He wanted to know it was solid. The whole world seemed insubstantial to him, as if it might tear away and reveal something infinitely larger. He was standing in a fantastical room. Beside him was a dragon - an actual dragon! - and a girl from another world. A elven queen and her advisors were in front of them and he was a companion to their princess. And, perhaps strangest of all, he was an honored guest; a light in the darkness, a shining beacon of hope, to them.
Eragon closed his eyes briefly, as if that brief respite would ease the swirling emotions he felt, before opening them again. Glancing quickly to the left he saw Zoe, also kneeling, her face calm, as she gazed steadily at the scene. That calm presence by him steadied the world and he was able to regain his equilibrium without too much difficulty. It was like finding another hand hold just as you began to worry that you would fall down a cliff face you were trying to scale.
"Islanzadi Drottning," said Arya formally.
The Queen took a step back, her face paling as if she had been physically hurt by the simple, formal way in which she was greeted by her only daughter. Suddenly, she did not look so regal to Eragon but vulnerable as if she carried a great pain. In the Ancient Language she repeated her words, "My daughter, I have wronged you." Her words were heartfelt and tinged with desperation. "Ever since you disappeared, I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made...Can you forgive me?"
To Eragon, despite the raw emotion in those words, the Queen's words seemed a poor thing after the things she had forced her daughter to endure. He doubted that any words could come close to capturing everything that Islanzardi or Arya wished to say to each other but the words, probably chosen very carefully beforehand, seemed stilted and inadequate. The setting was too formal as well for such a deeply personal matter.
The gathered Lords and Ladies stirred. Whether from the tension or from amazement, Eragon did not know. He wondered what they thought of the situation between mother and daughter, between queen and princess, and if they were as desperate as the queen seemed to mend this tear.
Arya did not respond for many long minutes, as if wanting her mother to experience a little of what she had endured - cold silence and unspoken anger that had burned under the surface for close to a century.
"You ask me to forgive you? For seventy years where I lived and loved, fought and killed, without ever speaking to you, my mother?" Her voice was soft but each word felt like a hammer blow and they were hard, unbreakably honest words. The truth always stung and this...this was the truth.
Islanzardi drew herself upright but that did not hide the tremor that ran her length. "We, no matter how much we might wish, cannot undo the past. No matter how much I wish I could."
"I cannot forget the things I have done or endured."
"No," said Islanzardi and then, moving forward hesitantly, she took her daughter's hands in her own and held them tightly. "Nor should you. Arya, I say this: Go if you must and renounce me. I lost you once because I held you to close and now...now I ask you to decide for yourself. But if you would not do that then I would be reconciled with you."
Arya just looked at her mother and, it seemed for a terrible moment, that she would not answer, or worse, would reject the offer as venomously as her mother had rejected her. Eragon saw the elf princess hesitate and glance quickly at him, Saphira and Zoe as if hoping they could provide the answer she sought but neither of them seemed to have any idea. Even the ever knowing Zoe seemed to wait, her eyes focused on the pair, with as much anticipation and worry as the rest of them.
Then, with a sigh, Arya lowered her eyes and said, "No Mother. I could not leave." Like a child unsure if she could take something after being told that she could, Islanzardi embraced her daughter again. Arya hesitated slightly but returned the gesture, and smiles broke out among the assembled elves. It was like a wall of ice was shattered and now everyone could breathe a little easier.
The white raven hopped on his perch, cackling out, "And on the door was graven evermore, what now became the family lore, Let us never do but to adore."
Islanzardi sent the raven a dark look as she broke free, "Hush Blagden. Keep your doggrel to yourself."
It was then that the elf queen turned her attention to him and Saphira. She studied him for a long moment as if judging if her first impression had been correct. That pause, while short, was still noticeable and he felt even more self-conscious than before. Inclining her head, "Forgive me for being discourteous and ignoring you, our most important guests."
Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum in the traditional and formal greeting. "Islanzardi Drottning. Atra esterni ono thelduin."
The Queen's eyes glinted with approval as she replied, "Atra du evarinya ono varda."
"Un atra mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr," completed Eragon. In his mind he listened to Saphira repeat his greeting to the queen.
When she finished, Islanzardi asked, "Dragon, what is your name?"
Saphira.
The Queen smiled and said, "Welcome to our land, Saphira. And yours, Rider?"
He knew the power of his name, in some ways he almost disliked it. For it made him sound so powerful when, in reality, he was still so very weak and untried. Eragon was not a common name, even among the elves who rarely gave such a weighted name to their children. But he had to give it, perhaps fate had wished he carry such a thing even though he would rather have carried an easier one.
"Eragon Shadeslayer," he hesitated as he briefly considered adding that he was the son of Brom but he did not. Brom may have been a respected, much honored person but Eragon was still not used to thinking of him as a father. There had not really been time to incorporate that into his identity yet, despite his pleasure at knowing.
The Queen raised an eyebrow in surprise and her councilors stirred at this news. This surprising and powerful word echoed through the air like a trump card being thrown down on the table to win the game, like the bell of fate tolling distantly.
"You bear a powerful name," said Islanzardi softly, "Rider Eragon." The word, the name, the title, sounded strange on her lips as if it was as heavy as a stone. As if she was announcing the beginning of some end. As if now, after waiting patiently, the true fight was about to begin. "Welcome to Ellesmera. We have waited long for you."
She moved on to Zoe then. Eragon and Saphira watched tensely as the two gazed silently at each other; like a pair of cats sizing the each other up before a fight. Zoe broke the staring match first with a graceful twist of her hand, a polite greeting and all the correct, submissive movements but she still seemed to announce her confidence. She did not look intimidated or nervous but rather relaxed - like she and Islanzardi stood on the same playing field.
The formal greeting finished, Zoe eloquently and, with as few words as was possible, explained that she was acting as an ambassador for the Varden and for Hrothgar. Her words were pretty but formulaic as if they were specifically designed for such a situation. Eragon wondered where she had learned them for they fell from her lips easily as if she had many years if practice saying them.
Then, her dress twirling around her, the beautiful queen returned to her throne. Her gaze fixed on them as she settled back into the carved seat where, with her proud face, she looked like the Queen of not just the ancient forest but the entire universe.
"I assume by your presence here, Eragon, that you have come to seek our assistance in your training. I wish to hear your full story, including how you came by Saphira's egg, and how you met my daughter, or how she met you, as it may be. Then I will hear of you story Arya, since your ambush in Du Weldenvarden, and mayhap you will share a little of your own past, Lady Zoe."
The young Rider cleared his throat as he prepared to narrate the events that had shaped him these last few months. This was not the first time he had explained the twists of fate which had taken him this far, so he had no trouble reiterating them now for the queen. Saphira filled in the gaps were his memory failed and so, through this means, they were able to paint an accurate description of events.
There was one hitch with this straight forward approach: Zoe. He could not exclude her or say she had not been there for them. Not say that it was she who had saved Brom, had led them to Arya and then been there for him with Durza would create a story with too many holes. He could not gloss over such major things without making the Queen demand to know what he was hiding from her and, that she would demand them, he had no doubt. The elves had sacrificed too much for him and Saphira for that and he felt it was also important that the isolated kingdom hear about what was really occurring beyond their magically enhanced border.
Choosing his words with extreme care he and Saphira modified the story of their journey. They downplayed certain things like the Ra'zac's attack outside of Dras'Leona and the rescue from Gil'ead. He hedged around how Zoe had assisted him with Durza and was vague about her relationship to Brom. The Ancient Language would not let them lie but they did not, rather they engaged in creative truth telling where one phrase really meant something else. A "long-time friend' When they finished, Eragon retrieved the scroll entrusted to him by Nasuada and gave it to the Queen. Presenting it to her, safe and sound, was one less responsibility he had to worry about.
She took it and read it before setting it down and sighing. She seemed weary then to the Rider, weary and full of a terrible pain that had forced her to become so chilled. He pitied her in a way.
"I realize," said the Queen with a bitter smile, "the true extent of my folly. Had I kept out contacts with the Varden my suffering would have ended so much earlier." She shook her head, "I shall honor both Nasuada's and Brom's requests for more aid and reestablish it as quickly as is possible. For too long have I sat idly while the Varden take the brunt of the Empire's attacks. I have allowed my own personal feelings to destroy the work of many years. Now we must assist them even more after their victory over the Urgals."
Eragon breathed a sigh of relief though he dared not say anything. The Queen turned her gaze then to Zoe who had stood quietly by Eragon during the telling of his story. "Both you, Lady Zoe, and Eragon-finiarel have explained your presence here. Do either of you have aught to add?"
"No my lady," said Zoe, "I do not beyond royal greetings from both King Horthgar and Nasuada of the Varden."
"I accept their greetings and return them in kind." The two once again seemed to gaze at each other for far longer than was polite for the setting they were in. But then, as she must have wanted to do since they arrived, the Queen turned her heavy gaze to Arya. Her voice was hesitant as she continued, "Now, daughter, what befell you?"
Arya's story was not easy to hear nor was any easier for her to speak it but, with the same dogged determination with which she had survived the challenges she had endured, she did. Her voice, a low monotone, never changed no matter if it was the brutal capture that had killed her companions or the even more horrific abuse she had suffered at the hands of Durza that she spoke of.
Eragon knew, from the emotions he had felt after the battle of Fathen Dur, that it was easier to speak of such things this way for their were no adequate words to describe what it was like. The darkness of a cell, the heat of battle, the smell of death and pain, the knowledge that one was beyond help and that, soon, you would be broken. They transended any attempt to capture them with spoken words that were so easily said and then forgotten. You could not describe the slime covered walls that boxed you in from all sides as if slowly suffocating you in both body and mind. Nothing could capture the raw emotion, the pain and the feeling as one retreated into the very core of their identity - to a more basic state - in an effort to remain somewhat sane as you were stripped of everything that made you a conscious, thinking, feeling living thing. From the battle field to the prison cell some things were shared and this was one.
He saw the reactions of the silent elves as their fair faces hardened into masks of chilled anger that was all the more terrifying because it was so controlled. A single tear rolled down the ivory white skin of the Queen and dropped to the floor below like a drop of ice.
Afterward, an elf lord, his silver robes swinging around him, paced along the mossy sward between the chairs. "I know that I speak for us all, Arya Drottning, when I say that my heart burns with sorrow for your ordeal. It is a crime beyond apology or reparation. Also, we are in your debt, so we thank you. Few of us could have withstood such things for so long."
"Thank you," said Arya simply. Her words spoken in that un-emotional monotone and, if she felt anything to hear his words, she did not show it. It seemed that, for the moment, that Arya was beyond them - lost in her memories and the raw, explosive emotions that accompanied them.
Now Islanzadi spoke, and her voice so clear like a high bell, echoed around the Hall clearly despite the tear tracks that marred her beauty. "Enough. Let us speak of evil things no more this night." A smile, as radiant as a rising sun on a clear morning, grew on her face. "My daughter is returned, a dragon and her Rider have come to us, and it must be celebrated." The ice queen raised her hands and, falling like colorful snowflakes, came thousands upon thousands of flowers. Some were roses and some were lilies and they appeared twenty feet above them and then drifted down, filling the air with their perfume.
Her use of the magic without the benefit of the ancient language did not surprise Eragon too much but knowing how this piece of magic did not lessen his wonder at it. Merely because he knew how she had used her intentions to guide the power did not make this common place.
Looking at Zoe he raised an eyebrow questioningly and raised a hand to the flowers that were falling around them as if to say 'Well? What do you think?' She smiled and laughed silently as she shook her head. Catching a white lilly from the air she held it delicately in one hand before slipping it behind her ear. The white of the flower contrasting sharply with her dark curls and clothing. Smirking at him, as if to say 'They are only flowers!' Zoe turned away.
Looking around Eragon saw the Queen raise an arm and the white raven, Blagden, perched upon it before moving to her left shoulder. The entire assembly bowed as Islanzadi proceeded to the end of the Hall and threw open the door to display hundreds of elves outside. They seemed to be waiting for them and Eragon wondered if they had been there the entire time. It made him feel rather strange to think that all these ancient, powerful beings would be judging him, talking of him and watching him.
Stopping on the edge of the stairs Islanzadi opened her arms in greeting. "My people! Let us break open our finest casks and light the cook-fires, for tonight we celebrate with feast and song!" Her voice carried through the air and many elves burst into cheers before rushing away to do as their queen asked.
"Make sure you do not loose yourself Eragon in the festivities to come," came a quiet voice to his left. Glancing that way he saw Zoe, her face coldly impassive, gazing out at the elves and the Queen.
"I will try," he said in an equally soft voice.
"You will have to do more than try," she said resting a hand on his shoulder. "You cannot forget where we are or why you are here. It is all to easy to forget your purpose and duty in the magic and the laughter."
Her warning, delivered so sincerely, made him glance around at the world around him. A dark feeling uncurled inside him as he remembered all of the warnings he had received from Brom and Arya. Nodding his head to Zoe, he swallowed his new hesitation and rested a hand on Saphira, taking comfort in her steady presence. A shadow of caution, of wariness, seemed to have fallen on this fair world.
Then, moving forward, they followed the Queen as she threaded her way between the trees. During their time indoors the sun had set, plunging the forest into darkness that was broken by the gentle glowing weyr lights placed along the paths and on the outside of houses. Fires, spread throughout the city, sent out their cherry light and, as they passed by open windows or doors, Eragon caught sight of lighted rooms where the inhabitants of this city lived.
They stopped on the crest of a small hill, where a group of elves had placed a long trestle table and chairs. All around them hidden activity made the forest hum like a busy nest of bees. Lights were hung from the branches of the trees surrounding the feast and their light reflected off the glasses and polished silver cutlery.
Soon, far too soon for his liking, he found himself surrounded by elves who, bowing softly and touching their lips with their first and middle fingers, made themselves known at an alarming rate. It was an endless repetition of greetings and formulating polite but simple answers to their questions. The bulk of their conversation was directed to Saphira and, relived to be able to slip from the focus of their attention, he was content to let her speak for he was weary of guarding his words so tightly.
Then, at last, he was able to take his seat and the feast began as the music from a quartet of musicians filled the clearing along with the hum of conversation and the bell like laughter of the elves. Beside him was Zoe, her gaze cool but her presence reassuring even as he conversed with those elves that were near him. A little ways away was the Queen and to her right was Arya, both mother and daughter were quiet, almost to the point of rudeness, as those around them enjoyed themselves. Turning away he returned to his food and the light conversation around him...
"My lady," said an elf pulling out a chair for me. I was seated near the head of the table, beside Eragon with Saphira behind both of us, Arya was to the right of her mother who sat on an elegantly carved chair at the head of the table. It was clear that I was in a place of honor but I could not help but wonder if I was also placed so close to the Queen so she could watch over me as she made her judgement about whether or not I was trustworthy.
As I took my seat I wondered if I would ever be able to lower my polite mask during this journey. Around the elves it was just easier to never set the crown princess aside and keep her around me like a shield. Elves moved through the world cautiously it seemed, their manners and collected, icy, exteriors were evidence of it. To match them and avoid insulting someone, I had completely slipped into that other part of me who was used to moving through such circles. There was a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that my apparent ease was both shocking and surprising to the gathered elves. It felt a little like pay-back for all the times they had gazed down their thin noses at us little, short-lived humans. See reader - I am proud and I am very stubborn.
A dark haired elf dressed in silvery robes was seated to my right. I recognized him as one of the elven lords who had sat in council with Islanzadi when we arrived. He smiled ever so slightly and gestured at the food that was being brought out, "It shall begin soon."
I smiled a small, polite smile as I dipped my head in agreement. "It shall."
"You act as ambassador for the Varden?" asked the elf. I had the feeling that he was too polite to also say 'and the dwarves?!' but that manners prevented him.
"I am but," I smiled apologetically, "I don't believe I know you my Lord..." my voice trailed off questioningly.
"Forgive me," he said with a smile of his own, "my manners are not what they should be for I know of you and you do not know of me. My name is Dathedr of House Flandring."
"A pleasure then Dathedr of House Flandring," I dipped my head in greeting, smiling slightly. As we had spoken, a quartet of elves bearing musical instruments had arrived. Two had harps of cherrywood, the third a set of reed pipes, and the fourth nothing but her voice, which she put to use with a quick, merry little tune. The song was silly, meant to make one laugh and many did, calling out praise to the singer when she finished and the pipe and lutes took her place.
Beside me, Eragon sipped at his glass of water. He had just finished an endless round of introductions and questions with, what seemed at least, every elf in this city and seemed relieved to be able to do something besides repeat that endless introductory phrase.
It was then that the food arrived. No meat - of course - but plenty of other delicacies that I found myself longing to dig into. There were fresh loaves of bread, still steaming from the oven, fresh fruit, vegetables and berries. The stacks of honey-cakes and pies stuffed full with vegetables and spices sent their aromas into the air until it became almost unbearable for me to just sit and wait so quietly. When all those invited were seated, the feast truly began. I never lost myself in the mirth or the talk and I made sure neither Eragon or Saphira did either by limiting their falnirv intake to half a glass.
So,there I was. Sitting away and above the conversation, entering it only to be polite when I had to but, otherwise, I just listened and watched. I watched as the elves laughed and spoke with each other, I watched Islanzrdi staring at her daughter as if afraid Arya would vanish any second and I watched as the hour grew ever later. Occasionally, Daethdr would bring me into a conversation and, when that happened, I treaded with care though I did make a few laugh with my swift and, sometimes, amusing replies to their queries about life in the Empire. A few times I had to lean heavily on what I knew of my own world for I knew little of daily life in Galbatorix's kingdom but I supposed it would be similar to the lives of my own people far away in my own land. There are some things that just don't change from world to world and the elves I spoke with had gone a long time without setting foot on human lands.
It was then, just as I finished my dessert, that Deathdr said in a clear, carrying voice. "Zoe! Surely you will grace us with some music? Something from your home?"Much of the table heard for it was a lull in the conversation and I felt like crawling into a hole as his words caught their attention and made them look at me.
"Sing for us Lady Zoe" cried a golden haired woman. Her blue eyes sparkling as she clapped her hands together. "Sing!" Around her the elves nodded eagerly and smiled as if a song from the human woman would be a welcome thing.
I nearly blushed. Me? Sing? My voice had never been my strongest suite and now, surrounded by the fairest voices in the land of Alagaesia, it was definitely not very good. "I cannot," I said, raising my hands to try and ward off protests. "My voice is..."
"You must," said Daethdr and, before I could protest anymore, I was being handed a delicately carved harp that fit neatly in my arms. Even the small quartet whose music had accompanied us through the dinner, fell silent. I glanced up, everyone was waiting,from Queen Islanzardi at her high chair to Saphira to the various lords and ladies who had been invited to this feast. Suddenly I was out on the middle of a stage and I wished I could turn this light away from me for I did not want, could not have, the attention.
I had never played the harp, or any instrument for that matter, on Earth but I had when I was Princess Zoe. It, along with etiquette, weapons, politics, history and languages had been my daily fare as a child and teenager. Still think your education was jammed packed? Think again reader, my skills have been earned through hard work and persistent tutors.
So now, desperate not to muck this up like the idiot I knew I could be, I put my fingers to the harp gingerly as if afraid it would bite me. I did not know what to play or what to sing - or at least I did not consciously know. What I did next, what I sang and what I played, was just my fingers and my voice remembering what had been ingrained in them but then forgotten. It was another little piece of me fitting back into the jigsaw puzzle that was my identity. A little piece but an important one. A piece of my border that had been part of my childhood and then as I grew-up.
My fingers moved first, calling forward a gentle tune that twirled and danced on the perfumed air. It was sad at points, happy at others and hopeful in between - like life was so often. Then, somehow knowing it was time, my voice joined in with the melody my fingers created. Perhaps the magic in this place, inside of me, was also present in that melody for it was far fairer than anything I could normally have created.
The song I sang that night was a familiar one to me - or at least to the Zoe I was returning to. My mother had first sung it to me and my siblings to put us asleep as little children. Then it became something I might sing around a camp fire with the Rangers I commanded. So, I guess you could say that it was song for many occasions. It could comfort or it could inspire - depending on how one played it.
As the last notes faded away, as my voice fell and my fingers stopped moving I raised my eyes to the gathered crowd. Many were sitting in quiet contemplation with their eyes fixed on something in the distance. Some were looking at me, so many in fact that I felt uncomfortable. My plan to stay out of sight seemed to have failed spectacularly but right then, still filled with tumbling emotion, I did not care like I might have before that song. I was at peace with myself - I'm sure you know the feeling one gets after listening to a song that is just perfectly suited to the moment you are in.
"Well sung Lady Zoe," said Queen Islanzadi as she sat in that throne-like, chair at the head of the table, just a few seats away from me. Her cool eyes found mine and she seemed to be studying me with greater intensity then ever before. She looked away and I passed the harp back to the elf who had given it to me. I felt weariness creeping up on me and I longed to escape and fall into a comfortable bed.
My wish was answered as Islanzadi stood from her chair - causing a flurry of activity as everyone hastened to do likewise - and said, "It is late and I would return to my bower. Accompany me Saphira and Eragon and I will show you where you may sleep tonight." The Queen left the table and I quickly bade Eragon and Saphira a good night's sleep as they followed her away into the shadows.
My attention was turned to Arya who, silently, had come to stand beside me. "Come Zoe," she said putting a hand on my arm. "I will show you to your own room."
"That would be welcome Arya," I said gratefully as I bade farewell to Lord Daethdr and the others who I had shared a few words with that night. With my steps light with eagerness I followed Arya down a side path and towards the place where I would finally be able to loose myself to the twisting strands of dreams.
Off you go! I don't want to tell you about what my room in Tildari Hall looks like or what I dreamed of! Shoo! I'll tell you about that stuff - and more! - when we meet again! Now off you go reader! I am sure your life awaits you wherever you are. Further adventures with yours truly will have to wait until another time when you have accomplished what needs accomplishing and I have taken a well deserved rest in a comfortable bed deep in a forgotten land where magic is just a word away.
The Queen pushed the door open and stepped into the room. It was set high in the branches of an ancient oak not far from Tildari Hall. The little study was not common knowledge among her people and so it had become something a of sanctuary for whoever held the throne.
The room was circular with warm, honey colored walls and a large teardrop shaped window. Bookcases filled with scrolls and neatly stacked bits of paper lined the walls, a large desk with quills and ink just waiting to be used was in the centre and there was two comfortable, well stuffed chairs. All in all, the room was simple but cozy and it contained many a memory for the Queen. Now, late in the night, it was lit by a single weyr light that was placed above the desk.
Walking to the window she gazed out at the trees and let out a shuddering breath. The events of the day, of the past few months, had taken more out of her than she had let those around her know. Now, despite accomplishing what she had longed for, she found herself hurting just as much as she had before she had accomplished it.
Gripping the edge of the window she leaned against it and closed her eyes.
She and Arya could never return to the relationship they had before the egg, before the Varden or even after Evandar's death. She clung to the memory of a sweet faced little elfling but it was nothing more than that, a memory, which, like a favorite book, she had taken out and clung to many a time.
Glancing around the small study she felt as if she was transported to another time. She remembered standing here as Evandar read her the latest message from Vrael. Arya would run in now and Evandar would laugh, set the paper down, and sweep his little darling into his arms and carry her over to Islanzadi. Then she would laugh at her little daughter and stroke the dark hair as she listened to Arya's latest adventure. She might offer comfort or congratulations but, whatever she did, there was no doubt that her daughter trusted her. Back then, her daughter had looked to her father with his bright sword and her mother with her gentle words to provide safety and security. Now it seemed painfully ironic, Arya was protecting them from her to their people, with her own shining sword and all her mother had to offer were venomous words and stilted apologies.
The dagger that went through her heart was a familiar one as was the pain it caused. She knew, from past experience, that it was better to move such thoughts away and try to remain in the present. But coming to this room, to this little sanctuary, seemed to bring the past alive around her no matter how she tried to keep it at bay. For that reason she seldom visited the little hidden study that was high in this ancient tree.
So why, knowing what she did, had she returned to this place? It seemed like a foolish thing to do but she had been doing many foolish things recently. Here she was, standing as she had many times before when the world had still been bright, and yet now she did as a lonely queen who had given her heart and life to the protection of her people.
Forcibly, she turned her thoughts away from such a depressing and brutal things. She thought briefly of the Rider and dragon sleeping in the tree that had once belonged to Vrael. Then, her thoughts fell on the next and most convenient topic: Lady Zoe.
As a rule the elven queen disliked mysteries - had always disliked them - and Zoe was a mystery. Few could hold Queen Islanzadi's gaze and yet the girl did and seem to challenge her while she did it. Her ease with diplomatic decorum, her role in Eragon and Saphira's journey and the very power that swirled around her made Islanzadi wary. What was Brom playing at sending this wild card all the way to her? What had she done to earn the approval of both the dwarves and the Varden? She had already charmed many of her own people that night with her song, her conversation and her quiet manners that were so different from the stereotypical brash, uncouth human.
So, as a Queen has to do sometimes, she would lay her worries aside for now. Arya trusted her and was hiding something about her - had even looked to her as if seeking confirmation when she was speaking of her own ordeals and travels. So for now, not only because Zoe was an ambassador, she would leave the matter be and trust, like she should have done many times before, Arya's judgement.
Looking out at the shadowy trees and the gently glowing weyr lights below, the Queen knew that she had a duty to a certain person. He and his companion would be impatient for news and so she turned away from the window and made her way to the polished mirror that hung between two bookcases. The scrying glass reflected the chamber and she stopped and gazed at herself for a long moment. She did not look any different in many ways, tired yes, but emotionally wrung out? It was hidden for now behind her mask - a good thing for this conversation. The Queen hated feeling or looking weak to him or his companion and now was not the time to allow him to see just how fragile she was.
Whispering the words she watched as the mirror's surface shimmer like light on water. An image, foggy and indistinct but growing clearer by the second, took form on the polished surface of the mirror.
The image showed the inside of a small cottage. The furnishings were simple. A round wooden table, a small bed with neatly folded bed covers and, stored neatly along the walls, were scroll upon scroll upon scroll.
Her eyes however, went to the elf who was sitting at the small table, his arms folded across his arms and his silver hair glinting in the moonlight that filtered in through a window. The most distinctive feature of the elf was his eyes. They were a silvery grey that seemed to pull one into a never ending maze of knowledge and power. If Islanzadi radiated her station as Queen then Oromis, implacable and logical, radiated the watchful look of a fighter.
"Islanzadi," he greeted. They had both, long ago, dispensed with such formalities when they spoke this way. Neither wished to waste time on such things when more important ones waited to be said. In public, or in other less strained times, they may have used them and discussed lighter topics before moving on but not today. Today they had business that needed attending.
"Oromis," she replied quietly as she rested a hand on the edge of the desk as support for her weary body. "They have arrived."
"And?" inquired the ancient Rider. For a second the Queen wondered if that was eagerness in his voice. She held back a smile at the thought - Oromis was never anything less than patient.
"The Rider is young." She said finally and with an attempt at fairness, "but he seems capable and is well spoken. I was..." she sighed irritably at the admission, "impressed by him. I think he will do well."
Oromis sank back against his chair, an expression of relief flitting across his face. "High praise from you," he said with an attempt at levity. She almost wondered, again with a touch of amusement, if he was feeling somewhat giddy.
"Perhaps," said the Queen evenly, "but he will have to earn more praise. I am concerned about his disability. Durza has left him with a heavy burden."
"We shall see," said Oromis. It seemed, that on this night, the Rider wanted to simply enjoy the triumph of another Rider and dragon who he would be able to tutor and guide. She almost wondered what it would be like for him when the pair went off to war. To loose them in battle would devastate both the elf and his great golden dragon. Soon, they would have to send them off, knowing in their hearts of hearts that they had not done half the things they should have for the vibrant blue dragon and her intense little rider.
"And Arya?" The question was asked softly and with a great deal of sympathy but that did not make it any easier. It was like the crack of a sharp whip that word, 'Arya' which conjured so many memories and emotions.
Islanzadi stiffened slightly and had to fight the urge to snap at Oromis. Knowing her temper was all the more volatile after the days events, she choose her words with care. "We have begun anew or as new as one can with over seventy-years of bitterness and anger." Her own anger and bitterness simmered beneath the surface and she knew he sensed it even through the scrying mirror. She could not hope to hide everything from the discerning eyes of the Rider.
"It will take time," said Oromis gently, "for both you and her."
The Queen inclined her head but said nothing. It had seemed, since she had taken the crown, that she had been inadequate and Oromis. So many others, in her opinion, would have been better suited the rigorous duties that came with the crown. However, despite her protests, she had been chosen and she had accepted it with all the grace and determination that she could muster. Since then she had refused to linger on it or wish that she still had Evandar beside her.
Wanting to swiftly turn the conversation away from Arya or her own miserable, thrice cursed choices, Islanzadi nodded her head and said, "There is another."
Oromis raised an eyebrow, "Who?"
"A young woman who has been sent as both an ambassador for the Varden and the dwarves. Her name is Zoe." Islanzadi met the other elf's gaze, "She has journeyed with Brom and Eragon for many miles as well as fought in Farthen Dur. A most capable and skilled young woman if today was any evidence."
The Rider was silent for a long moment, judging the Queen's words carefully as he formulated his own opinion."You mistrust her," said Oromis. The Rider steepled his hands in front of him. A familiar habit of his when he was in deep thought or listening with especial care.
"No," said the Queen as she struggled to find the words to describe what she truly felt. "I am merely wary of her. She is more than she seems and has played a far larger role than either Eragon or Arya have admitted to. Brom trusts her and so does my daughter. So I cannot truly hold anything against her. I merely wish I understood..." Islanzadi trailed off. She knew that Oromis understood her meaning and so, unable to truly articulate her feelings, she allowed her voice to fade.
"Do you wish me to meet with her?"
Islanzadi breathed a sigh of relief; gratitude that the Rider had read her thoughts and suggested it himself warmed her. She knew that he would have little time to spare now and had not wanted to take him away from the important task of Eragon's training. Too much rested on that training for her to trouble him with such a matter.
"I thought you, Arya, Gleadr and I should meet with her." Islanzadi met the cool, collected eyes of the Rider, "We shall meet tomorrow I assume?" Her voice trailed off in a question.
"Yes," said Oromis with a short nod. "In the morning and then once again when I am finished with Eragon and Saphira."
"Give my best to Gleadr," said Islanzardi as she moved forward to end the spell but, before she did, she smiled the first warm, unguarded, joyful smile she had smiled in a long time, "And may the stars watch over you." She did not know why she returned to that phrase or why she did it in that order or why she smiled without any reserve or thought. Perhaps she wished the Rider to know that she valued his honest friendship far more than she had expressed to him or maybe she wanted to wish him well. He was setting out on the final leg of his journey and she knew that this, this final task, would be the end and, when it was complete, neither he or Gleadr would have a reason to remain. Or, she wondered, was it both? It was and she hoped with all her heart that Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales would be everything that Oromis along with Gleadr had waited so long for. She hoped that this dreadful darkness would lift and that they, for they were wounded far more deeply than she, could finally find the peace which would elude them until then.
But, perhaps most surprising of all, she hoped that Oromis knew. That he knew what his support, his challenging questions, his very presence had been far more critical to her than she had ever allowed him to know. It felt as if she had a debt to pay to the ancient Rider before it was too late, before the end that was coming and would have to come if this darkness was to lift.
Oromis smiled ever so slightly and inclined his head in acknowledgment. He knew and his silence confirmed that he knew and had known for a long time everything she had wanted him to know in that phrase. It was simple, no lengthy words or gestures, but all the more powerful because of it. It seemed to the queen that, once it was done that she felt a sense of peace. Now, not matter the future, she knew that the rider knew how deep her gratitude and respect for him was. She could watch him, watch them both really, go now without the guilt of one who has not said what needed to be said. A guilt that had chased her when Arya had turned away, that had chased every person in every world who has not spoken what they really wanted to say when it matters.
Holding back the tears that threatened to spill, she flicked her hand across the mirror, returning the scrying mirror to its previous, polished state where it was just another looking glass hung in a decorative golden frame. She saw her reflection, saw both her perfections and her flaws clearly. Past and present seemed to mix in that mirror the longer she gazed into its perfect reflection of the long forgotten and unused study. She saw what had been and what would have to come. The fates of an azure dragon and her rider, the hard eyes of her daughter, the courage of men when their home is threatened, the Oromis and his golden dragon waiting on a sun drenched cliff, a forest kingdom where her people lingered under the shadowy trees. She saw a once fair citadel where a dark, black magic had spread out over it like a poisonous gas and, at last, the fleeting image of a girl with dark hair and watchful grey-blue eyes.
Looking back to the window she wondered, not for the last time, what fate wanted with her and her family. Oromis was right, as usual, it would take time. But they had decades, centuries, millennia to make it right and surely...surely that would be long enough? Long enough to mend a broken relationship, long enough to save a world, long enough to mend the wounds created in a single wild fall from power and peace? Long enough to save what had to be saved? She sensed that there was more at stake here. It seemed to her, alone in that room, that the entire world was holding its breath that soon, too soon, the fate of more than just Alagaesia would be decided. A sudden feeling of doom, of overwhelming fear, made the Queen's heart clench tightly.
She looked back to the mirror. An image danced there, a girl standing in a guest room of Tildari Hall. Her hair was braided back and her clothes were travel worn. She was leaning on the window looking out at a quiet garden. Her face was softly illuminated by a shaft of moonlight, her gaze calm as she looked out at the tranquil little courtyard. Zoe.
The image flickered and vanished. The Queen looked away. The air was still, hot with summer warmth, but she was chilled. She did not know what was coming, did not know to which side the dice would fall, but she was a Queen. A Queen. The title reverberated through her like a drum in the darkness. Evandar was gone but Arya was here. Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales were here now and so was a girl who seemed to balance the scales in a new, uncounted direction. No, she was not afraid any longer, once maybe she would have been but now, now she was ready. Her heartbeat slowed and steadied as she drew herself up as only a true queen can. What is done is done, what is to come is to come, she had made her peace with that.
You made it! I know that was a marathon of a chapter but I hope it was ok! ;) I was on an airplane when I wrote the rough version and I seriously just kept writing and writing...it took me a while to post because all my spare time is taken up by homework but I did it! :)
Here on some replies to some reviews I've received...
14athomas : I wanted to include a Murtagh POV but I felt this chapter was long enough. So, look for Murtagh very soon! He is going to have his own little adventures while in Surda - poor Brom! Thank you for the review and, please!, keep reading!
lamthe42: Thank you for your review! :) I am sorry about that...I hope this chapter is better for that. I am so glad you like Zoe's rambles - I like writing them! As for Arya, I think I would like to explore her character a little more. It seemed that in the original series we had a lot of 'perfect Arya' because of Eragon. Big thank you for the review and I hope you like this chapter!
SiPhoenix: I never actually thought of that but now that you mention it I think that is a very cool idea...I will see about incorporating Runon into this story in that way...Thank you for the idea and the review! :)
Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and liked this story! I write it for the fun of it and it is fantastic to hear back from you guys! Off I go to homework and a certain chapter that needs planning...