Chapter 36 – Winds of Death
His hands were still dirty while he sat there looking at Arya through the mirror. Eragon scrubbed his fingers with the other hand feeling the dirt falling to the ground as he leaned on his knees.
"I'm sorry for your loss," she said.
He smiled sadly.
"I've never thought I would feel a cat's death so much."
Arya gave him a consoling look and silenced. Eragon felt exhausted, but the effort of burying the tiny creature in the garden under the midday sun didn't have much to do with it. Lately, he felt his energy being drawn, he felt stripped from all motivation. Saphira tried to help him by getting him interested in the affairs of the citizens of Arngor, who married who, who fought who. For Eragon, it all seemed pointless.
He looked up from his hands but avoided to stare into her eyes. She would certainly see right through him and be concerned. It would be against what he had said at Murtagh and Nasuada's wedding about not worrying about the people that are closest to one's heart.
"Any news about Lord Falael?" He asked.
It took her a little bit for her to answer, but when she finally did he saw she wasn't too interested in that subject. He suspected she still wanted to talk about his grief.
"He's been taken to custody. We will have a trial very soon."
"Good. Where did you find him?"
"He was around the southern borders of Du Weldenvarden, heading to the Kingdom when my guards approached him. Probably going to Gil'ead."
"What will be his penalty?"
"If found guilty, it might be several years of imprisonment or even the death penalty," she said looking away.
Eragon thought that she seemed afraid of his judgment. He wouldn't judge her, though. It was her duty to bring a criminal to justice, and he would never stand between her and her obligations. Besides, he agreed with the decision of hard punishment for a vicious crime but believed more in second chances than anyone he knew.
He nodded. It was his turn to silence. If he was feeling down lately, it seemed that Arya wasn't doing much better. He could hear it in her sigh and see it in her eyes. However, for Arya, it wasn't sadness that plagued her, but concern, he knew it too well.
"You seem sad," she stated flicking her eyes back to him.
"I lost a cat." His voice was emotionless as he shrugged. He beat himself up for giving her so little of his affection.
"I believe it's more than just a cat."
To be fair, Pie wasn't just a cat. He had been his silent companion for twenty years along with his mate. Eragon had never heard of a cat that lived that long, except for Cherry, that was still alive and well.
"What do you mean?"
"Since I've been to Fell Thindarë I see this. You drop your shoulders when you think no one's watching."
In a reflex, he straightened his posture.
"I don't know what to say," he started, "but you're right. I don't feel like myself lately."
Arya stood up and walked closer to the mirror to grab the frame with her left hand. It looked like she wished to take his face in her hands instead.
"Talk to me, my love."
Her voice came out in a whisper, so Eragon knew why she had taken that stance. The scrying mirrors were still being regulated in the Elven Realm, so talking that affectionately to each other in her workspace, where anyone could come in to confer with her, was a transgression. He hoped she would get her personal mirror soon.
Eragon shook his head not to deny her request but to show her he didn't know what to say.
"Is it me?" She asked.
There was apprehension in her eyes.
"Not you, our situation. But not only that. I can't quite figure out."
"Don't you know what makes you sad?"
"Do I have to?" He raised his voice, feeling his heart racing. Fighting with her was the last thing he wanted, but her questioning that was supposed to help him was only making him anxious. "Do we always have to understand what makes us feel what we feel?"
Arya let go of the frame and stood straight.
"It helps us discover ourselves. Isn't that what you do when you expand your mind? See yourself?"
"I usually leave myself behind when I do mental exercises."
She nodded so lightly that it might've seen as an involuntary spasm. A kind smile flourished her face.
"Maybe it's time to go in the opposite direction, then."
He knew what he felt about her advice. He felt young, inexperienced. Silly. His eyes left her face and met the red twilight sky above the river. Nothing could beat the view from the treehouse, always breathtaking.
"Maybe," he mumbled.
"Promise me one thing?" He looked back at her and saw the same kindness of before. "Promise you will come and tell me what you find out? I'm dying to discover what I don't know about you."
"You know everything about me. You probably know why I am feeling this way."
She raised her shoulders in a quick movement.
"Probably. But it would be better if you told me yourself."
"Fine."
Arya came closer again and called in a whisper, "Eragon…"
They stared at each other and once again he beat himself for giving her less than she deserved.
"Yes?"
"You know I'm not the enemy, don't you?"
The vulnerability she displayed through those words threw him off guard. He closed his eyes and the thoughts started running through his head. The fact that she begged him not to take it all out on her was a sign that he indeed needed some time to reflect on himself.
When he looked at her was to say that he knew she wasn't the one harming him and keeping them apart. She needed to know that he didn't blame her for his dissatisfaction with life in general since apparently, he didn't know himself enough to figure out why he had been feeling so down. However, opening his mouth to speak he realized he couldn't say it, or it would suddenly become too real and he would have to admit that he wasn't as happy as he thought he was. That everything he had in his life wasn't enough to make him happy. He couldn't do that to her.
He smiled in the best way he could.
"I never thought you were, my queen."
She narrowed her eyes with playfulness escaping her features.
"Not even a little? In the past?"
She was certainly referring to the times when she would refuse his advances and break his heart.
It was enough for him to cringe with embarrassment but also laugh of himself.
"Not even then."
Her face was merry, but her heart was shredded to pieces. Arya showed him a little more of her affection before stepping back and bidding him farewell. It was formal and painful.
He was right, she knew what was plaguing him. If he had been fine with the decision of leaving his homeland and isolating himself in the east, it was no longer the case. Arya regretted the fact that she was probably the reason he felt like moving back home, even though he couldn't. He knew he couldn't, he knew she wouldn't join him in the east, but he wished things were different nevertheless. She also suspected that seeing his family aging from a distance put fear in his heart. Fear of loving them and losing them, as it was inevitable for the human race.
Nothing cut her deeper than his pained eyes. He was suffering and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Not even if she were there with him, cradling him in her arms, not even then she would be able to stop his bleeding. There was nothing more humbling than being put in a position of powerlessness. With a crown on her head, Arya felt completely weak.
It was the very crown that sat on her head that was her weakness, as she had been dwelling in the past weeks. Since coming back to Ellesméra, Arya found more matters she couldn't solve than the opposite. If she were a nobody, she would take justice in her own hands, she would run to wherever she wished to be, and she would love whoever she loved the most. She would be free. Isn't that the reason people go to war? To be free? Why was she avoiding the war then? Wouldn't it make her free? Wouldn't her people know her for who she was and ultimately support her on the decision of living her life to the fullest? Arya would pay the biggest amount of gold just to fly with the dragons, with nothing in her head but the wind on her face. Unfortunately, the crown was always on her head and was heavier and heavier, day after day.
She remembered the memory Glaedr showed her years before in Fell Thindarë when her mother sought refuge in Oromis' advice. Islanzadí wished to go after the Mad King, to avenge her fallen mate, but the counsel played with her emotions and reason, arguing about the legitimacy of her motives. They had pushed her against the wall, a situation she could never escape unscathed. She strained her relationship with Arya and denied the support the Varden needed for a long time. Arya suspected that was when her crown begun to weigh.
Official matters and personal afflictions were inseparable for a monarch, she feared.
Arya had not told Eragon yet, but about three weeks after her return, she rose from her bed in the morning in deep pain, her lower belly was cramping, making her bend to hold herself. On the bed and her nightgown, a trail of blood made her heart race. It wasn't her normal amount. No, it was ten times worse. She had been late, but she had blamed it on the ordeal of traveling and fighting, nothing too out of ordinary, she had been late before. But this wasn't normal. No. Was it possible that…? Could she be…?
She called for Elva that rushed into her bedroom still wearing her sleepiness on her face, but also lines of concern and pain tinged her forehead.
"I've been wakened just minutes before you called me with a dull ache on my stomach, now I know why," she said helping Arya get to the washroom.
"Then why? What is it?" Arya asked with tears forming in her eyes already predicting Elva's next words. The empathy that Elva had in her powers would normally lack in her words, but at that moment, she couldn't help but offer her sentiment.
"It's a miscarriage, Arya. I'm sorry," she whispered looking deeply into Arya's eyes.
Sitting behind her desk, Arya adjusted the cloth of her tunic around herself when her hand brushed her stomach. How could she miss something she didn't even know she had or wanted? Was life always this unfair?
She had initiated the conversation with Eragon earlier intending to tell him everything, but he was already sad, and she didn't know how he would react. If she didn't know about her desire to parent a child, there was no doubt about what he wanted. He was born for it. Telling him would have to wait, or he would start missing what he didn't even know he had, and she wished his heart to be in peace, not darkness.
Standing up from her chair, she saw as Fírnen landed on the gardens of the Tialdarí Hall.
Ready to go, my darling?
Arya smiled. Her partner of heart and soul had been especially tender with his words lately, always minding her well-being, careful not to distress her. Useless effort, she thought, for the duties attached to her crown were enough to cause her all the distress possible, but she felt touched by his attention and care.
Ready. We should go now before I'm late as usual to meet Roran and Katrina.
Ismira and Lord Dain were supposed to be wedded in three days in the city of Ceunon, but before that, the people of Carvahall would throw a festival to celebrate the union. Arya was the guest of honor and expected to attend the festivities besides the bride's family.
Arya exited her office and met Elva outside, who was ready to travel. Sword on her left hip, cloak over her shoulders, bag in her hand. When the queen passed by her, she shined her violet eyes in her direction but didn't comment on the regret Arya was feeling in her core for not telling Eragon about their never to be born child.
"Not today, Elva."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
Arya stared at her uninterested features. Elva wasn't pretty in the traditional sense of the word, but she had her appeal. She was exotic, ferocious, and her colors mixed in an interesting way, black, silver, violet.
"Please, keep it that way and don't tell his family. They don't know about us."
"Everyone knows about you." She rolled eyes and walked toward Fírnen. Arya watched as she attached her baggage to his saddle.
Arya followed and lowered her voice.
"Knowing and suspecting are two very different things." As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she knew she had paraphrased Eragon's statement about their relationship a while ago.
Elva shook her head and laughed without humor.
"Fine, I don't care. Should we go now?"
Arya didn't trust Elva's secrecy, but there weren't many options, she would have to believe that Elva didn't care about any of Arya's issues.
The other Riders still in Ellesméra joined her in the sky and the dragons formed a beautiful storm of colors.
"Will Nasuada be there?" Elva asked close to Arya's ear.
She shook her head.
"She's marching south. In fact, we're expected to join her after the wedding."
"In her condition?"
"She claims that Murtagh is perfectly capable of caring for her health, that she feels great. It seems she doesn't mind if her child comes to this world in the middle of a battlefield."
"Great, another war," Elva said with sarcasm.
"I will try to do my job as a Rider and put some sense in her head, both of their heads, Nasuada and Orrin, but if it doesn't work, yes, another war is on the way."
The wind made her voice come out strained, but she knew Elva could hear her. Life with the strange woman had been easier since the tragic night when she woke up in a pool of blood. The complicity they had built that night over a lost child attenuated the animosity between them. It was not like they had become friends, far from it, Arya still didn't trust Elva and the opposite was also true, but their cohabiting was much easier now.
"The Shadeslayer doesn't expect me to follow you into the war, does he?"
Arya shrugged.
"You will have to ask him. I am not the one who made the agreement, and if it depended only on me it would never be an agreement whatsoever."
If Arya could see Elva's face, she could bet the other one had a sarcastic expression on her face.
"Ah, of course, the all mighty elven queen, independent, self-sufficient, she doesn't need anyone."
Arya shook her head and frowned. Easier didn't mean easy. Living with Elva wasn't easy at all.
To her side, but never in front of her, Vance and Runalla were flying playfully around each other, their Riders sharing good laughs. How blessed is the youth, when the concerns of older people seem far away, unimportant. She had felt that way in her youth, although the concerns about the war were always present in the back of her mind. But she laughed, danced and sang. She held Fäolin's hands while he spun her so fast that it made them fall on their backs and then lie down on the ground to watch the stars in the sky. Simple, unimportant.
Arya straightened her back. Fírnen threw her a glance over his flapping wing, to which she responded with a tender pat on his side. She would be all right. They would have other children when the time was right. The war would be finished before it even started. And the magicians in the north would be defeated without trouble. For some reason, she felt her stomach churning and a foul taste coming to her mouth. She had never been optimistic, why bother now?
The festival was everything she had expected and more. The citizens of the Valley were all in Carvahall to present their congratulations to the future Lord and Lady of Ceunon before the actual wedding. Arya perceived during the first night's feast that Dain tried his best to participate and be happy for the special moment, but the loss of his brother and all that attention were making him quietly nervous. She could relate to that feeling.
As always, Roran had prepared the farmhouse for her, so she headed that way with Fírnen after the feast. Elva stayed back in the inn after much insistence on Arya's part. She wished to be alone that night.
The first winds of winter came early in the Valley, oddly early, which made her roll herself tightly in her mantle. Fírnen sniffed the air and looked in the direction of the spine.
Something wrong?
He took a minute to respond.
I had a feeling… Never mind. It's probably the mead talking.
Arya grinned and caressed his neck.
Let us rest for the night, then. The day was too eventful.
Fírnen nodded in agreement and descended to the farm. As Arya unbuckled herself from the saddle and walked toward the house, the memory of meeting with Angela in the city hall before the feast made her heart clench. When she saw the herbalist seating between Renir and Solembum in his boy form at one of the tables set for the feast, the first thing she thought of was the prophecy Angela had read for her.
"Love doesn't come easy for you as it may come to others. It will always mean pain. Also, you must be careful with your choices, for a bad decision will be deathly to your love," she had said years before.
Could it be the bad decision the one of allowing Eragon into her life and the death Angela had foreseen was the one of the child she didn't know she carried? The pain was already there, she didn't have to question. Could it be that a prophecy was so subjective that it was up to interpretation? How subjective it was? She wished to have more time in the next days to talk to the herbalist, that so unexpectantly had traveled west.
Arya opened the door to Eragon's old bedroom. It was exactly as she remembered. Roran was a nostalgic man, attached to his most fond memories of family and childhood, so it was natural for him to keep the presence of his cousin alive there. She walked to the window and opened it so Fírnen could stick his gigantic nose through the opening.
Sleep well, my darling, he said.
"And you as well, Fírnen." She raised her hand to touch him, which made him hum with satisfaction. "Sweet dreams."
They parted ways, and she rested Támerlein on the shelf, next to Eragon's collection of odd things, such as perfectly shaped rocks and other findings of his young self that could be rescued from the debris of the old house. Despite the heavy thoughts and all the commotion in the city that made her alert, resting wasn't a problem that night. All she had to do was to picture a world where she could love without pain. To live without concerns. Maybe she was getting good at being an optimist. She should try doing that more often, one day it would come naturally for her.
Waking up the next day wasn't so difficult either. Arya even felt renewed, rested for the first time after coming home from Fell Thindarë. Arya stepped out of the farmhouse breathing in the fresh air. It was a bright morning in the valley, and she was feeling unusually excited to go to the village and walk among the people.
The traders are coming. I can see them on the road. Fírnen announced while he flew very high up in the company of Runalla.
Good. I will walk to town today. I want to pass unnoticed for a while before reuniting with the others for the festivities. Avelina said I would have an amusing experience by doing so.
Of course, my dear. I will go hunt in the Spine. If you need me, I will be only a thought away.
Arya smiled and stretched her arms to the sky, feeling her muscles waking up one by one.
Have fun!
He parted toward the Spine to meet the others with Runalla on his tail, as Arya adjusted her cloak around her body and the hood over her head. Her sword and her face were well covered. She started the long walk to the city, and after a while on the road, she could already hear the first sounds coming from there. Roran had told her the night before that it was not strange to have travelers coming to see where history was made, and the busiest time for Cavahall was when the merchants would come, bringing stories of how Eragon tried to sell Saphira's egg without knowing what it was. They exaggerated, of course, Roran had told her with a hoarse laugh escaping his salted beard. She was curious to hear it herself. That moment, however, the merchants were allured by the festival, and the tourists came along, crowding the inn and surrounding the city limits with tents and camping sites.
Carvahall was a loud come and go of residents and visitors as she stepped on the street coming from the road, hearing the bard strumming the strings of his instrument on the main square. She pulled the hood closer to her face so only her mouth and chin were visible under it and looked for Avelina's house. It was not difficult to find it for it was the only residence near the school that was still under construction and sat on the end of the newest paved street in the northeast. Arya distanced herself from the main street and the big square and walked to meet Avelina, who was already waiting leaning on the frame of her open door with a cup of tea in hands.
"Did you see the stage they're setting?" She asked with a bright smile.
"I did. What is it for?" Arya approached the house and removed the hood.
"There will be presentations throughout the day in honor of Dain and Ismira. Singing, dancing, juggling. But the main event will happen at midday, and I know you will find it interesting."
Avelina stepped to the side so Arya could enter.
"Interesting? I fear what it may be."
The human Rider laughed, which did not work to ease Arya's suspicion.
"You will see."
Arya and Avelina headed to the city where a boy of no more than thirteen years of age announced the big spectacle of the day.
"Come see! The history is alive, and it starts here, the land of war heroes and Dragon Riders! Come see, the story of Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales as you only heard before. And more! Stronghammer decimating the imperial army with only the strength of his arms!" The boy shouted in the streets as Avelina conducted Arya through the crowd. "At midday, in the main square! Come see, pretty ladies!" He winked at the pair, which caused a big laugh in Avelina.
"He's old enough to be my son," she said as they passed him.
They had enough time to get lost in the fair, browsing through the many exotic products brought by the merchants and traders. Arya even spotted several artifacts manufactured by her people and traded in the outskirts of the forest to be sold as exclusivity. When she came closer to see one of them – a necklace of magically bind links and a sapphire stone –, the salesman tried to look under her hood, smiling his golden teeth at her.
"If he loves you, he will buy it. Don't worry, beautiful," he said.
Arya smirked to the dark-skinned man, a member of the Wandering Tribes, and replied, "I only wish to hear the story about the first free Rider."
"I can tell you all about it. I know everything that happened."
No, you don't, she thought. The only reason she was pretending to be a clueless visitor was that Avelina had guaranteed it would be great fun to listen to the traders explain the story she knew so well with all the made-up details that never really happened.
"All right. Tell me."
The man raised his palm. Arya sighed and put a coin in his hand so he could talk.
"Very well, young lady. I will start saying that I knew that boy would cause that much trouble at first sight."
At least he got that right. She glanced over to Avelina to see that she spoke to another trader a few feet away.
"How so?"
"Curious eyes, you know? He would come here every year, looking at everything, asking question after question. I wonder if he's as curious now…"
"I believe such curiosity doesn't fade away with time."
"I suppose not. Anyway, some say he is dead and is nothing but a spirit now, guiding the Riders from the beyond." He put his palms together and looked up to the sky as in a prayer. Arya refrained a laugh. Avelina was right, that was fun. "But I know he is alive. He just doesn't want to come home."
"Why not?"
The man shrugged and picked up a pipe from his pocket. He pointed at a chair opposite the one he had just sat on and offered it to her.
"Fear. It's not easy to fight countless fights and then fight again. There will be another war very soon in the south, recruiting has already started. Besides…" He looked around and bent forward as she sat down to be closer to her. "…there's this odd feeling around, here in the north. Can't you feel it?"
Arya made sure he couldn't see under her hood and shook her head.
"No, I cannot. So, you think he is afraid of what specifically?"
The idea of Eragon shying away from a fight still bothered her. He was keeping himself away for other reasons than fear or cowardice, the trader couldn't be more wrong, but still, his absence made her frown with distaste.
He took a drag from his pipe and leaned back in his chair.
"I don't know. I don't even know if he has fear. He's supposed to be the bravest man alive, isn't he?"
That conversation was going nowhere, and Arya's patience was starting to run low.
"I wouldn't know. That's why I'm here, to know more about the story of the first Rider."
"Oh, yes, of course. So, here was I one day, after traveling through bad weather along with the whole tribe just to be here like we do every year when this boy comes with a shiny blue stone…"
The story he told was generic, the one sung by bards all over the land, but it was interesting how each one of them inserted themselves in the plot where she knew they hadn't been. How creative was the humanity? Or how good at lying they were?
"How was it?" Avelina asked when they reunited to take their places at the main square and watch the play.
"At least interesting."
"Don't you love how they describe you?"
Arya furrowed her brow under the hood.
"That was the weakest part of his storytelling."
Avelina laughed high, which called the attention of the people around them. Arya pulled Avelina's sleeve so they could walk toward where Angela and Solembum stood on the far left. Elva was standing next to them, looking furious. Arya could only imagine why. They were greeted with a nod by the herbalist and stayed there to watch the story she knew so well being told for the second time that day. This time, she was promised war stories, not only how a boy who wished to sell the most important stone in history.
Roran and his family, such as Ismira and Dain were present for that. They had the company of the Riders in the bleachers, located opposite the stage. Arya should be there, but no one would hold her absence against her, no one would dare.
"I wonder how they will portray me this time," she whispered to Avelina who laughed again.
"I'm telling you; you will love it."
By halfway through the play, she couldn't say she loved it, but it was impressive.
"Good, I'm still the princess in need for rescue but at least that actress can swing a sword."
"Arya, you were a princess and you needed rescue. Just accept that."
Avelina had just finished saying those words when a warm air stream swept the streets and square, raising the actresses' dress and blowing hats away. Elva gasped and grabbed Arya's arm, trying to pull her away from there. Words were scrambled in her mouth as her eyes were wide in shock. Arya looked up expecting to see that the dragons were responsible for it, but for her terror, Fírnen, Runalla, and the others were away still. In the place she hoped to see them, big balls of fire cut the skies toward the city as if they were thrown from catapults.
Avelina grabbed Arya's other arm and said, "It's them. They're attacking us!"
"Take these people to somewhere safe!" She exclaimed to Avelina.
Elva still tried to pull Arya as Avelina ran through the crowd who screamed in fear. She called them to follow her, but little of them did, for they were hypnotized by the fire that descended in their direction. She called them over and over again, but they only moved when the first ball of fire hit the square, opening a clearing with the explosion.
Arya gritted her teeth calling for Fírnen who responded with a concerned thought. She could feel him, he was rapidly approaching the square followed by Runalla and the other dragons. Prudence told her to shut her mind after the contact.
Another ball hit the ground, another explosion, more people crushed or thrown away. The panic spread. Elva seemed paralyzed, crouching with her hands on her head.
Arya drew her inner energy and cast a protective spell that covered a big portion of the square, but she knew that if the fire hit the shield she had created, it could be the end of her.
"Come with me! Come with me!" Avelina screamed to those who could hear her.
Arya looked to the bleachers and saw Roran rushing people to the city hall aided by the Riders, Ismira, and Dain, who had already drawn his bow waiting for an attack.
Angela helped Avelina, and soon the people started to follow them, while Arya waited for Fírnen to lend his energy so she could keep her spell. The third ball of fire approached as she waited for the impact still casting the protective spell. Arya braced herself.
As the fire was close enough for her defenses to start to suffer, panic took her.
I'm not strong enough, she thought to herself fearing death for lack of energy.
Her palms begun to sweat and her mouth went dry.
Throwing her mind in Fírnen's direction in an act of desperation for she knew she could never open her consciousness like that in a moment of great danger, Arya realized two things:
First, she was alone.
Second, she had made a mistake, a big mistake.
A/N: Hi, and I'm sorry. Life took a surprising turn in the last month workwise and I couldn't be dealing with it in a worse way. I'm stressed and sick, again, so writing has been challenging. I promise to be better, or at least try.
In this chapter I wanted to make something different with the transition of POV. Let me know if you like it, or if it's confusing, so I can work around it in the future.
Action scenes are hard for me, I prefer to dive into a character's emotions than have them fighting or running, so would you tell me how I can improve when you see something is off? Thanks!
Thank you for your continuous support. Even though it takes me forever to update I see that the view count is always high, which tells me you're around, it means a lot to me.
Last thing. I keep responding to the reviews via PM. The notifications for PM are off now, so check your inbox if you feel like having a reply to your comment.
I hope to get an update soon. I really do. Thank you, bye!
