Chapter 18

Eragon stared at the reunited mother and daughter pair; he was surprised at this revelation, yet at the same time he also had come to expect it. Arya may have tried her best to hide her background however, that did not stop Eragon from picking up hints that she wasn't just any mere elven ambassador. Ever since they met in Gil'ead, Arya always possessed an aura of authority and power that he could not miss. The nobility and regality in her everyday actions also contributed to Eragon's growing suspicion that she was more than what she had let on. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Murtagh, his expression dumbstruck at this discovery. "How is it not this obvious to him for goodness sake, can he not pick up on the clues?" He inwardly sighed, keeping his expression impassive as he marvelled at his older brother's lack of awareness.

Saphira's amusement washed over him. "It appears we were traveling in the presence of royalty. Funny, is it not? You, a rider, giving orders to the princess of the elves."

"It's more amusing that she actually followed them most of the time," Eragon thought. He watched as Arya, seemingly unfazed by her mother's emotional outburst, respond with an impartial and formal tone, "Islanzadí Dröttning."

The queen withdrew as if she had been struck and then repeated in the ancient language, "O my daughter, how I have wronged you." She covered her face. "Since you disappeared, I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and I feared that I would never see you again... Banishing you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made . . . will you ever forgive me for my decisions, my daughter?"

The convening elves stirred in amazement at their Queen's admission of wrongdoing. As he watched the scene unfold, he couldn't help but feel slightly emotional at their reunion. She had been exiled from her mother's presence for seventy years. In a way, he and Arya were more alike in family matters than he had given credence to. The difference being that his father was unaware of his existence, while her mother had willingly banished her only daughter. Although he had no say in this matter he still wished for the two to reconcile their differences and live as mother and daughter.

For the longest time, Arya did not speak, only staring at her mother with an uncertain expression. "She needs reassurance, little one." Confused at Saphira's statement, he was about to ask her to elaborate further until Arya finally broke the silence.

"For seventy years, I have lived and loved, fought and killed without ever speaking to you, my mother. Our lives may be long, but even so, that is no small span of time." Islanzadí drew herself upright, lifting her chin. A tremor ran her length. "I cannot undo the past, Arya, no matter how much I desire to do so."

"And I cannot forget what I had to endure because of that past."

"'Nor should you." Islanzadí clasped her hands, and Eragon could see that she was slowly backing Arya into an ultimatum with the next words she spoke. "Arya, I love you dearly. You are my only family. Go if you must, but unless you want to renounce me... I would like to be reconciled with you."

Eragon saw her hesitate and glance at her audience before them, to his surprise, her green eyes flickered to his. Realizing Saphira's words, he quickly nodded to her in the most reassuring way possible. Though the gesture was small, it seemed to harden her resolve. Though their eye contact lasted only for a few mere seconds, Islanzadí did not miss it, and he could see in her own eyes what sort of relation Eragon meant to Arya. "No, Mother. I could not leave." Then Islanzadí smiled unsteadily and went to quickly embrace her daughter again, this time Arya returned the gesture. Smiles broke out amongst the gathered elves. Meanwhile Eragon found himself wishing for something…

He ignored the white raven as it sang a ridiculous riddle, and turned to Islanzadí, bringing his finger to his lips and twisting his right hand over his sternum. Now that family matters were out of the way, they could finally move on to addressing his fate at the hands of the elves once they learn of his identity. Completing the traditional exchange, he listened as Saphira repeated the gesture.

"Dragon, what is your name?" Islanzadí asked when she finished.

"Saphira Bjartskular."

A flash of recognition gleamed in her eyes and he knew that she had thought of Brom, his father, for his mother had once told him that his father's dragon was also named Saphira. "Welcome to Ellesméra, Saphira. And what about you Rider?"

"Eragon Shadeslayer, Your Majesty." This time a stir rippled amongst the elves and even Islanzadí seemed startled. Then she moved on to Murtagh, Thorn and Fírnen, who Eragon could tell had the most respect for the queen, as she was the mother of his Rider. As he had expected, she had asked for narrations from Murtagh of his journey. "It is indeed interesting, even if he is a fool" Eragon thought. He listened as his half-brother recounted their journey of leaving Carvahall because of the Ra'zac, causing them to go about traipsing across Alagaësia only resulting in them getting captured in Gil'ead. However, when it came to Eragon saving Murtagh, he stopped, his glance nervously coming to rest on him. Seeing the pause, Eragon tensed and Arya did as well.

"And... I was saved—" Islanzadí's dark brows slanted as she waited for him to continue.

"What is it?"

"Mother, I—" began Arya, but she was cut off when Eragon cleared his throat, gaining their attention. He could see their nervousness in their eyes, the fear that something unpleasant might be revealed. He would not have anyone else explain this part of the story except for him. And him only.

"The truth is..." Eragon began in the ancient language, raising his head high. "I have not always lived as Eragon. For four years, I have served under Galbatorix as his rider, Eridar."

Their reactions were instantaneous and simultaneous. The elf lords and ladies shot out of their seats, their hands flying to their swords, even Islanzadí stood, quickly waving pointing her hand at him. Two elf lords ran forward, gripping him by his arms to detain him, an elf lady laid her narrow silver blade on his neck, ready to kill at any sign of resistance. Eragon gave a resigned sighed, as Saphira roared fiercely at the treatment of her rider. "Calm down. You're only going to make it worse."

Arya rushed forward and made to stand before him as if trying to shield him from her mother's scorching glare. "How could you bring this traitor into our forest?" Islanzadí said harshly.

"He is not a traitor, he has sworn his fealty to Nasuada, the leader of the Varden," Arya replied. "This isn't necessary, Mother."

"Has his mind been probed? You cannot place your trust in mere words." At this Arya glanced sideways and shook her head.

"Then we cannot trust him, at least, not for now." He watched as the queen moved forward and by a silent command Arya reluctantly stepped aside. He did not shrink when he met her stare; instead, he held his head up high, not wincing when sharp metal cut slightly through his skin. "It will be easier for you if you cooperate with us, Eragon Shadeslayer. Will you let one of my people probe your mind?"

"No." The word came out cold and resolute.

"I see," Queen Islanzadí sighed with resignation. "If that is so, then you leave me with no other choice but to detain you for the time being."

"And what of me?" Saphira demanded, her tone bordering on the edge savagery.

"You are above our laws, Saphira." Islanzadí said. "We cannot detain you, nor place you under guard. We ask that you cooperate with us. Your Rider will not be detained for long."

"Do what she says," Eragon said, trying to placate her. "I won't be long. This is the only way they can trust us."

"But you see it yourself! They don't trust you. Though they don't have an issue trusting me, even if you're my Rider. This is unfair!"

"That's because they know that a dragon doesn't have the choices that their Riders do. If I wanted to return to Galbatorix, you would follow me, you know that Saphira," Eragon soothed. Although Saphira was extremely incensed at her rider's situation, she reluctantly nodded much to Eragon's contentment. The queen seemed satisfied with the answer and gave another motion of her hand.

He relaxed as the pressure of the blade was removed from his neck, however he didn't have time for reprieve as the elves holding him roughly pushed him forward. When he passed Arya, their eyes met and an emotion passed through the green orbs, too fleeting for him to understand what it had been. Eragon ignored Murtagh's gaze and Orik's frown as they pushed him forward and out of the hall.

The doors opened and he sighed as the hundreds of elves that had gathered gave way to their party. Nothing was said, but they stared at him as if he were a vulture within their precious forest. It irked him. Not moments ago, when they did not know of his identity, they praised him. Now they were glaring at him. This only further rooted his dislike for the elves as their capricious nature was on full display tonight. Letting them lead him off from the path, between the trees, they emerged in a small clearing where an isolated house stood. It was different from the other houses he had passed so far. "It is protected with wards that will prevent you from using magic," one elf holding him explained.

"We'll need your weapons also," the other elf instructed, Eragon nodded and handed him both of his blades. With them in hand, the elves opened the door to the house for him and he walked in without another word. The first thing he noticed, when the door had closed shut behind him, was that there was not a light in the single-room house. He could not use magic to light a fire either. Still, there was enough light within the small house for him to see comfortably. He made out a small cot in the corner but that was all there was in the room. It was void of any other furnishing. Sitting down, he let his back lean against the wall, sighing.

At least no one had attacked him, though his throat was still bleeding. Bringing a hand up to it, he fingered the thin cut. He should have healed it before entering the house. Finally having some time to himself, it gave him an opportunity to think, something he had been doing a lot of recently. Arya was princess to the elves but for some odd reason, he felt disappointed. Doubtless, Islanzadí did not trust her daughter to be within close proximity of him for now. She might not even approve of their friendship continuing, if you could call it that. Having lost her daughter once to the Empire, why should she trust him? And why should Arya trust him either?

He sighed, throwing his head back against the wall, perhaps a bit too hard. That was when it happened again. When he blinked, he found himself standing in the white void again.

It had become increasingly often that he found himself standing here in this colorless vacuum. Another chain had disappeared and bound itself around his arm.

Eragon blinked again, loud noises from deep in Ellesméra reached his ears. It sounded as though they were having a celebration of some sort, no doubt for the return of their princess and the new Riders. He could tell that Saphira did not partake in the enjoyment knowing that he was locked up in this house. Tuning the noise out, he returned to contemplating the white void.

With his regular visions of the void, he knew his time was running short. If he could not find a cure in Ellesméra, he was sure that it would be the end of him. But who should, or even could he ask for help? The teacher he was to meet? He pulled furiously at his hair. He hated being alone and he hated being in the dark. . .

The room black out to him for a second before he found himself staring at a brick wall. Drops of blood stained its craggy surface, as if someone had bled from worn hands when they had tried to crawl up the concrete to the high window .

Eragon found himself staring at a young boy with brown hair and brown eyes. But the boy did not look young and innocent; he looked starved, tortured... and haunted. He wore a dirty tunic and breeches that used to be made of the finest cloth, all worn out by dirt and blood. The stone chamber was dark, except for the small rays of light that shone through the window. The little boy said, rather tearfully, "I'm scared. It's so dark. . ."

But it appeared that he had long grown used to the darkness. He watched as the little boy stood and walked towards the window, his head arching upwards as a mockingbird sat on the sill, trilling in its beautiful voice. "Those wings, I want them too!"

Saphira had given him the wings that he had wanted. She had given him freedom. Suddenly the mockingbird took flight, leaving the boy by himself. The chamber that had become rather light in the bird's presence then returned to an empty chill. Eragon watched as the boy fought the tears as a cold detachment flooded him. "I'm all alone..."

"I'm all alone," Eragon murmured along, gazing at the hard bark of the interior of the tree, refusing to let the darkness of the room overwhelm him. He did not know how long he waited in the room; there was nothing to measure the time by, almost as if it had no significance to reality as he sat in the darkness. He hated it, just knowing that he was sitting, isolated from the celebration, from Saphira. It made his blood boil and then seething anger filled his veins like a raging wildfire. After a few moments, that fire soon burned away into emptiness, leaving only the ashes of acceptance. This was how he was going to live his life outside of the Empire. Not as Eridar, one of the empire's most trusted lords. Not as Galbatorix's loyal Rider either. Neither as Eragon, the rider that saved the Varden from total annihilation. He was an outcast to every race fighting for freedom from the Black King's reign, and he would forever be an outsider.

"But you do not have to stay in Alagaësia…" a small voice in his mind told him. "That was right..."; Angela had foreseen that he would leave Alagaësia and never return. That was a welcome option to him. To start anew, live a new life. Free from old burdens. But then there was his mother…

"She won't live forever you know," That small voice retorted again. Another fact, Eragon thought, sadly. He would outlive his mother by far, and even his father. When she dies, there would be no need to stay in a land that did not welcome him warmly. He would live the life of an outcast.

Just as he was brooding, the door opened and to his surprise, Arya walked in, with a candle in her hand. "Well, you don't seem to be very happy," mumbled Eragon as he saw the concerned slant in her brows. "I thought you would be out there, celebrating with your people." He added as an afterthought, "They seem to be beyond elated that their princess has returned."

That made her brows slant even more dangerously as she moved to sit before him, crossing her legs, setting the candle to the side so it could dimly illuminate the room. "They are happy." Arya agreed coolly. "Though you do not seem as surprised as Murtagh was, nor reproachful that I hid the truth of who I am, from you."

"I can understand the situation better than my brother." Eragon replied, scorn lacing his tone. "Why should I be angry that you hid who you are? Knowing you are a princess would not change the standing between us. The only person I see you as is Arya." He did not catch her surprised look, continuing. "Besides, it all stood out that you are a princess. Since I met you in Gil'ead I had my suspicions. Your posture, your natural disposition to display authority and dignity. Not to mention that you do not take well to orders. And then there was Queen Islanzadí cutting off ties with the Varden when she learned of your disappearance. If you were a regular elf, I'm sure she would not have taken such drastic actions."

They sat there for a long moment and he was surprised to hear a laugh coming from Arya. It sounded like the trilling of a bird. He raised a brow at her. "Did I say something amusing?"

"No, just the fact that you are far more observant than your brother."

"I'll tell Murtagh that you said that." Eragon replied with a smirk. "Speaking of which, where is he?"

"Resting. His back seems to have tired him out greatly during the journey; I think the appeal of sleeping on a quality mattress has overwhelmed him," she glanced at his small cot, "Though I cannot say the same for you."

"I'm used to it." His gaze turned serious as he stared at her. "And you? How are you feeling, having just forgiven your mother after seven decades of living outside Du Weldenvarden?"

Her light mood suddenly disappeared, leaving him with the Arya that he had come to know. "My Mother..." she said quietly after a long time, "Has been in pain since my disappearance and I am happy to see her uplifted. Though it is hard to forgive such things so easily and with just mere words. It's no small matter to forgive someone for banishing me from their life for seventy years."

"You just did," he stated.

"Indeed." Arya nodded. "However, the relationship between us will not be as simple as it used to be. Still, I did think of something when my Mother asked for my forgiveness."

"Oh? What was it?"

"That bitterness is a choice." Arya explained. "That I did not have to live my life hating my Mother for a mistake that she had made. It would serve no purpose at all, whether harmful or helpful."

He did not reply, contemplating her words. "Bitterness was a choice." If she was right, then it could mean that he could forgive his father. But sixteen years…he glanced at Arya; she had to endure seventy years compared to him. Eragon sighed; he did not want to think of this at the moment. "So, what will happen to me now?"

"My Mother is going to bring you to our teacher and he shall decide if you are trustworthy."

Eragon nodded as a response. Suddenly, something else came to his mind and without hesitation he decided to voice it.

"Arya...Do you... trust me?" He could not stop himself as the question came out. Before this moment, he did not care for anyone else's trust. He had only cared for his mother's and Saphira's,yet he could feel something cold melt away from his heart at the moment, exposing it.

"I do." The statement pleased him, but he did not voice the feeling. Instead, the door opened again and Islanzadí stood in the doorway, imperiously. He watched as Arya rose and made her way to her mother, glancing back at him once more apologetically before the door was shut between them. "She trusted him." Eragon smiled faintly, returning to his thoughts, hoping for sleep to overtake him.