Chapter 36 – Mar'wyn
"You have nightmares, princess."
(Slight pause)
"Everyone has nightmares, Eragon."
"Nay. Everyone has dreams. Nightmares are for those who are ashamed of what they have done in the past. Otherwise, they are just bad dreams and good dreams. No?"
(Slight pause again)
"Or the ones fate has a mind to play with."
~Eragon Shadeslayer (first speaker) and Arya Dröttningu (second speaker)
Eragon read the journal over and over again, trying to decipher exactly what the words meant and where it led to. He frowned, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful habit before raking his fingers through his rapidly lengthening hair. The long exposure to the sun had started to bleach the darker strands, giving it a lighter complexion and color.
Arya walked over, sitting by him as she read over with him, her striking forest-green eyes scathing the words with their intensity.
The mountains seem almost foreboding as if warding us away from the temple. The birds sound different here. Everything about this place seems ominous. Dark. Something feels very wrong. So very wrong.
Eragon looked up.
Saphira?
The dragoness quickly melded her mind with his as she read over the lines, launching herself into the air moments later.
"She'll try to see if there are any mountains northward," Eragon explained to Arya, the elf nodded as they watched the great sky queen wheel around in the sky.
There are mountains, she called to him. Perhaps thirty leagues from where we are, northeastward. Not many, but a few, around fifteen in a row. They do feel forbidding, it's almost as if they want us to keep us away. I think they are volcanoes. Or used to be at least. Many of them seem barren and lifeless.
She spun around, Eragon entering her mind, surveying the land around them with her.
Sure enough, the northeastern mountains seemed like once-active volcanoes, gray and bleak, barren and dead though the lands around them were filled with green trees and plants. Another, slightly larger chain of mountains lay to the south, lush with forestry, Saphira knowing the direction by animalistic survival instincts.
I think our best bet is the northeastern ones, he said to Saphira mentally, the great being nodding with agreement.
He let his vision return to normal as Saphira began to land, coming back into his mind on the ground, handing the journal to Arya.
"We travel northeast on the morrow."
Eragon slung his pack over his broad back, his gauntlets inside the bag as he hung his katana at his right hip, Brisingr at his left. His daggers were strapped to his bared forearms, damp from the mist rising from the dew and the tropical sun. His thighs held throwing knives and the handles of his twin long knives could be seen from behind his waist, ready to be pulled out at moment's notice. He always was armed to the teeth nowadays, opposed to when he had first come to the Varden, armed with nothing but a sword and a bow and his innocence.
"Listen to the birds," he said. "When they begin to sound different, we are near."
And so they began their long trek.
It was an easy pace they kept, fast but not tiring, a gentle tempo, but not too slow. As they passed over hills and streams, the sight of the mountains met them, distant, mist-shrouded towers of dirt, rock, and stone. The animals around them curiously watched them, clearly unused to human company, a few birds flitting about them, chirping playfully.
Aelwyn picked up a flower, sniffing the exotically colored blossom, the color of an early sunrise. Smiling, she handed it to Eragon.
"Smell it, milord," she said. "It smells of the lyth'al flower of Cadia."
He accepted the blooming flower, taking a breath of the scent, the sweet aroma filling his nostrils for a few blissful seconds before he released his breath. It smelled of lavender and vanilla, with a touch of some tropical fruit.
"I'd like to go to Cadia someday," he said softly, setting the flower behind Arya's ear, smiling quickly before continuing their march.
The scenery was as wondrous as the Boar's Eye, the beautiful forests and incredible animals easily keeping the travelers awake and interested in their surroundings.
Eragon took a deep breath of the cool air, feeling the early-morning droplets of water vapor in the mist around him. Drops of water condensed on his arms, running down his skin, the sound of the island engraving a beautiful memory in his mind.
A good while later, maybe halfway through the day, they came to a small waterfall, the gentle flows of the stream leaping from the stone maybe twice the height of a person into the pond below. Grateful for the small respite from the growing heat, Eragon called a break, washing his face, arms and neck, swiftly shedding his tunic to clean the sweat off his back. Calayn simply dove into the water using her wings to pour water on herself, sweeping her drenched hair out of her smiling face.
Aelwyn chuckled, "Milord, you should go in, too, I doubt just washing your back and your arms will work very well."
"I washed my face and neck, too," he smirked. "That has to count for something."
The Hand shrugged, moving aside to give Saphira space as the dragoness landed beside her, dunking her huge head in the water, getting both of them generously wet. She pulled back, shaking her body as the water droplets flew everywhere.
Arya laughed, wiping the water off her face, Eragon's eyes glistening with mischief, exchanging glances with Aelwyn. The Hand winked knowingly, walking over beside Arya, pretending to get something from her bag, tossing Eragon his bag as he walked over to her, rummaging through his sack.
In half a second, Arya's yelp could be heard along with the laughter of Aelwyn and Eragon, the elven princess resurfacing, spitting out water with a murderous glare.
"Eragon Shadeslayer, perhaps I should show you my idea of fun."
He grinned, teasingly bringing his face close to hers.
"Arya Dröttningu, have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you're angry at me?"
"I'll show you how beautiful you are when you're soaking wet, Rider," she smirked.
Mistake getting too close to her.
Aelwyn laughed even harder as she pulled him into the water, but she too was silenced when Saphira's tail simply pushed her into the pond, the dragoness snorting with amusement.
The Hand came up, sputtering curses, looking at the dragon with surprise.
"Saphira!"
I couldn't help it, she thrummed. With Eragon and Arya looking all so beautiful wet and angry, I decided maybe I should make you more beautiful too.
The Hand growled, "Dragon or not, I will tackle you into the water, I s-."
That was all she could get out before Kalyn let out a whoop, leaping into the water, practically tackling Aelwyn and bringing them both under.
Aelwyn sat atop a rock by the edge of the waterfall, legs crossed, arms folded neatly in her lap, watching the animals of the forest about her, Eragon sitting on a branch near her. His eyes were closed as he meditated, some water from the falls floating up to flow around him, snaking around like a living vine of water. It twisted and writhed under his control, forming various shapes and symbols, stretching and curling, running across his bare shoulders to his other arm. His toned body was nearly dried from after their water escapade, the rippling muscles a testament to his strength and prowess he had already shown over and over again. Yet what always shocked her was the quiet tenderness he always showed to Arya. With most others, he was the powerful Dragon Rider, their leader, their greatest hope. Yet to the elven princess, he was a gentle, silent lover. She envied it in a way. She wished for the warmth of a true lover, not a beautiful man she could use and throw away the next morning.
She wished for him to be there the next day to be holding her still. And the morning after that. And the morning after that morning.
Silly wishes.
Funny, to think a few moons ago, she had been attempting to seduce him.
And in many ways, she was glad he hadn't fallen for her sweet words. And then at other times, she wondered if he could have been hers.
No regrets.
She sighed, closed her eyes, and fell into the Hand trance, slowing her breathing, slowing her heart until it was a slow, deep beat deep inside her chest, an unfaltering tempo of life. Breathe. Beat. Breathe. Beat.
"Breathe, Aelwyn. The trance does not come from your stillness, it comes from your acceptance and serenity."
She breathed, letting go of the pain from her sore muscles.
"Listen to the beating of your heart. Become one with it. It is the beat for your lifesong. Your tempo. It changes. It quickens, it slows, but it is your tempo, no others'. Listen to it."
Beat. Beat. Beat.
And she sang along with her lifesong.
Drums.
Eragon heard drums, and it was not the drum of his heartbeat, or any other heart around him.
They were physical drums.
Faint. Ominous.
He opened his eyes, standing up.
Aelwyn was already on her feet, looking at him knowingly.
The beat was quick. They were no tribal drums. No ease or merriment. They were the drums of a march of war.
Night had fallen. He had lost track of the time while meditating, no doubt the others were asleep.
"I will go scout them," Aelwyn said, leaping into the trees, her assassin training kicking in as she gracefully leapt from tree to tree without breaking stride, soon vanishing into the darkness.
He jumped down from the tree in one swift move, landing by Arya, kissing her neck, "Princess, you need to wake up," he whispered.
She stirred groggily, no doubt tired from trekking more than ten leagues in a less than half a day.
"What is it?" she asked quietly, pushing herself up.
He cupped some water in his hand, washing her face as she accepted his gentle care, shaking her face as her eyes snapped open, more alert.
"War drums."
"How many times does a battle have to wake me up," she sighed, smirking as she grabbed her sword from the ground, going to wake the others.
By the time the Hand returned, they were all wide awake, preparing their weaponry. Aelwyn vaulted down from the trees, shaking her head.
"Too many, I saw at least three-hundred," she said. "We'll need to use our stealth to avoid them."
"Who?" Calayn demanded.
"No clue, they seem like mercenaries, heavily armed, efficient, quick, strong. We won't have a demon lord helping us this time, or a downwards slope."
"Why are they chasing us?" Kalyn asked with exasperation, sheathing his blades as he swung his pack across his back, the group of warriors running off into the forest, Saphira flying low above the trees to avoid being spotted.
"Galbatorix knows we're here," Arya muttered. "Or someone else who doesn't like us does."
"Less talking, more running," Eragon snapped, using his katana to hack a branch aside, then deciding not to cut another one in case they had a skilled hunter or tracker among their ranks.
Aelwyn grabbed a branch, climbing up the tree to run across the branches, the others swiftly following her lead. Kalyn and Calayn bounded to the top of the trees, shifting into the Kill to fly beside Saphira, the three warriors now like squirrels, scurrying through the branches, ducking to avoid leaves and stray twigs that got in the way.
"I'm kind of tempted to go fight them," Aelwyn said, grinning darkly in a way only a Hand could.
"I would rather you not," the Dragon Rider said, shaking his head with a smile. "But I know what you mean."
Du drottínar wilae véra eom aí lûka.
Fire raged around him. The tongues of the flames licked at his hands, igniting his skin, yet it did not burn, it melded with him, became one with it.
Enna Maûthra'va neo'ména halda.
The sound of chains. Bones. Death. Screams and sounds of ripping bodies.
Taka sikû lita méva en'vala
Eragon shot up, gasping for air, rivulets of sweat trickling down his face and chest, his hair plastered to his neck from the moistness of his skin.
He sighed deeply, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Or the ones who fate has a mind to play with."
He smiled grimly.
Or all of the above.
Kalyn woke up early the next morning, seeing the Lord Rider already dressed and washed, sitting atop a rock near one of the many streams on the island, eyes closed, legs crossed, his shoulders moving gently with every breath.
"There is game I hunted by the stream," the man said. "Skinned. Cooked. Wash and eat, I hear not the drums anymore."
The dreamwraith walked over to his liege who called him friend.
"Milord, something bothers you?"
"Nightmares do not leave a troubled soul untouched. Do not worry about me, Kalyn," Eragon smiled, standing up as he patted the older being's shoulder.
Though Kalyn knew he was many years the Rider's senior, he felt so young when he was near the man. There was just… an aging aura around him, like he was an ancient warrior who had seen too many wars, seen too many deaths, seen too much, heard too much, done too much. It was a strange sensation.
"As you wish, milord."
Their walk was considerably harder than the first one. The heat was even hotter and the air was dense and humid, crowding them and making their lungs strain for air with even the littlest increase of pace. The terrain was unstable and a good number of times they had to go around an area too swamped to walk through. Saphira said that the mountains were not too far away now, and by around the fourth hour of the afternoon, the trees started to thin out.
The mountains were even bigger than Eragon had expected.
And darker.
The air around them was still, as if even the winds had died. Skeletons of various things littered the area around them.
The line of trees stopped abruptly where the first skeleton touched, like the very ground was poisonous.
"Is it safe?" Arya asked unsurely.
Eragon stepped on the ground.
Feeling no ill effects, he put his other foot on the darker dirt.
Nothing.
The air was more stale and dry, but it was eerily cool.
Stepping back, the humid wind punched him in the face, staggeringly hot compared to the air just half a breath in front of him.
"This is no natural place," he muttered.
"Milord, the birds," Aelwyn whispered.
She was right. Their shock had distracted them from the sound of the birds. While the birds of the rainforest were lively and cheery, the birds right on the line had drawn-out calls, dark and forbidding, like the carrion scavenger birds.
"We're here," Eragon said resolutely, walking past the line of life and death and marching onwards.
It was bleak. Utterly, completely bleak. Rats and some bugs skittered around among the decomposing animals and the skeletons of past beings that had once been there. Humans, Urgals, stouter skeletons being dwarves. Some of the slimmer ones could have been elves, seeing their ethereal symmetry and the elegant length of their limbs and the well-shaped bone structure.
It reminded Eragon quite strikingly of the path to Kuthian.
I see the temple, Saphira said, swooping down low above them, buffeting them with her powerful wings as she landed beside him, walking with elegant grace.
Eragon quickened his pace.
It was an impressive sight, it truly was. It seemed like it was perhaps the length of Saphira wingspan high, meaning the height of around twenty full-grown men, made of pure white stones, a stark contrast to the dark land around it. As they got closer, he realized it was much bigger than that. The staircase alone leading up to the temple was as high as Saphira's wingspan, the building itself around fifty-men high.
"Incredible," Arya breathed, the others just as astonished.
How they had created this marvel, Eragon could only guess they had used magic. It would have taken eons to create something this enormous by manpower alone, and even magic would have a hard time some of the stones of the size he could see. One stone pedestal for a huge statue of a cloaked figure with his arms outstretched was the size of Saphira with a lot to spare. Not a single skeleton lay within twenty paces of the building, yet the bit that was distracting was the ring of dead corpses lying right outside the twenty paces.
Eragon picked up a stone, tossing it experimentally past the ring.
Nothing happened.
Warding himself silently, he stepped over a long-dead skeleton, waiting as his companions gingerly followed his lead to no sudden explosions or traps.
They began their walk up the stairs.
When his first foot struck the top of the ascension, a huge gust of wind threatened to push him back down, his cloak and hair billowing about him as he twisted to avoid most of the gale, waiting until the draft had died down before continuing towards the open doors.
It was… Strangely, disturbingly familiar. Like he had been here before. Long before his life had even begun, he had been here.
When he heard Calayn's yelp, he spun around, his hand flying for his sword.
She shook her head, holding her bleeding nose, prompting him to run back to her as the others waited outside the door, unsure what to do.
"What happened?" he asked, swiftly wiping the blood away with his thumb, healing it with a simple spell.
"There's a barrier," the dreamwraith said simply, putting her hand out around him.
While nothing obstructed him, an invisible wall pushed against her hand, unyielding.
Eragon's brows furrowed as he stuck his hand through right beside Calayn's yet his hand struck nothing but air.
His mind clicked.
He reached around his neck, hastily pulling Náonin and Dathrys' pendants from around his neck, handing them to Arya, reaching out again.
His hand met cold stone.
"The place is warded from outsiders," he muttered, accepting the necklaces. "Arya, follow me, Saphira, look through my eyes, Calayn, Kalyn, Aelwyn, watch for anything strange and call us if anything stirs."
Arya slipped Dathrys' blood-red pendant around her neck, the others nodding as Eragon felt his bond with Saphira intensify, feeling the familiar, warm presence filling his mind. He affectionately curled his mental thoughts around her, the dragoness thrumming with contentedness, him and Arya slipping through the warded entrance without trouble.
Words. Glowing words flowed around them, were etched into the walls and pillars and ceilings. Surrounded them, accompanied by the whisperings and murmurs that echoed through the halls, a chaotic symphony of prophesy. Yet as he walked on, the voices quieted, some even shushing other ones, telling them to be silent in various tongues, Arya following behind him, her eyes drawn to the magnificence of the prophetic temple.
"They know me," Eragon said quietly, holding out his hands as the words ran over his hands, the voices murmuring with excitement.
Arya's gaze snapped to him, watching the words react to his touch, hearing the voices whisper with awe.
"You are the one they have been waiting for," she reminded him. "High Bladelord Sivan wrote it in his journal, you remember?"
He nodded, listening to the souls and spirits begin to chant their prophesies with renewed fervor as if his presence gave them a new passion. "High Bladelord Sivan was an elf from beyond the Hadarac, descendent of the first Bladelord, Lord Thy'ren, one of your ancestors."
"One of the House of Lay'valthyn?"
He gave a small, knowing smile.
"Princess, Lay'valthyn was Lord Thy'ren's wife, mate, and partner of war and his greatest friend. The reason your house is not known by his name is because he was a Bladelord. They do not impact history in visible ways, their changes are always made hidden in the darkness. When declared a Bladelord, whether elf, human, Urgal, dwarf, Cadian, or the few half-bloods, their names are erased. The fathers of one son become childless, the brothers become only children, friends lose one of their numbers with only memories to remember them. They no longer exist in the eyes of the world. Have you ever heard of Náonin?"
Arya shook her head slowly, suddenly realizing how she hadn't.
"She was of the House Thrándurin."
That name she knew all too well.
"Of the same house as Oromis?" she asked incredulously. "But…"
Then his previous words came to mind.
He tilted his head, his eyes meeting hers.
"She was his sister. When the Bladelords came, they saw the mark of the Bladelord upon her soul, something only the High Lord can see. They asked her if she would join their ranks, and how could she refuse? It was her duty. Oromis erased all trace of her from the elven world with the help of the Bladelords. He knew the Bladelords would be safer for her than the elven world. And as their house fell apart, one member dying after another, many during the Battle of Ilirea, he prayed she survived it all. And then he died. The House of Thrándurin had ended to the mind of the people. Yet Náonin held the name. And then she died."
He hesitated, holding up his hand to show her the ring.
The blood-memory ring.
"And now I am the last. I truly am the last. There are no more hidden Riders, no more hidden Bladelords. I am the last. Last of the House Thrándurin, last of the Free Riders, the last of many things I wish I never would have the responsibility for."
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shut it.
Then gently taking his hand, she stopped him where he stood, the hall growing hushed.
"Last of many things, Rider," she whispered. "But you shall always be first in my heart."
She tentatively leaned up for the only kiss that could make her heart flutter.
His.
Calélas cradled Evilan, the young child looking up at him curiously, probably wondering why the elf was different.
The new Blödhgarm smiled, truly smiled. For some reason, there was a beauty in an unripe life that was more beautiful than all the gems of the mortal world they lived in.
"Hello, Evilan," he said, kissing his liege-lord's child's forehead. "I know, you are confused. I am no longer Blödhgarm."
He reinforced his words with thoughts, brilliant violet eyes widening with recognition and then with confusion as the familiar image of Blödhgarm slowly changed into Calélas. The baby cooed, gripping his long, plaited hair, playing with the silken strands with unending amusement, causing the elf to laugh.
"Aye, little one, I am still the same elf," he promised. "Much, hopefully much, much later, you shall learn of what causes a man to change on the outside. And then many eons after that, perhaps you shall learn of what causes a soul to change on the inside."
Sighing, he walked through the halls of Belatona's keep, nodding to Dathal as the dreamwraith temporarily in charge of the other shape-shifters walked past, bowing his head with respect as he would to Eragon. The dreamwraiths had come to respect many of the Hands and the elves of the Rider's personal guard, their mutualistic protection of the Dragon Rider becoming their main reason of agreement and companionship. Some had formed close bonds and were seen together, speaking and taking guard shifts together, something Calélas found comforting, that such different races could come together in the most dire of times against a single enemy, or at least a single purpose.
He chuckled at the irony of it.
No longer as the flag of the Varden it's ragtag of colors, but a single thing.
Their Dragon Rider.
Their Rider was their banner now.
Translation: Mar'wyn (title) – the true meaning is unclear, Ancient Elvish (a few millennia before Old Elvish), believed to mean something close to "Death's death", or "Death's breath", "Shadow of Death", "End of Death"
I'm not going to translate the bit in Eragon's dream because it'll become a crucial part of the story later that would be spoiled if I told you now xD
TN: Everything is mine except du, wilae, eoma, aí, and taka~
AN: just watched Last Samurai… if any of you haven't yet, go watch it. now. Look it up online, watch it, the movie is so touching..
Anyways, sorry this chapter is really jumping around all over the timetable :/ it's just that I kind of have to pick up the pace because I don't know how to spend the spaces in between and I don't want to bore you guys with endless dialogue lol
ANDDD
The story about Blödhgarm and the five may actually come with the sequel or this story whenever I feel like I'll be able to manage the two~ and maybe instead of just Blödhgarm's story, I'll also put in a short story about one of Eragon's descendents I've suddenly thought of because of the Last Samurai xD so keep an eye out for that in my author's notes!~
Guest – matters on what your idea of straight is xD
Nothing You Need to Know – oh thank you!~ I'll keep that name in mind ^^ oh Dathrys is just a former Bladelord, Osilon is a city that was given to Fyrn'gala to protect and to manage over xD
Dessert Maniac – yeah I kind of noticed too Dx thank you~ I'll try to fix that as much as I can in the coming chapters! ^^
Phoenix1592 – let's see if Evilan can do something to that :3 thank you~
Fanyboy123 – paha xD you'll see ;) thank you~
Fanboy123 – so many guests o.o;; oh she found it in an underground library in Belatona, it's mentioned when Eragon scries her in I forget what chapter xD thank you!~ I might write it with another story about one of Eragon's descendents if I can figure out a good short story for them both~
Restrained Freedom – yup!~ I was pretty happy to see him too xD gone too long paha I'll see if I can put him in again somewhere~ and thanks :3
Cara – why thank you ^^;; flattered~ paha
Renessaincbooklover108 – your name is quite a handful xD but thank you!~
Guest – their magic words differently, they have a hard time with healing spells, but have greater power with more chaotic spells
Guest – thank you!~ I may just write a whole short story and about one of Eragon's descendents xD
Firesword2 – I'm not sure why o.o;; but thanks for the review~
Guest – I am in a way x3
Guest – LOL THEY WILL RELAX xD it's ok, it's allergy season ;3
Guest – I'm pretty sure it was thorta o.o;;
Oh wait it is ilumëo… it says thorta and ilumëo but I'm sure it's the second lol I'll change it, thank you~
Guest – sorry! D: get sleep xD
Firesword2 – nope, not the end ;3 you'll know when it's the end
Guest – so many guests o.o;; once again.. paha well, stuff changes, and he didn't really have a choice
Guest – Restorations bro~
Darth Feanor – aww D: well thank you!~
Wondrous Serendipity (?) – thank you!~ and thank you for your feedback ^^ I might write a short story about Eragon's descendent, would that interest you more? Curiosity makes me ask xD well, I'll finish that bit in this story, and introduce new issues in the sequell~ and Aelwyn is pronounced like ALEWIN. So… yeah xD ale wins. Paha~
Scorpyra – I had a bit of trouble with it to, trying to make it seem more casual and natural, but I couldn't have this story as emotional with them dancing around each other xD so yes, it is a little forced and really fast-forwarded, but thank you!~ and as for the title Lord Rider, it isn't necessarily a title he needs to own, he just needs to be a free-willed Rider whose had his dragon the longest, and since Galbatorix's dragon is really his, he's ruled out, and Murtagh and Thorn are double crossed because he's had Thorn shorter than Eragon and he doesn't have his free will at the moment. Obligations like Eragon has to Nasuada and the dwarven clans are still considered free will, so this makes Eragon the Lord Rider by default xD and trust me, sometimes, things force you to jump a lot farther than you anticipate but I really do thank you for your long, thoughtful review! I'm glad you took the time to tell me these things, and I'll see if I can adjust the upcoming chapters slightly to fit the timeframe more :)
Guest – no I did not o.o;; but I just liked the name Sarissa xD and it means princess in some language that escapes my mind :/