. And one by one they all began to reveal their works, Murtagh read his poem, Thorn brought forth a carving of a dragon that he carved with the use of his talons, and Eridor revealed his work, a map of Alagaesia that he also carved but on it, he'd rubbed the color of his scales into the trees and forest giving it a beautiful verdant color, something Rhunon praised. Then Glaedr and Oromis presented their works, the two objects that the elves anticipated.
Arya took Eragon's hand then and drew him through the forest toward the Menoa tree, where she said, "Look how the werelight dims. We have but a few hours left to us before dawn arrives and we must return to the world of cold reason."
Around the tree, the host of elves gathered, their faces bright with eager anticipation. With great dignity Islanzadi stood on a gnarled shelf overlooking the slender, waiting elves. She spoke of the war with the dragons and the shame they had faced since the fall of the riders before pointing out the miracle of four riders now present for the ceremony and the hope that they now had to face Galbatorix.
At the Queen's signal, the elves cleared a wide expanse at the base of the Menoa tree. Around the perimeter they staked a ring of lanterns mounted upon carved poles, while musicians with flute, harps, and drums assembled along the ridge of one long root. Guided by Arya to the edge of the circle, Eragon found himself sitting between her and Murtagh, while Saphira and Eridor crouched on one side of them and Thorn and Glaedr the other. When all elves were settled, two elf-maids walked to the center of the space in the host and stood with their backs to each other. They were exceedingly beautiful, Eragon thought, and identical in every aspect with the exception of their hair: one had ebony tresses while the other had hair the color of silver.
"The Caretakers, Iduna and Neya," whispered Arya.
Moving in unison, the two elves raised their hands to the brooches at their throats, unclasped them, and allowed their white robed to fall away. Though they wore no garments, the women were clad in an iridescent tattoo of a dragon. The tattoo began with the dragon's tail wrapped around the left ankle of Iduna, continued up her leg and thigh, over her torso, and then across Neya's back, ending with the dragon's head on Neya's chest. Every scale on the dragon was inked in a different color giving it the look of a rainbow.
The elf-maids twined their hands and arms together so that the dragon appeared to be connected, rippling from one body to the next without interruption. Then they each lifted a bare foot and brought it down on the packed ground with a soft thump.
It wasn't until the third thump did the musicians struck their drums in rhythm to the soft stomps. A thump later, the harpists plucked the strings of their gilt instruments, and a moment after that, those elves with flutes joined the throbbing melody. Then the twin's voices became one with the music as they danced gathering speed as they went to make the dragon on their skin move. And soon enough the elves accompanied the incantation, singing with one tongue and one mind and one intent. Eragon did not know the words and settled to listening to Arya sing it beside him. From either side, he heard the dragons hum along with the song.
Faster and faster, Iduna and Neya spun until their feet were a dusty blur and their hair fanned about them and they glistened with a film of sweat. As they accelerated to an inhuman speed, the tempo of the music climbed with them. Then a flare of light ran the length of the dragon tattoo, from head to tail, and the dragon stirred. Eragon blinked. Had he truly seen that?
A burst of flame erupted from the dragon's maw and he lunged forward and pulled himself free of the elves' skin, climbing into the air, where he hovered flapping his wings. The tip of his tail remained connected to the twins below, like a glowing umbilical cord. The giant beast let loose a roar that held the events of the past century.
As the dragon's head befall him and Murtagh, he knew then that it was no apparition but a conscious being bound and sustained by magic. The dragons' humming grew louder until it blocked all other sound from Eragon's ear. The dragon's insubstantial wing touched the seated elves as it looped down over them coming to a stop before Eragon and Murtagh. He felt an instinct to reach it come over him but he refrained from doing so, while beside him Murtagh lifted his right hand, palming reaching toward the creature.
In his mind echoed a voice of fire: Our gift so you may do what you must.
The dragon bent his neck and touched the heart of Murtagh's gedwey ignasia. A spark jumped between them, and he watched as his half brother went rigid in his seat before he fell forward. Alarmed, Eragon stood to help him just as the dragon touched his right eye with its snout. A searing pain erupted from the contact, blinding him as he reached for it with his right hand. As soon as his own gedwey ignasia came in contact with it, his body burned with an unrestrained fire. His vision flashed red and black and his right eye burned. Feeling a drowsiness overcome him, he stumbled before falling to the ground, going into deep within himself to keep the pain at bay.
Lastly, he again heard the voice of fire say, Our gift to you.
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I shall upload the next one in a week so have fun waiting in the suspense that I've created!