Destiny and Discovery
Even when she looked back on it, Arya never really knew how long she spent in Utopia Valley content to let the world rise or fall without her. Moot had tended to the gash in her hand using a mixture of herbs and magic; all that remained was a faint silvery scar upon the back of her left hand and through the centre of her gedwëy ignasia. She hadn't thought to ask if the injury would affect her bond with Fírnen. Indeed Fírnen and Eragon and all the others had become nothing but a distant memory, as had, in actual fact, anything about herself other than her name and the face of her mother.
She spent her days wondering the forest in the valley floor; watching the land in its youthful glory and never leaving trace that she had been there. Sometimes she would wonder across Moot and dependent upon the old man's mood they would sit and talk or sit and watch or simply cross paths and carry on their way without acknowledging one another. Though she did not know it, the longer Arya stayed in the valley the less likely it was she would ever leave the place.
Then one night as she lay under the stars, Arya's fantasies took on a clarity that was unreal.
She stood upon the prow of a large elven warship. Beside her stood a woman with hair like liquid silver and eyes pale as the grey moon. She wore a dress of fine steel and silk and held about herself a poise of importance and dignity that only those of high birth had. The deck of the ship was empty, although familiar to Arya, yet she didn't know why. Its name was woven into the railing at the aft by the vines it had been grown from; Talítha.
Around them was the deep blue of night; stars twinkled and winked at the two women and they sailed silently on through waters so still that the night extended to remove the horizon. A sense of peace flowed through Arya that she hadn't felt in a long time – a presence of comfort that used to surround her but had long since abandoned her.
The woman beside her stirred and spoke.
"You have come far, Islanzadísdaughter." She said. "But your task is not yet finished."
Arya frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Search within, Arya of Ellesméra and do not let the trickery of the valley delude you."
"I don't understand."
The elf beside her smiled and placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder. It was cold. "When you wake child, you will have a choice. To remain forevermore in that valley of bliss or to once more step forth upon a road of hardship and toil."
Arya raised an eyebrow. "When you say it like that then why would I ever leave?"
The woman shook her head and smiled some more. "There is much you do not know, Dröttning. Those that would have told you truth perished before they could, leaving the task to those that would deceive you."
Arya's confusion must have shown upon her face.
"You are of my line, child." The woman said. "And the son born of the first female of my line shall unite the land in all its glory and secure the peace that had been lost."
The words struck recognition in Arya's mind and something her father (she hadn't recalled she had a father until that instant) said came back to her. "Elvedom thrives while Argetzí rules."
The woman smiled. "I never ruled per say," she said, "but I birthed the first elven king. Before my son Drénn united them, the elves were segregated and unorganised. He led them from the darkness of the Dragon War into the light of peace and prosperity. He led them out of mortality and into immortality." The woman – Argetzí – stared at Arya with hard grey eyes. "As you have done also, my dear. You have led our people from seclusion back into society in the wake of Galbatorix's death."
Arya stared out across the still water. It was hard to tell if they were moving or not. What Argetzí was saying made little sense.
"When you wake," she continued, "you will understand. It took great courage to give up your throne, but then you never did let them crown you in the first place. The Knotted Throne can only be held successfully by one of my blood. Those without it often have short and difficult reigns."
Arya saw a paling of dawn before her and knew the sun was rising.
"One, last, thing, Dröttning," Argetzí said.
"I'm no queen," Arya said softly. "I gave it up. Just as you said."
Argetzí smiled tolerantly. "You were not ready. And you were not crowned. You can take that seat back, child, though you do not have to sit in it, only claim it. But if peace between the races is to be ensured, then only your son can achieve it."
Arya glanced at the other woman. "I don't have a son."
"Not yet," Argetzí agreed. "And nor will you if you do not leave Utopia and aid the man you love in vanquishing the threat he faces."
Arya watched the sun rise, its light warming her face and slowly as it climbed did it wash away the idle peacefulness and contentment that the valley had installed upon her. Who she was and what she was came flooding back to her and as it did so did her need to leave – to find Eragon and Fírnen and Saphira and tell them she was alright. That she was alive.
Arya turned to face Argetzí, but her foremother was gone.
She blinked and the tranquillity of the still sea was replaced with the forest of bliss in the valley of paradise.
The son born of the first female of my line will unite the land in all its glory and secure the peace that has been lost. Arya hated prophecies.
However, now she was awake, her steady resolve to leave and help Eragon faded somewhat, especially in the light of the very real fact that she loved him so much – so much in fact that Argetzí seemed to think he was going to father a son with her, a son who would become one of the greatest elven kings ever to live. No. It was much simpler to lay back on the grass here and watch the birds dancing in the sky …
Her agitation remained all morning until she gave in to her resolve and to who she was (or was supposed to be, according to a long-dead memory or whatever it was of the woman whom Arya's House was named after). Getting to her feet, Arya set off towards the cave in the hopes of finding Moot and enlisting his help although the old hermit wasn't likely to be of much use in all this.
When Arya reached the mountain top and the ledge with the cave, it was to find Moot sitting before a campfire with an assortment of things around him and staring with a melancholy expression upon his weathered face. He spoke before she could.
"You have decided to leave, little princess?" he sounded sad, as if her leaving would cause him much pain and anguish.
"I must," she whispered.
Moot sighed. "It was inevitable, I suppose. Though I wished to spare you from the hardships ahead … the chances of success are slim … and if your Boy-Wanderer cannot learn to use his gifts …"
Arya sat down across the campfire from Moot and stared into the flames.
"Did Argetzí tell you of the prophecy?"
Arya's eyes shot up to the hermit. "How do you know of an elven prophecy?" she snapped.
He's eyes glinted. He reached up and parted his hair so Arya could clearly see the pointed tips they ended in. Moot was an elf. In all fairness, Arya shouldn't have been surprised.
"Fine … I still have to leave."
Moot watched her intently. "And if you succeed little princess? What then? If you beat Murtagh and his father what, then, will you do?"
Arya didn't say anything but she gathered that Moot wasn't going to help her until she made that decision. She sighed. "Däthedr is king. What right do I have to take the throne from him?"
"The right of your blood. Remember you do not have to sit in that Throne. Only claim it as yours. If you so wish it, you can choose another to act in your stead until your son is ready to take his place upon it."
Arya turned away. "This is pointless and not important. Eragon needs my help!" she hadn't realised she shouted until the birds flapped away cawing indignantly.
Moot sighed heavily. "He believes you are being held captive by Murtagh. Even now he journeys towards Morzan's castle upon the shores of Fläm. You can get there first and await his arrival and calm his agitated thoughts upon your welfare. But there is something I must ask of you to do for me, little princess."
"What?" Arya asked suspiciously.
"That rock your Boy-Wanderer found in Murtagh's procession. It is the Stone of Táldris and within it holds the consciousness of the first Heart: Deloihjarta. Though the breach opened when the Du Wydra Nángorörh spells were cast is closed, the gap between this world and the next has been weakened. For the world to be truly healed – for the power Murtagh gained from it to be truly vanquished – one must take the Stone to the place where the spells were cast and step through to the Void. The instant the Stone leaves this world will it release a force of energy so powerful that this world and the next will be forever separated. In doing so will the Stone – and the power of the Nine Hearts of Táldris – be destroyed and the dead forever dead."
"So what do you want me to do?" Arya asked quietly. "I do not think Argetzí will appreciate you sending me to my death before I produce this heir she has been awaiting."
Moot smiled – a rare sight upon his weathered face. "All you must do is take the Stone from Murtagh. That is all. The one whom is meant to take it beyond will know when they come into its presence." Arya thought that a very feeble explanation but left it be.
"Very well." She said. "I shall do all I can to get the Stone away from Murtagh and into the hands of the one meant to use it. But first I think I need to get to Morzan's stronghold."
"Yes … and you should also not go unarmed." Moot handed Arya a bundle. "Go and change, little princess. A man can wear the same clothes for eternity but it is unbefitting a woman to do so."
Arya accepted the clothing and got to her feet. She ducked into the cave and made her way to the back of the cave where a natural hot spring fed into a shallow pool perfect for bathing. She stripped and washed before donning her new garments. A pair of deep green leggings that finished mid-way down her calves and hugged tight to her legs for ease of movement. An unbleached linen vest went underneath a tough sleeveless jerkin of an off-white that was open at the throat. Round her neck and covering her shoulders was a hood of soft brown. A pair of fingerless gloves made out of the same toughened off-white leather covered her hands and her feet were bear.
It was odd, but Arya had never felt more like an elf.
She used the bit of twine meant to keep the neck of the jerkin closed to tie back her hair; all she managed was to twist it into a knot at the back of her head and use the twine to keep the bundle in place. Arya picked up her mother's golden dagger and left the cave. Moot was still sitting by the campfire and he looked round when Arya approached.
He gazed at her. "I see the clothing fits … good." He got to his feet and handed Arya a bow and quiver full of arrows fletched with different bird feathers. No two feathers were the same. Arya took the items and tested the reach of the bow. She was comfortably straining to pull the bow to its full and nodded satisfied. Her own bow had been lost years ago – sometime during the war, now she came to think about it – and she liked the simplistic beauty that this new bow had to match her old one. Arya already had one item of ornate opulence, she didn't much want another.
"Thank you," Arya said. And she meant it.
Moot nodded and watched Arya settle the quiver on her back. She used the extra straps as a belt and stuck her dagger under it. The only danger was the bare blade catching her flesh and doing injury but Arya put that out of her mind. She had to get to Morzan's castle and take the Stone away from Murtagh before Eragon got there and dismantled the place (and no doubt got himself caught, injured or killed in the process).
"All that remains," Moot said, "Is for you to find your way through the forest …" he nodded to himself and strode to the ledge. He threw back his head and howled like a wolf into the still air. Arya shivered.
A moment later, out of the trees, prowled a pack of wolves.
Arya tensed and gripped her new bow tightly.
Moot watched her with amusement. "For the respect your Boy-Wanderer bears these mountains will Toughpaw and his pack guide you and protect you through the Spine to Morzan's castle." He gestured to the largest of the wolves. Arya glanced at it and resisted the urge to flee.
Toughpaw the wolf padded silently towards her, watching with yellow eyes. Arya tried hard not to blink. He sniffed her, as if accustoming himself to her scent, and then dipped his head in a nod. Each member of the pack in turn came up and caught a whiff of Arya's scent and then paced back to the edge of the trees, waiting.
Moot touched Arya upon the shoulder. "Good luck, little princess," he said. "And know you are always welcome here, if you should desire it."
Arya glanced over her shoulder at the landscape in the light of the afternoon sun. This place truly was paradise … but she knew in her heart that she had only been content here, as Eragon had only been content on that island. It seemed neither of them were suited to sitting around wasting days away; they had to be doing something.
Toughpaw nudged her with his snout as if to say, let's go, and Arya found herself nodding in agreement.
"Okay then, lead the way."
The wolf turned tail and trotted into the trees with Arya and the pack following behind. She paused once more and saw the valley in all its glory with Moot the mountain hermit silhouetted against the bright sun. Something told Arya she wasn't likely to find the valley again, even if she wanted to, regardless of Moot's murmured eternal welcome. But Utopia Valley would always have a place in her memories – as the island would always have a place in Eragon's.
The forest of the Spine was alien to her. A tangle of branches and twisting trails that made little sense to Arya. The Spine was not friendly to trespassers and did not distinguish between friend or foe … but Du Weldenvarden welcomed anyone who meant no ill-will to the forest. Du Weldenvarden was lush and the trees tall and thick, the ground littered with rich undergrowth. The trees of the Spine were narrow and huddled close together making it difficult to follow a straight path through the trees. The ground was littered with shrubs and twigs and the entire place let off a sense of gloom and silence – a silence so absolute Arya was almost afraid to break it.
Beside her the wolves ran through the forest, their fur thick with rain and their paws making no sound upon the earth. If Arya had not been an elf the wolves would've left her in the dust; as it was she was pushed to her limits, glad of all the running Oromis had made her and Eragon do during those months in Ilirea. The wolves appeared not to tire and she was almost certain they were going to keep up their pace all the way to Morzan's castle without stopping to rest or eat.
But she was proved otherwise. As the moon climbed to its height that first day, Toughpaw halted and sent a couple of the pack members to locate a warm safe environment for them to rest. Five minutes later Arya was sitting in the middle of a ring of wolves as they curled to sleep under the roots of an over turned tree. Hungry and exhausted, she laid back on the ground and looked up at the starry sky above; exhaustion won out over her hunger.
A week after setting out with the wolves as her guides and protectors, Arya reached the southern shore of Fläm lake. Crouching down, Arya crept to the edge of the tree line and peered out across the lake; sunlight stained the waters orange and nestled in the mountains to the west, was a large stronghold that had been built from quarried stone. Even though she was hidden on the edge of the forest and the castle at least a league away across the water Arya felt that the castle knew exactly where she was.
Toughpaw nudged her arm and snorted. Arya placed a hand on his neck and felt the wolf's hackles raised; "I'll be fine," she told him gently in the ancient language, but Toughpaw snorted again and nudged her again. "Even if I wait for Eragon to get here before going in, I need to get closer. Eragon will come from the north, and he'll have no reason to be on this side of the lake."
Toughpaw sniffed as if to say, fine. You're safer here but fine.
Arya smiled at the wolf. "Thank you for getting me here in one piece, Toughpaw."
He placed his head over her shoulder, allowing Arya to hug him round the neck and nudged her arm again. A couple of the other wolves padded over to say their farewells and one by one they disappeared back into the gloom of the Spine, leaving Arya alone by the shores of the lake with Morzan's castle looming imposingly at her in the distance.
Without the wolves' company, Arya threaded her way round to the west side of the lake in the shadows of the forest's edge. Hopefully the tangle of trees and shrubbery would hide her from the eyes of those watching from the stronghold. Her progress was also somewhat slower without the pack; Arya had to now be weary of potential threats from the forest that the wolves had protected her from during their journey.
It took Arya most of the rest of the day to reach the castle. It's only entrance (not including flying in on dragon back) opened up facing the lake and the gate was large enough for three dragons of Glaedr's size to walk through side-by-side. She made a rudimentary camp in a secluded shelter of upturned tree roots – the Spine seemed to have an abundance of uprooted trees – and crawled towards the edge of the tree line to observe the goings-on at the gate entrance.
A surprising number of people were milling around the gate, unloading barges that had docked at the lake's shore and transporting whatever the goods were inside the walls. Over the grunts and shouts of the men working, Arya got the gist of what Murtagh was planning next, although the men working couldn't be expected to know the details since they looked to Arya no more than common foot soldiers. Even so, what she heard alarmed her. Murtagh was planning to take back and re-establish the Empire and apparently he'd sold the cause by insisting Nasuada had stolen it from the people in the first place. Which, technically, was true – but the Empire wouldn't have needed stealing if Galbatorix hadn't have gone mad and destroyed the Riders, established himself as overlord of Alagaësia, and hunted down anyone who tried to oppose him.
That night, Arya wondered through her surroundings in the hopes of locating Eragon. She had no luck and was about to head back to the shelter of her tree roots when she spotted a flickering light through the gloom. A campfire. Curiosity getting the better of her, Arya drew her bow, nocked an arrow, and paced forwards on silent feet. She halted in the shadows and peeked into the circle of light in order to determine if it was friend or foe.
The campsite, however, was abandoned – a struggle had taken place for the pot of stew was strewn across the ground and belongings scattered as if they'd been searched through. What looked shockingly like blood dampened the floor by the fireside … and bodies lay mangled and mutilated where they had fallen; empty faces staring accusingly up at the stars who just stared coldly down at them. Arya's heart hammered in her chest; whatever had happened here she didn't want to be a part of it.
Backing away, she stumbled and tripped over the roots of a tree. Twigs and branches snapped loudly in the silence and somewhere, someone said; "What was that?"
"We must've missed one … did we miss one?"
There was a thump and a muffled yell. Someone had just been struck across the face.
"Spread out … find them …" the first voice said harshly. "And you – take him up to the castle. Murtagh and Morzan will be glad the company."
Arya lay very still in the shrubbery as the sounds of soldiers crashing through the forest echoed around her. Her heart beat loudly in her chest and she was sure it was going to give her whereabouts away …
"Hey!" the second voice shouted, sounding alarmingly close by, "I think I've found something!"
Arya tensed.
A/N : sooo yeah. Give me a heads up if I just make this too complicated ... but in all fairness this prophecy isn't part of this story (I just needed some foreshadowing in case I write a sequel)