Oh, thank you all so much for all those gorgeous lovely reviews!! I'm so, so sorry that I couldn't reply to them all.
Meh, and you know the usual excuse for it!
Chapter Forty-Nine.
Golden Moments.
"Dammit!"
Eragon swore explosively, but he was almost too frightened to go on. The stone he knelt on was wet, but Eragon did not notice. He picked something from the pool of dried blood and held it on his palm.
Fanghur? Saphira asked frantically.
No. Dragon.
Heart beating wildly as if was trying to break free from his body, Eragon stared at the thing in his hand. It was a long, oval-shaped scale, rock hard, but broken around the edges; and it was a bright, forest green.
Eridor's.
Saphira moaned, as frightened as he was. We have to see if they are inside! Ask the guards, and if they're not …
Don't say that! Eragon leapt up, and, scale clutched tight in his hand, starting running again, his feet strong and sure on their path, but fear for Eridor and Arya made him feel sick to the stomach. Saphira followed him, tense and taught as a bowstring; she lifted her head to catch any scent that would show the approach of the things that had caused the injury of Eridor's that had made him lose his scales in such a way.
There was a very narrow path behind the waterfall, which enabled a person to get to the doors of Tronjheim without being thoroughly soaked. Eragon darted along this gap, and Saphira hurled herself through the cascade of icy water without stopping in their headlong rush.
"Ai Varden abr du Shurtugals gata vanta!" he shouted, pounding on the wall of rock with the smooth round stone. "Az varbulz nesa uzh tash!" he added in dwarfish as best he could. "Come on! Open!"
There was a slight grating sound, and rock wall slid backwards from two splits in the centre, the ancient doors that were two feet thick swinging inwards on massive hinges. But before even the small contingency of dwarves could march out into the cavern behind the waterfall, Eragon and Saphira had darted inside, right into their swords and spears.
"Shadeslayer!" the dwarf at the helm of this little band said, looking shocked. "What is wrong?"
Eragon stared at the one who had spoken, and who looked rather worse for wear, and grabbed his arm urgently. "Has a dragon and Rider come into the city? An elf and a green dragon?!"
The leader's rugged face twisted in consternation. "We have been ordered to silence, Shadeslayer …"
"By who?" said Eragon fiercely. The dwarf chewed his beard and his fellows murmured uneasily. "Who told you to be silent?"
They were all quiet. Eragon swore under his breath. "Is this person higher in command than I am?"
"Hard to tell, Shadeslayer … Hard to tell …"
"You mean you just accepted whatever he said?" Eragon replied disbelievingly. The chief shook his head.
"She was trustworthy, I swear to it. She spoke in the elven tongue."
"She?" Eragon repeated incredulously. "Oh, Hellfire … Listen to me, then," he said, towering above the dwarfs and strengthening his voice. "I am Eragon Shadeslayer, member of Durgrimst Ingietum, foster son of Hrothgar Black-Hammer, brother in turn to Orik, current King of the dwarven realm, and I am Rider of Saphira Bjartskular. Do not tell me that you cannot answer my questions!"
"Aye, well …" The dwarf wavered. Eragon pressed his advantage.
"Is there another dragon and Rider inside the city?!"
There was a flurry of dwarven language between the leader and his soldiers; Eragon kept his stony eye on the chief, who stared back unhappily. "Well?"
"Yes, Shadeslayer … a green dragon and a female elf came this way hours ago."
"Yes!"
Eragon slapped his hand against his leg, so relieved that it felt as if a boulder had been lifted from his belly. "Thank the Gods. Are they safe? Unhurt?" he demanded of the dwarves.
"A senior Healer attended them when they arrived. The Fanghur had attacked them."
"I thought so," he replied rather distractedly. "Where did she go?"
"With the Healer, Shadeslayer - I cannot say where."
"Very well." Eragon clapped his hand to his chest in the dwarven way of showing thanks. "Thank you very much, commander." He grinned at Saphira, and soaking wet as she was she smiled distinctly toothily back.
Come on, then, little one. They started off the down the tunnel much quicker than the dwarves could go, and they followed the familiar tunnel., the darkness not at all oppressing, because through this tunnel had gone Arya and Eridor, safe and alive.
It widened out; and there was the wide, pale road that led through the centre of the crater, a path though the stalagmites that littered the ground. Eragon could hear vaguely the tramp of the dwarves' iron-clad feet, but he did not want to wait for them to arrive; they had no need of their help. Eragon promptly climbed onto Saphira's back into the damp saddle, and she took off, covering the ground with such energy and speed that Eragon could barely see the road they followed.
She landed with a great flourish of wings, and her long claws grated on the stone floor. They were right in front of the great golden gates that guarded the main entrance of the city itself, and the soldiers who stood by it - clad very finely in the livery of the Gate Wardens - lifted their mattocks to pound upon the ground.
"Ssh!" Eragon said severely. "Don't do that." He surreptitiously hardened the air around the Wardens, so that even if they did pound their huge mattocks on the ground in the way they were wont to, it would not make much sound. He slithered off Saphira's back, and asked in the dwarven language to be let through.
Looking rather disgruntled, they signalled for the gates to be opened. Eragon grinned at them, and darted through just ahead of Saphira: they were still in a hurry, just to check for themselves that that Arya and Eridor were all right.
But then came the crier. Eragon saw him open his mouth, and hushed him quickly. "Don't go waking everybody up just because we've arrived," he said quickly. The crier looked very sullen. Eragon frowned. "It's dark outside, you know."
"Oh, aye," he said sulkily, and retreated once more inside his little hut. Eragon blinked.
They're all very grumpy, aren't they?
Never mind that, Saphira said impatiently. Ask someone where they are.
He caught the next guard he saw. This one, too, had orders not to reveal anything about Eridor and Arya, and Eragon had a rather long-winded conversation with him, because he did not really understand the Common Tongue, and Eragon's dwarfish was not quite as fluent as it could be. However, it being established that Eragon was indeed trustworthy, he was directed to an old group of large guard-rooms put out of use for some reason. They were, apparently, large enough for a dragon - at least, for Eridor.
Eragon knew Tronjheim well enough to find these rooms, and he darted along the wide streets with Saphira behind him; she could be almost completely silent when she wanted to be. Only her tail snaking over the stone floors gave her away, and it would have to be a very sharp-eared dwarf who would hear her.
The rooms were large, but not particularly conspicuous. Eragon could not feel any wards of Arya's design outside them, and so darted inside, only to enter yet another warren of tunnels and stout, iron-pegged doors.
Oh, this is ridiculous, Saphira said exasperatedly. Just see where they are, Eragon.
But before Eragon could answer, or even stretch out his mind to find Arya's as she had said, there was a long, low growl from the wall. Eragon leapt to face it, hand on sword, thinking wild, half-formed thoughts of Fanghur and Nagra and the invasion of Tronjheim, but was confronted with Eridor's scaly, glittering wings.
"Eridor!"
His angled, hard face, white fangs bared, softened and assumed a look of unmistakeable surprise. He eyed Eragon suspiciously, as if expecting an impostor, then saw Saphira. Instantly, every line on his lean body tautened; and Saphira, to Eragon's surprise, became as still as a hunting tiger, and her eyes sharpened. The two of them stared, as if sizing the other up. Eragon dared not speak, but he looked for Arya nonetheless.
Eridor had been lying in a dark, deep corner, and on bed of thick woven sacks quite inappropriate for one so mighty, as Eragon was sure the elves would have said. But in this corner, unlit by the red were-lamps, was yet another iron-studded door. Eragon's heart leapt amid his first feelings of jubilation at seeing Eridor so very large as life.
But as he watched, it quietly opened, and a dark figure slipped from it. Before Eragon could call to her, or Eridor could turn and tell her they were safe, Arya had thrown a crackling, angry green fireball at Eragon. He leapt away from the spot, but Arya was already holding another. He hurriedly drew up a bright blue shield, so that she could see his colour magic, and shouted for a halt.
"Arya! Stop it!"
The light in her hand faded away as she saw Saphira, and Eragon could see amidst the gloom her tall shape running fleet as one of the horses her people bred towards Eridor. He swung to her as she came, and blocked her progress with his head. Eragon could not imagine what was happening.
Then Arya had dodged past Eridor's head, and was standing by his front claws. "Eragon?" she said, in a voice that was so surprised it sounded strangled.
"Yes … I …"
"But -" Arya rubbed her forehead, and Eragon knew that she must have been asleep; she would never have done that ordinarily. "But I thought you would stay in Ellesmera … and be safe …"
"With you and Eridor out here - going through the Hardarac Desert - and the Fanghur … and you'd never even flown together before?" Eragon replied jerkily, so relieved to see Arya, and speak to her, and know that she was not hurt was simply so wonderful that he felt light-headed. "Of course not …!"
"But I thought Niduen would keep you there - and safe!" Arya cried, the wide sleeves of her loose dark tunic flying as she made a sudden, convulsive movement towards him. "I asked her to - I told her not to let you both come!"
"Where would be the use in that?" Eragon demanded somewhat harshly. "You could have been caught by slavers -" they both glared at him for suggesting such a thing "- and I know you escaped those Fanghur, but there was no guarantee. What if you'd been killed? Or lost …? We wouldn't have been able to bear that, Arya …" Eragon stopped, afraid of revealing any more. Arya put her hand to her mouth, hiding what emotion behind it Eragon did not know.
"But why did you come?" she asked, lowering and speaking almost in a whisper. Her eyes shone in the reflection of the lamps in the dragons' scales. She had nothing on her feet.
Eragon tried to speak, but he could hardly finds words that would serve the purpose. "I … we had to now you both were safe … we would have - have -" Eragon could not carry on, and words were inadequate even in the Ancient Language. He and Saphira were only now, with the ones they had so fiercely pursued in front of them, realising how much Arya and Eridor meant to them.
Arya, too, opened her mouth, then closed it. She moved a little as she stood, as if she could not decide what to do. Eridor lifted his proud, strong head and gave Saphira a long look, one that no one, elf or human, could have interpreted. Saphira turned neck so that she could see Arya and Eridor both, and said quietly, Had you been captured, had you been hurt, neither heaven nor Hell would have held us. Do you understand?
Eridor lowered his head almost in shame, but Saphira fluttered her wings to gain his attention; she caught his gaze and held it. A trifling disagreement between friends is nothing to be ashamed of. It is better to be a fool with foolish ideas than a politician with no opinions of his own.
I hardly think it was that. Eridor cocked a bright, quick eye at her, the reserve he had been holding along with Arya leaving. But I thank you for the compliment.
Saphira gave a quiet snort of amusement, and fell silent. Eragon was quite bemused by this, for he not been aware of any disagreement between the two; but Arya was smiling at Eridor, a smile that Eragon could not deny as anything but beautiful; then she looked back at him, and it faded into a look of careful neutrality. They stared at each other.
"Hvedra has given birth. She is fine."
"What?" Eragon exclaimed, aghast; Saphira rumbled in surprise. A smile flitted over Arya's face.
"A boy. He is a little bit small, given his early birth, but quite healthy. Orik is beside himself."
"Yes, I bet he is." Eragon grinned, imagining the King he would doubtless meet very soon. "But the poison -"
"It was one of human invention. Your ancestors brought it over the sea, and King Palancar was killed by it!" Arya stifled a laugh at Eragon's expression. "I read it in one of those old histories the librarians keep, and we translated the name into the Ancient Language from the Domia abr Wyrda." She eyed him, knowing that it was impressive. "Niduen found the antidote in the Halls of Healing. She wrote me instructions."
"And it worked?"
"Yes; it took hours and hours … but it worked." Eragon met Arya's eyes, and even she could not restrain the delight and pride she took in curing the Queen. "Then she went into labour … and in another hour the baby had come." Another peculiar expression flitted over her face as she mentioned the child.
"What is his name?"
"I don't know." Arya's face clouded over. "I left before Orik could say anything more than he did." She looked rather discomfited. Eridor humph-ed quietly.
He leapt up and blessed her, he said quietly to Eragon. Over and over again.
What do you mean? Eragon replied, carefully shielding their words from Arya.
He said, 'you blessed, blessed woman' over and over. Then Arya gave him the baby and slipped away … I think it makes her uncomfortable.
Eridor fell silent; Eragon was left to think on it himself, and Saphira had said something herself to Eridor. Eragon looked back at Arya.
"Are you all right?"
"What do you mean?" she replied in a return to her customary coolness that she generally used when asked about her welfare.
"Did the Fanghur hurt you?"
"No," Arya replied shortly. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then darted another look at him. "Not really. Eragon, you are soaking wet. Haven't you got a towel or something?"
He had the distinct impression she was trying to distract him. "Yes … but I think everything in the saddle-bags is soaking wet as well."
"Did you go for a swim before you came through the waterfall?" Arya said, a dry tinge to her voice.
"No," Eragon replied with dignity. "We were in a bit of a hurry."
Arya's face fell again. "Well, I have plenty of things like that; Niduen made sure of it. Come on." She turned back to Eridor and went to his side as he started to turn around. Eragon followed them, an odd mix of feelings jumping around inside him; Saphira was apparently very preoccupied, and said nothing.
Arya found her door in the dark corner, saying something about wanting be out of the way of everyone, and opened it; there were no wards. It was a rocky, irregular little room, lit by Arya's favoured of lamp, being one of her own creation. They bobbed in their little spheres at the corners of the room, the faintly green tinge making the stone look rather eerie; Saphira's leather hunting saddle was against the other wall, and Arya's bulging pack against the other. A rough table held some fruit and travelling bread, and the shelf that served as a bed was made with soft elven blankets.
Arya started to undo the many knots on her rather battered-looking pack, and extracted a towel made, Eragon could see, of finest elven linen. Arya dropped it into his hands and sat down on her bed, not looking at him. Eragon lifted the towel, and raised his eyebrows at the embroidery on it.
"When did you acquire a monogram, Arya?" he enquired politely. Arya grabbed it off him and examined it herself. She blinked.
"It is my father's crest." She looked extremely aggrieved. "I let Niduen look after my pack while I fastened the saddle on. She must have added all this as well. I never use it." She did not look particularly annoyed, though.
"A raven?"
"Well …" Arya's mouth twitched. "Blagden, remember?"
"Blagden is your crest?" Eragon repeated, feeling the conversation to be entering very odd realms for so late at night. Arya made a clicking noise with her tongue.
"No … Just … ravens in general." She eyed him in a challenging way. "Dry your hair before you wet anything else of mine."
Eragon obediently lifted the towel again, but now something else made him stop. "What happened to the saddle?" he asked sharply. Arya glanced at it, and then at him.
"Eridor bled from the withers. It did not fit him."
"But -" Eragon looked again at the chips of scales and dried blood on the inside of the saddle. "But you know what an ill-fitting saddle can do. Are his - his …" Eragon did not know the right word in the Ancient Language. " … Are his tendons undamaged?" he finished in the Common Tongue.
"Yes. Lorzhara - a senior Healer - she healed him almost as soon as we arrived … and his tail, too."
"Tail?" Eragon repeated with increasing horror. Arya gave him a glance that was very much alike in character to Eridor.
"Outside the cascade … the Fanghur were attacking us, and we were exhausted. I'd blinded them with magic for a moment, but it wore off and then … as we got to the waterfall the last two swooped. I stabbed one's belly as it came, but …" Arya's fists clenched and unclenched in remembrance. "It screamed, and I … I couldn't stand it." She lowered her gaze, looking angry at saying this. "Eridor picked me up and darted through the water, but it bit his tail as we went."
Eragon grimaced. "We found some outside … dragon scales." He looked away from Arya, trying to push back the memory of that terrible, nightmarish flight around the lake and through the city.
"It was bitten right down to the bone." She, too, looked as if she were trying to ignore some recent feelings. They glanced at each other and then quickly away; Arya put her arms around her knees, saying quickly, "You needn't worry. We are fine … both of us."
"But," Eragon said, ever so softly, "why haven't you healed your neck?" Arya's head snapped up and she glared at him.
"I am fine." This said slowly and emphatically. Eragon held her gaze evenly.
"Are they from the Fanghur?" he asked, a little more firmly than before. Arya's mouth thinned.
"I will do it in the morning. I am too tired now." Had Eragon not been so used to her various glares and particular way of being stubborn, he would have given up.
"The Fanghur are filthy -" Eridor and Saphira both, at this, abandoned their conversation, and agreed wholeheartedly. "- and their claws will have all sorts of scum on them. The cuts will get infected if they are not healed now."
"I know that," said Arya stubbornly. "But Eridor and I have been working all night and three days and nights past as well, and we need to rest first. I will be quite capable of it in the morning."
Eragon sighed. "Then will you let me heal it?"
Arya froze; then, seemingly unconscious of doing so, put her hand to her neck where the vicious wound made by the filthy claws of the Fanghur had ripped through her skin. She glanced at Eragon, still standing in the centre of the room, with a peculiar look in her eyes.
"It will keep until tomorrow, Eragon," she said, as quietly as he had spoken. She got up off the stone bed and stood firmly before him, only a tiny bit shorter than he was and looking much fiercer. Eragon could not help but look at her, and think helplessly how beautiful she was.
"Please let me, Arya."
At the sound of her name, she jumped a little. She stared at him, and Eragon looked back with an earnest expression. "Eragon …"
Ignoring this, Eragon lifted his hand to her neck, and, hesitatingly, parted the thick hair that covered her neck and back. Arya was tense as a young colt. He knew he should not, for as well as he had his feelings under control, they were liable to sometimes leap out and surprise him; he examined the cuts determinedly; his jaw clenched at the sight of them.
There were three, long, jagged lines in her fair skin, a bruised, angry red and they rose to sharp ridges that ended in dying skin and drying blood. Eragon could all too readily imagine the vicious way in which they had been inflicted.
"Why didn't you get them healed?" he asked quietly. There had been a deep, absorbed look on Arya's face as he had been touching the cuts; but as he spoke, it left, and she moved away from his hand a little.
"I didn't notice them … and then there were more important things to do. Eridor tried to make me, but I didn't let him." This was corresponded by Eridor's rather coloured agreement. Eragon gathered that he was not at all happy at being unhurt physically when Arya was not; but he knew how stubborn she could be. Especially when tired.
"Will you let me, now, though?"
Eragon could see her weighing this in her mind; to be rid of the ever-so-slightly dangerous injury on one hand; but on the other, to have it done by him. But she was not looking at him, and Eragon soon realised she was conversing with Eridor, and was surprised to find the long debating such a simple thing needed.
Ah well, Saphira said wisely; there's more to it, isn't there?
Is there? Eragon replied somewhat warily.
Of course there is …you know …Saphira seemed a little excited herself. She refused to answer Eragon's questions and he soon gave up, and, coming back to his surroundings, found that Arya was still in that vague state that told she was talking telepathically. But as he watched, she came back to herself and, looking about, caught his gaze on her.
"You can," she said slowly, "if you think it is important."
Eragon was very relieved; but could not, for a moment, find anything to say. "Good," he said finally. "It is."
Wordlessly, she turned around and picked from the table a leather ribbon that Eragon recognised as the one she generally used to keep her thick hair out her face. She tied it deftly around her head and then held the long black curtain away from her neck. She was standing very close to him.
Eragon raised his hand again, touching by a hair's breadth her torn skin, feeling foolish, but also terribly aware of her proximity; and she knew it too. Her head was turned away, but she knew his hand was close to her, almost touching her skin that was normally so pale and flawless. The room was so quiet that Eragon could hear her soft breathing.
"Waise heill."
The angry red lashes faded, the skin knitting instantly back together; and in a matter of seconds underneath Eragon's glowing hand was a perfectly unhurt expanse of flesh. "There," he said softly, and now his feelings were reflected in his voice; but he quickly covered it up, though Arya had no doubt had felt it, and stood back.
"Thank you."
Allowed now to move her head back, Arya let go of her hair and took the band off; she never slept in it, because it got tangled in her hair, as she had once told him. The thick curtain fell back down; she immediately pulled it away so that it was away from her face, not noticing as she did so that Eragon was inwardly struggling with himself, trying not to let one bit of his feelings show.
"You're welcome."
It was always like this. While training, sparring, talking, he could contain himself; but when she did something so natural and unguarded, so unconsciously beautiful, it made his heart clench with quite helpless love. And then he would be short with her when she spoke to him; and she would give him a cool look, and talk to Eridor instead. It was a never-ending circle; and still she did not know the quandary she put him in.
Arya cleared her throat, jolting Eragon into awareness again. "Where are you going to sleep?" she asked . Eragon blinked.
"I don't know … We hadn't thought of that. The dragonhold, perhaps?"
"No." Arya waved an impatient hand. "The temporary floor fell through months ago, I was told. Otherwise we would have gone there." Evidently she was not fond of the rocky chamber. But her words brought back to Eragon a great and sudden shock.
"The Star Rose," he said suddenly; it felt as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over him.
"Yes, it is in a great iron casket where it fell …" Arya started to say, then paused. "What's wrong?"
"We swore to Hrothgar we'd fix it." Eragon felt numb; "He told us it was ready to be healed … the heart of Tronjheim."
"How were you going to fix it?" Arya asked, looking rather sceptical. She had never discussed with Eragon the day she had broken the Star Rose; they had never talked about Durza in the light of day. "It would take too much energy, surely …"
"No," Eragon said rather abruptly. "I don't know. It was Saphira … she promised him …"
Arya looked confused, but she pointed at a wooden crate standing nearby, and said in a fairly polite voice: "Sit down." Eragon stared at it, then sat on it as told, crossing his legs on the lid in a very elven manner. "How was Saphira going to do it? Even the dragons would have difficulty, wouldn't they?"
Eragon looked bleak. "Dragons can do anything; and the worst thing a person can possibly do is underestimate them. Saphira made Brom's tomb … she blessed Elva. She told Hrothgar that if she had the will to do it, and the true need, then she could do it … somehow."
Arya looked unconvinced, but did not voice her doubts. "But you can go and see it tomorrow. And you must see Orik as well."
"It feels as if I have broken a promise," said Eragon, and he put his head in his hands.
"Hardly your fault," she said sharply. And before she could say anything more, Saphira had spoken.
No, she said, sounding as unhappy as Eragon; No, that was me, was it not?
I did not say that, Saphira, said Arya firmly. I would never. But last time you were here they had barely finished constructing the frame, and you have had better things to do since then.
"It is very important," Eragon said stubbornly. Arya folded her arms and sat back against the rocky wall of her chamber, frowning slightly.
"I did not say that, either. I am trying to tell you that you and Saphira are not at fault."
Hmph, said Saphira, sounding unimpressed; here Eridor entered her mind and started talking to her himself; and their conversation faded out of Arya and Eragon's hearing. Arya looked rather satisfied at this, and Eragon wondered briefly why until she started speaking again.
"You will have to see Orik tomorrow," she said in a tone that Eragon heard only when she talked to him, though he could quite identify it. "And his son. You can ask about the Rose then …" she leaned forward, an intent look on her face. "But do not use all your energy on it. The heart of Tronjheim will have to take second place after your other duties."
"Such as what?" Eragon asked, not at all hostilely. Arya pursed her lips.
"Such as getting back to Ellesmera as soon as possible."
"Only when you and Eridor are ready." Arya stiffened and her face started to mask over. Eragon leaned forward too, expression earnest. "We are not trying to be charitable, and we do not think you are weak. But flying back to Ellesmera tomorrow with Eridor wearing a saddle that does not fit and you both being without sleep for a long while would be very foolish."
Arya had listened to this with a surprised look; but soon she had relaxed again, and a looked that was really quite friendly flitted over her face. "Well, you are hardly helping with that, are you? I'd be fast asleep if you hadn't come running in …"
Eragon smothered a smile. "I am really very sorry," he said solemnly. "Would you like us to leave you to your very important rest now?"
Arya waved a conceding hand, and he could tell she was hiding a smile. "Just stay there. You were thoroughly miserable two minutes ago."
Eragon laughed. "You have abolished that single-handedly, Arya." He bobbed his head in a mocking bow; she coloured, and Eragon realised that perhaps it would offend her.
But she did not look at all offended. Though her cheeks were slightly pink, her expression was one of amusement. "I am glad, or you would have brooded over it all night."
Eragon raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?"
Now Arya did look a little discomfited. "Saphira mentioned you have a habit of doing that."
Eragon grinned. "Next I suppose I will talking in my sleep and the whole of the Varden will know."
"Why?" blinked Arya. "Do you?"
"No! Well … perhaps we should ask Saphira, as she seems to be the authority on such matters." Eragon smiled at Arya, and she smiled back after a moment.
"No wonder you get along so well with Eridor." She left this remark unexplained, and continued, "Talking of sleep … there are many other guard rooms like this for you to sleep in, and the outside is for enough for Saphira and Eridor." Though she did not look very happy about it. At this, before Eragon could reply, Eridor entered the conversation again.
Saphira and I will go and look for suitable ones, he said to both of them. You both can continue talking.
How kind, Arya said, looking surprised at this speech. Eridor chuckled, and he and Saphira started off around the outside cavern, talking with all the intimacy of a long friendship. Eragon glanced at Arya.
"You are right about Isidar Mithrim. There is no point worrying about it. We will speak to Orik tomorrow. After," he said with a good-humoured look in his brown eyes that Arya knew very well, "greeting his new son."
"In that case you will be a long time." Arya smiled. "I have never seen a man so besotted."
"He is certainly entitled to it." Eragon's face grew serious. "I owe you many thanks for what you did for Hvedra, both as my Queen and my foster-brother's wife. She would not have lived otherwise."
The laughter drained from Arya's face. She looked down at her crossed legs for a moment. "I only carried out the instructions. Niduen got the antidote; the Master Healer in Ellesmera found it for her. Eridor carried me here. Hardly all thanks to me, Eragon."
"Perhaps. And when we return to Ellesmera, I will thank those two. But you cannot deny your part in her recovery, nor Eridor's. Orik will want to talk to you both, as well."
"Yes." But she did not seem very happy about it. "He must meet Eridor, of course."
Eragon nodded; but when he looked up and met her eyes, she glanced away, and the colour rose to her cheeks a little. Eragon could not understand. A decidedly awkward pause was starting to build when Saphira came back, along with Eridor.
There is a clean room opposite this one, she said to both of them. It looks quite suitable.
Thank you, Saphira, said Eragon immediately. And you?
Eridor and I can sleep outside. We've been in worse places, remember that ravine by the Ninor?
Yes, I do, replied Eragon, amused. At least you'll be dry.
That too, said Saphira, and she and Eridor once again ambled off, this time to the corner they had chosen. Eragon broke the connection, and looked at Arya, feeling rather foolish. She blinked quickly.
"So you can sleep there?" It was a rather inconsequential question, as Saphira had spoken to both of them.
"It will be fine." Eragon stood up; there was a strange kind of awkwardness between them, one that was not normally there; and, marvelled Eragon, they had been laughing together barely five minutes ago! "I'll go … I have let it get too late."
"All right," Arya agreed quietly. She stood up as well, and her light tunic fluttered at the movement. Eragon shifted uncomfortably.
"Goodnight."
She looked up at him, and for a moment he thought he saw a softness in her bright eyes; but she blinked, and it was gone. "Goodnight, Eragon. Sleep well."
"Sleep well, Arya." His hand was on the doorknob, but he did not yet go. Arya glanced at the door, then him, then the wall, and then to him again. Eragon knew he was the same, and felt almost like a shy child who saw a stranger on the road; but not quite: he knew Arya - so well - and it was that caused the friction between them, the great barrier that changed in strength and type so often.
As the silence seemed to solidify, Eragon turned to go, twisting the knob, but paused as it swung open, and looked back. "I am glad to see you, Arya. I am glad that you are safe." For a breathless second he dithered on saying it. Then: "I missed you." And the 'I' was conspicuous, he was sure. But Arya stared at him, and did not rebuke him.
She said nothing for another long moment. Eragon cleared his throat, coloured, and this time really did make to go. But as he left, he heard her move, and she spoke.
"I am glad you came. I missed you."
And she did not say 'we', or 'Eridor and I', but spoke just for herself. Eragon turned back to look at her, heart in mouth. But she had gone back to her bed and was making it. By her posture, he knew she was aware of him being there still. For a moment he teetered on saying something else. He had nothing to say, however; it was as if, by her words, the long silences had been transformed into sweet, golden moments and he wanted to keep it like that.
He stepped through the door, closed it quietly behind him, and then leant, eyes closed, against the stone wall. It was a long time before he went to find his own chamber.
Oh flip. I know .. not very good. I took soooo long on the - as my sister says - lovey dovey stuff! Please tell me what its like! Talk about bread with your butter. Any ideas for the Star Rose are welcome ... lol ...
