Dear readers,

If you believed this story to be dead and had given it up as a hopeless case long ago, I do not blame you in the slightest. Actually, I had all but forgotten about my little fanfic, when the inspiration to continue it suddenly hit me again. This means, unfortunately, that the following chapter is very likely to contain a few stupid - and unnecessary - errors. Don't get me wrong; I have read through what I published here in 2013, and I have done my level best to avoid foolish mistakes. But I am only human, although I would love to be an elf, and I may very well have messed something up. So if you should encounter anything in this chapter that you don't understand, it's probably because of me and my forgetfulness.

Also, I feel I copied Brisingr somewhat towards the end of the chapter. After all, Eragon does notice the way Saphira speaks to Arya, and I know he too uses the word "family". But it was just too beautiful to ignore.

And with all the confusing excuses out of the way, here is the actual chapter. Enjoy - hopefully!

Chapter 35: Family

Arya awoke early the following morning, feeling surprisingly well rested, considering that she had only spent a few hours in her shadowy, ever changing world of waking dreams. Around her, the inhabitants of the plain had already begun to stir. She could hear the grass rustling and whispering as the animals moved around, making their necessary preparations for yet another day of working, of hunting, of gathering, of staying alive. Somewhere close by, a bird was trilling softly, greeting the new day with its high, clear voice. But Arya lay still, so as not to disturb the unfamiliar sense of peace and contentment that had settled over her, the quiet which none of her confusing dreams had managed to dispell. It felt as though she was carrying an invisible shield, a magical barrier that would protect her from all harm, as long as she stayed where she was, as long as she did not let it go. And she did not want to let it go, she realized. She had no wish to forget the events of the previous night. Even though the memories she had shared with Eragon were so painful, even though she had been so hesitant to recount her story, she knew now that she had made the right choice. There, in the flickering light of their campfire, surrounded by howling wolves and haunted by the shadows of her past, she had chosen, perhaps for the first time, to trust Eragon.

The thought made her turn her head to look at him. He lay on his side, his chest slowly rising and falling as he slept, his face so smooth and impossibly young. For once, his brows were not furrowed in confusion, or anger, or fear, or pain. He looked so calm, so untroubled, and she could not help but wonder if this was how she herself had looked only minutes before. She thought of how much he had endured, how quickly he had been forced to acquire skills which it should have taken him years - even decades - to master. In spite of his age, she mused, he could no longer be viewed as a boy. Not in the proper sense of the word. Not the way she had viewed him. Circumstances had transformed him into someone else. The magic of the dragons had shaped his body, and experience had shaped his mind. She remembered all he had said to her last night, the wordless comfort and support he had provided when nothing in the world seemed steady. That had not come from a boy - not even from a young man. It had come from a Rider.

Then, as though drawn by an unseen force, her gaze moved from his face and landed upon the golden lily, which gleamed so brightly in the light from the rising sun. Once again, she marveled at what the spirits had done to this simple and yet so beautiful flower, and once again, she wondered what would become of it. Would it truly be capable of spreading, as she had assured Eragon? She imagined its seeds rising from this patch of dirt, soaring away with the wind that swept across the vast, dry expanse of the plain, and finally burying themselves in the ground again. In her mind's eye, she saw the strange flowers growing, thriving amid all the other plants whose beauty, however radiant, would never surpass that of the golden lily. Was that what would happen? Of course, there was a fairly simple way of answering this question. Slowly, carefully, Arya allowed her mind to reach out towards the flower before her, to examine it more thoroughly, but just as her probing thought was about to touch its petals, something made her stop. If she delved deeper into this mystery now, what would she discover? Did the plant have magical properties which she was as yet unaware of? She did not know, and as she observed the lily in silence, she realized that she wanted this to remain a mystery to her - at least for the time being.

At that moment, Eragon rolled over, yawning and stretching as he slowly opened his eyes. Arya hastily got up and started to gather her few belongings, all the while berating herself for not having been more alert. She had spent several minutes revelling in the peace and quiet of the previous night, and only now did it occur to her that she had not even thought to defend her mind properly. If an unfriendly magician, or even one of Galbatorix's ordinary patrols, had decided to attack them, she would have been taken completely by surprise. No, she corrected herself. Not completely. Her sensitive ears, her connection with the nature and her years of experience would undoubtedly have warned her in time. But that was, she knew, a poor excuse for acting as carelessly as she had just done.

In an attempt to regain her usual composure, the facade of indifference behind which she had learned to conceal herself during her time with the Varden, she asked:

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes", Eragon replied, smiling, but Arya noticed that he did not quite meet her eyes as he spoke.

Was he anxious? Unsure how to behave? Afraid to say something that he ought not to? Thinking back to their conversation, Arya remembered the harsh words she had spoken to him, words which had flown from her mouth without her approval. Do you really think so little of us, that you believe we are cold-hearted murderers? That was indeed what she had said. Eragon had chosen to confide in her, to ask her an important question, in the hopes that she would have the answers which had eluded him for weeks - and how had she responded? With sharp, cutting, perhaps even cruel words. It was true that he could have phrased his question in a better way, and she knew that she had managed to make up for her angry outburst once it became clear to her exactly what he wanted to know. But she also knew that this could not fully justify her behaviour.

However, Arya did not voice any of these thoughts as she and Eragon ate a meagre breakfast consisting of roots and plants they had found in the vicinity. Instead, she contemplated the fact that, if nothing went amiss today, they would be back with the Varden within only a couple of hours. The prospect gave her a deep sense of satisfaction. She even found it oddly comforting, although she would always prefer the calm and solitude of the wilderness to the noisy, overcrowded camp where something constantly required her attention.

After having satisfied their hunger and made sure they left no evidence of their presence behind, Eragon and Arya departed. They spoke little while they ran, their feet drumming rythmically against the hard-packed earth as they flew across the plain, swift and silent. The wind that whipped their faces felt pleasantly cool, and the sky above them was bright blue. Through the sound of their running, Arya could hear the rush of air that was created as a large flock of birds flew past over their heads. Raising her eyes to watch them disappear towards the south, she thought of Saphira, of her enormous, powerful wings that beat the air as she hurled herself into the sky with a roar of delight. How wonderful it must be to fly like that, so free, so unteathered by the laws of nature!

Arya shook her head, almost alarmed by the direction her thoughts had taken. It was certainly not like her to fantasize and daydream in this fashion. She threw a quick, sideways glance at Eragon, noticing as she did so that something in his demeanour had changed. His strides somehow seemed longer, more purposeful than before, and he ran with his face turned upwards, squinting in the sunlight and smiling absently, as if he too was thinking of something pleasant.

As the day progressed, Eragon's joy became more and more pronounced, but he never mentioned the source behind it. He and Arya discussed only trivial matters as they continued on their way, something for which Arya found she was immensely grateful. Then, in the middle of the afternoon, their destination finally came into view. Stopping on a low hill, they surveyed the Varden's camp where it lay, spread out like a miniture city before them. Arya watched as hundreds of humans and dwarves hurried along the narrow, winding paths between the grey tents. She watched the smoke that rose from the cookfires in the distance, the patrols who rode in and out of the camp at regular intervals, and the Urgals who resided in a considerably smaller city of tents, situated half a mile to the east. And she watched Eragon, who could no longer contain his happiness.

"We made it!" he burst out, his voice triumphant, as two of the patrols Arya had spotted came galloping towards them. "Murtagh, Thorn, hundreds of soldiers, Galbatorix's pet magicians, the Ra'zac - none of them could catch us! Ha! How's that for taunting the king? This'll tweak his beard for sure when he hears of it."

Not knowing how to respond to this, Arya merely said:

"He will be twice as dangerous then."

"I know", Eragon replied, appearing unperturbed by this piece of information. "Maybe he'll get so angry, he'll forget to pay his troops, and they'll all throw away their uniforms and join the Varden."

"You are in fine fettle today", Arya commented.

She had been hoping he would explain his behaviour, but all he said was:

"And why shouldn't I be?"

With that, he raised his face towards the sky once more, and as Arya felt him reach out with his mind, she suddenly understood. She understood the grin stretching across his face, the happiness that coloured his voice, and the triumph which made him stand straighter than usual. Of course, she thought, both exasperated and annoyed with herself for having been so blind. How could she not have seen it? How could she not have known? How could she not have guessed that this was how Eragon would feel when reunited with his dragon? Perhaps she had never before appreciated the strength of the bond that linked them together - Eragon and Saphira, Rider and dragon. In truth, she realized as she watched him, they were not two separate beings. They were one - or rather, two halves of one whole. This was, admittedly, a fact which Arya had been aware of ever since she was young. She had always known that the relationship between dragon and Rider was incomprehensibly strong; it was stated in countless books and innumerable scrolls, many of which she had read as a child. But not until now had she grasped the true meaning of these words.

The feeling of loneliness which came over Arya in that instant was so sudden, so powerful and so unexpected, that she did not know how to react to it. She knew it was wrong, selfish and irresponsible of her to envy Eragon and Saphira for what they had, for the calm, comfort and strength they so obviously found in each other's company. Envy - the very word made her recoil. It left her feeling small, frightened and ashamed of herself. This was not right. She could not accept it. Yet, she found no other description of the emotion coursing through her as she watched Eragon converse with Saphira. Much as she resented the fact, much as she would have liked to deny it, she knew that she did envy them.

Willing her face to remain blank and impassive, to keep the turmoil of emotions within her completely hidden, Arya stood still next to Eragon. She waited without a word, wishing only for this moment to end. And finally, it did. It ended when a deafening, ear-splitting roar broke the silence. The mighty sound echoed off the hills that surrounded them, an explosion of joy and triumph which mirrored the expression on Eragon's face. Then, her wings tucked close to her body and flames billowing from her nostrils as she flew, Saphira came diving towards them. Arya saw the human patrols who had been approaching them turn, disappearing in the opposite direction at a gallop, while the soldiers struggled desperately to regain control over their terrified horses. And she sensed the animals' fear.

"I had hoped we could enter the camp without attracting undue attention", she said, forcing herself to speak calmly. "But I suppose I should have realized we could not be unobtrusive with Saphira around. A dragon is hard to ignore."

- I heard that, Saphira retorted, as she landed in front of them with a thud that reverberated through the ground beneath their feet.

The dragon's warm, familiar voice washed through Arya's mind like a wave, momentarily freeing her of all the troubling thoughts and emotions which she had been unable to make sense of on her own. She felt the muscles in her face relax slightly, but when she attempted to respond, she found she did not know what to say. For a moment, she wondered what was wrong, before it suddenly occurred to her. Saphira had talked in a way that was unfamiliar to Arya. Her tone had been so light, so informal, so … joking. This, thought Arya with a feeling of wonder, must be how she and Eragon speak to each other. And for some reason, Saphira had decided to address her, Arya, in the same manner. Almost as though the three of them were now part of the same family - the family of Dragon Riders. The family which Arya had dreamed of belonging to for so many years.

Arya wanted to say something, to thank Saphira and tell her how much she appreciated her small gesture of kindness. But when she twisted her right hand over her chest and opened her mouth, all she could manage was:

"Greetings, Saphira."

Her words felt so brief, so poor, and she was just about to add something else, when Saphira lowered her head and gently touched Arya on the forehead with her snout. The contact made a shiver pass through Arya's body.

- Greetings, Älfa-Kona, the dragon answered, speaking just as softly as she had before. Welcome, and may the wind rise under your wings.

She paused briefly, as if to consider her words, before continuing:

- I am grateful to you for helping Eragon to return without harm. If he had been captured, I do not know what I would have done.

This time, Arya replied without having to think. Inclining her head, she said:

"Your gratitude means much to me. As for what you would have done if Galbatorix had seized Eragon, why, you would have rescued him, and I would have accompanied you, even if it was to Urû'baen itself."

At these words, Saphira turned her head towards Eragon, who had seated himself on her back and was gazing down at Arya with an expression she was not quite sure she could read.

- Yes, the dragon said, more gravely now. I like to think I would have rescued you, Eragon. But I worry that I would have surrendered to the Empire in order to save you, no matter the consequences for Alagaësia.

That, you would have done, thought Arya, now taking care to shield her mind from both Saphira and Eragon. And I, Saphira, I would probably have followed your example.

She knew that the realization ought to frighten her. She knew she ought to feel angry, frustrated with herself for allowing her affection to stand in the way of her duties. But all she felt as she stood there on the crest of the hill, her eyes on Eragon and Saphira, was a quiet, almost uncertain happiness. And in her mind, she repeated the word once more. Family.