Chapter 20
Arya was standing in a vast meadow full of vibrant green grass and colorful flowers, the sky above her, a cloudless azure with the sun sitting lazily in the noon backdrop. The place was a far cry from her dense forested home of Du Weldenvarden and yet, she for once felt somewhat content in her life, simply standing there basking in the sun. "Happy". Suddenly she heard a rustle of grass, turning her head she beheld a small frightened boy timidly walking towards her. "He looks familiar to me somehow..." Arya thought as she made her way to the boy. She couldn't discern what made her recognize him, yet the chestnut hair and deep brown eyes sparked something in her. However, before she could reach him, a chasm opened up before her feet revealing a deep dark void beneath her. Before, she could react in time the pit swallowed her up putting her into a free fall. As she fell through the dark she heard a voice pleading for her "Please... help me"
She tore herself awake in a nervous sweat, quickly rising out of her bed with a gasp. Waiting for a moment, she finally managed to calm down her rapid heartbeat and regained some awareness of the environment around her. "I'm...home, yet it feels so strange... and that dream." She put that thought away for another time and glanced about her old room, feeling an odd mix nostalgia and uncertainty well up within her. She felt somewhat uneasy being at home among her people, Indeed it will take quite time for her to adjust herself to being around other älfya. Glancing out of the teardrop hole in her tree that was given to her by her mother; she took in the early morning view. As a Dragon Rider, it would be unfit for Fírnen to live in Tialdarí Hall because he was going to grow far too large her old chamber in her ancestral home. Murtagh had an identical tree to the ones which the Riders of old resided in during their stays in Ellesméra, as they had in her own. Sadly Eragon had yet to be given one as he was being confined in the dark hut isolated far from Ellesméra's center. Even so, Saphira had reluctantly stayed in Arya's tree for the night; refusing Murtagh's offer, after the incident with Thorn during Dagshelgr.
Arya's thoughts traveled to a topic that she knew other elves had thought of as well; which Rider would have the honor of staying in Vrael's personal tree? It was a symbol of authority, and would effectively signify who the next leader of riders will be, if one of the three riders were given the tree.
The sapphire dragon was curled in upon herself, sleeping on the dais next to Fírnen, who did not mind sharing his space with her. Thinking back on their journey to Ellesméra was oddly comforting, though very tiring. She had not shown it, but the close proximity of the two brothers had made her skin itch. Although Eragon had struck Murtagh out of annoyance for his half-brother's ignorance. Arya knew Eragon could have done much worse had his temper been really set off as well as Murtagh's. No doubt it could've been an ugly scene and she knew for certain which would cause the most damage.
Just like that, her thoughts drifted to Eragon. Last night when she had gone to visit him, for some reason, he looked…lonely. His face was ashen and appeared tired beyond his years, as if he concealed a great pain. The urge to inquire was beaten down by her more natural habits, for it was not her business to meddle in one's issues. Neither did her relationship with him seem strong enough to delve into such personal matters. "But what is my relationship to Eragon?" Arya thought as she washed herself, relieved to have ridden herself of the dirt and filth on her body. Personal hygiene is the mark of an excellent warrior, and Arya refused to deviate from that strict regiment.
He was an enigma to her; she could never tell what his next move was or what opinion he would give voice to. Everyone in her eyes was predictable. It never took much time for her to divulge the nature of someone who was not of her race. But Eragon... he surprised her greatly. "The only person I see you as, is Arya." That statement had shocked her to the core. Everyone wanted something from her, her mother wanted her love and loyalty, Murtagh wanted information and support, the Varden wanted her strength in combat and magic. Eragon, he had never asked anything of her, which only heightened her intrigue. It was a strange feeling—to not be relied on. To not be seen as a Rider or a princess like her people and Mother, or as someone of great knowledge and strength like Murtagh, or as simply an ambassador to the elves like the Varden.
"The only person I see you as, is Arya."
It was a relief beyond imagination—to speak to someone who expected nothing of her, who asked nothing of her. The joy that single statement had brought her made her ponder the situation. Was it because he was the only person who had ever said such a thing to her? Or was it another matter altogether? "So many possibilities." Sighing, she pulled a pale tunic over her head, cinching it at the waist, then slipping her sword onto the belt on her hip.
"You seem to have been deep in thought this morning." The deep voice rumbled in her head. Her green eyes darted to Fírnen, who was getting to his feet; shaking his body to rouse himself. Having been accustomed to nigh on one hundred and four years of mental privacy, Arya still had to acquaint herself to having another presence in her mind. "Good morning," she replied, tying her boots. Fírnen had a calming influence on her. Unlike the wild minds of animals that she spoke to, his mind was tranquil and soothing, and it helped settle her nerves.
"Indeed it is, Arya Svit-kona." The elf offered the sapphire dragon a rare smile as she watched her stretch her neck, letting out a loose roar. No doubt her people would be rejoicing at hearing such a long forgotten sound in their forest.
"Isn't she beautiful?" Fírnen praised, a slight rumble vibrated from his chest. That was another thing to worry about. Saphira, being the only female dragon, was going to have to divide her attentions between Thorn and Fírnen and it was clear to her that the emerald green dragon had certainly taken a great liking to her.
A knock on her door startled them. Regaining her composure, she called in the ancient language for the person to enter, knowing it was her mother. She was wary of the confrontation that may occur. Last night, her mother had shown disapproval towards Eragon, despite the fact that he had saved her life. She particularly disliked her mother's controlling nature over those whom she associated herself with. "Mother." Arya inclined her head.
"Good morning," Islanzadí greeted, inclining her head towards Fírnen and Saphira, who acknowledged her in return, though the blue dragon nodded her head rather stiffly. "I hope the day finds you well, my daughter."
"It does… I did not expect you to arrive so early."
She did not answer, but instead turned. Her velvet cape billowing behind her as she motioned with her right hand. "Come." Without a word, she followed her mother with Saphira and Fírnen in tow, slowly descending down the tree. Her course took them to the edge of Ellesméra, where the paths were faint and the buildings few.
Islanzadí stopped them at a wooded knoll and within moments, Murtagh and Orik appeared. Not far behind was Eragon, led by two elves who were holding his arms in place, their swords pressed against his neck. Dark bags were prominent under his grim eyes. Although she didn't like to do so, she worried for his well-being. Ever since they arrived in Ellesméra, she had to see the rider sleep peacefully, always restless and exhausted.
Islanzadí spoke, "Before we go any further, the five of you must swear in the ancient language that you will never speak to outsiders of what you are about to see, not without permission from me, my daughter, or whomever may succeed us on the elven throne."
"I thought you did not put trust in mere words," Eragon mocked, as Murtagh and Orik hesitantly gave their oaths followed by Thorn and Fírnen.
Her mother's eyes narrowed. "In this case, I have no other choice but to do so." After a brief pause, Eragon gave it and so did Saphira.
"Thank you," said Islanzadí. "Now we may proceed."
They moved to the top of the knoll, which looked down on the forest of Ellesméra, as if it were the edge of the world and she stood on the brink of it. Arya saw a flash of recognition in Murtagh's eyes.
Loud thuds met their ears, each one more powerful than the last. Then from the edge of the cliff, rose a huge golden dragon with a Rider on its back; Glaedr and Oromis. She watched her companions' reactions closely; Murtagh fell to his knees while Eragon watched on, unfazed by the reveal.
Oromis carefully descended from his dragon's back, his hands clasped behind him as he approached Murtagh. "The Mourning Sage…as you asked, I have come." Remembering his manners, he hastily placed his fingers to his lips. "Atra esterní ono thelduin."
Arya frowned, he had known of Oromis? Her Mother, while staring at Murtagh, possessed a look of shock that soon turned to anger. "You knew?" she whispered. "You knew of their existence and yet you did not tell me? Why have you betrayed me, Shur'tugal?"
Oromis smiled sadly before turning to her. "I kept my silence because it was too soon to determine if the Shur'tugal would live long enough to come here; I had no wish to give you a fragile hope that might have been torn away at any moment." Islanzadí spun about to face Oromis, her cape billowing about her.
"You had no right to withhold such information from me! I could have sent guards to protect them!"
"I hid nothing from you, Islanzadí. Simply put, you had already chosen not to see. If you had just scryed the land, as is your duty, you would have discerned the source of the chaos that has swept Alagaësia and learned the truth of their existence. The notion that you might forget the Varden and the dwarves in your grief is understandable, but your own daughter? You have been blind to the world, Islanzadí, and lax upon your throne. I could not risk driving you further away by subjecting you to another loss."
Her mother's anger drained from her face, leaving her pale and her shoulders slumped. "I am diminished." Arya watched as Oromis and Glaedr took notice of Murtagh and Thorn before moving onto herself.
"It is a pleasant surprise to see you, Arya, as a Rider," Oromis said, smiling kindly at her. She nodded."I, too, was surprised, if not a little overwhelmed."
Fírnen, stood still as Glaedr's inspected him, waiting patiently for his evaluation. "We are well met, Fírnen. I am Glaedr, son of Nithring." She smiled when she felt Fírnen's joy surge through her, at passing under the great dragon's judgement. Then it was time for the moment they had been waiting for; Oromis slowly approached Eragon. His expression was the kindest she had ever seen. It must be a connection he felt for him, as he too had been captured and tortured by Galbatorix's orders.
But Eragon refused to look Oromis in the eye, only staring at the ground. "Eragon Shadeslayer, I apologize for your situation," Oromis began softly. He motioned to the elves and they hesitantly backed away, though still close enough to react if need be. "It is an honor to meet Brom's son."
If anything, the comment only served to further distance Eragon from Oromis for the downcast rider turned his head away from Oromis. As she stared at the two figures, it was as if watching a brilliant light colliding with a dark abyss. The more Oromis tried to extend his kindness towards Eragon, the more he withdrew from the Rider. It was as if he had forgotten long ago how to act in the presence of kindness. The thought made a strange warmth pass through her. "There is no need to recoil so, Eragon." Oromis spoke softly clasping his shoulders, turning so Eragon to face him. "I've seen it in your travels, in your eyes, your heart is pure."
"Then you are a blind fool." Eragon murmured stubbornly. The two elf guards bristled at this, but Arya stayed calm. She knew enough of Eragon to know that he was cold to strangers, no matter their status. Oromis did not seem fazed by his attitude, but instead nodded.
"By your leave, Islanzadí Dröttning?"
"Go," she said, "Go and be done with you."
Oromis motioned for the three of them to fly with him. Arya still needed to fly with Saphira, for Fírnen was still too young to sustain her weight in prolonged flight. Swiftly mounting the sapphire dragon, she gave no mind to her mother's stare, "That can wait for later." Within moments, Eragon settled behind her, his hands coming to rest on her waist. Together the four dragons flew northward for several miles to land in a clearing situated near the edge of a cliff. A low hut was grown between the trunks of the trees.
"Welcome to my home," said Oromis as his feet touched the ground, with the rest of the riders following suit. She watched Eragon's back as they approached the edge of the cliff, his tall yet darkened figure stood in stark contrast against the bright sky in which the sun was raised overhead. Whatever he was thinking was hidden by his detached expression, in which nothing seemed to interest him. "I live here, on the brink of the Crags of Tel'naeír. It provides me the opportunity to think and study in peace. My mind works better away from Ellesméra and the distraction of other people."
He disappeared inside his hut, returning with stools in his hands. As they took their seats, he made another trip to retrieve four flagons of clear, cold water for them. As they sat and waited for what felt like hours, Arya was surprised that Murtagh could sit still. Usually he was bursting with questions. But he waited patiently, sipping his cool water. Eragon had his eyes closed for the entire time so it looked as if he were sleeping, though she knew better.
After some time, Oromis spoke, "You have learned the value of patience well. That is good."
"You can't stalk a deer if you are in a hurry," Murtagh replied. She watched as Oromis lowered his flagon and nodded, before asking to see Murtagh's hand. The practice of reading one's palm to see their personality, eluded her. Although she can detect the intent of people through careful observation, palm reading was far more accurate and meticulous, only the most experienced of people could divine a person's nature through their hands. "Correct me if I am wrong. You have wielded a scythe and plow, more often than a sword and shield, however you are accustomed to a bow."
"Aye."
"And you have done little writing or drawing, maybe none at all."
"Brom taught me my letters in Teirm." The corners of Eragon's mouth curved downward. And so on it went until Oromis turned to her. Arya had to admit, it felt unusual to consider Oromis as her teacher now. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined this moment, until Fírnen had hatched for her.
"You are very accustomed to a sword, a master even, and talented with a bow." Oromis observed with a slight smile, as if expecting what he saw. "You write with elegant script and beautiful lines. And I must say; there is not a single scar on your hands. With what you have experienced, I am quite surprised it is so."
Just a small tinge of pride colored her emotions at the words of her master. Oromis then turned to Eragon. She like Murtagh, quickly became interested in what the he had to say about Eragon and both watched intently waiting for an description. He said nothing when Oromis took hold of his hands with a soft expression. "You are very talented with the sword, extremely talented indeed. Are you ambidextrous?"
Eragon nodded his head. "It's easier to kill with two hands instead of one," he replied quietly.
"You have written much, though I cannot say the same for drawing. Very little use of a bow as well," Oromis concluded. He released Eragon's hands and turned to them. "Every day an hour after dawn starting tomorrow, the six of you shall come here to train with Glaedr and I."
"Yes, Master Oromis," the three intoned, Arya and Murtagh answering quickly while Eragon hesitated slightly before responding as well, albeit with a slight hint of disdain. "Though," he turned his eyes to Arya and Eragon, "I am unsure how much training the two of you will require. I know the extent of your learning, Arya, and I have the letter from Brom explaining your training, Murtagh, but I know nothing of yours, Eragon."
He took a seat again on his stool, "From your hands I can tell that you both are well experienced with the sword. But I would like to see the extent of your skills for myself." Glancing from Arya to Eragon. "I would see you spar with one another."
Arya nodded, but Eragon shook his head. "I do not have a weapon. Queen Islanzadí has not returned my swords yet." As an answer to this, Murtagh held out Zar'roc and she could see in his eyes the curiosity of whether or not his younger brother could contend with her. She too was curious, Arya thought as she drew her blade, dulling it with a spell. Eragon did the same, after accepting Zar'roc from Murtagh with a nod. He looked apprehensive to fight, which only served to irritate her a bit. "Does he think that being a woman is a disadvantage for me?" She would have to correct his poor judgment.
Separating themselves by a distance of twenty feet, they stood facing one another with their blades drawn by their sides. She took in his character, or at least what little she could extrapolate from his impassive expression. "Fighting him will be a challenge, however I'm confident I can force him on defense easily. I cannot fail, the masters are watching." She thought. Her being swelling with a hint of pride, eager to show off to Oromis and Glaedr her skills.
He blinked and she returned the gesture in kind, then within seconds, they charged, their blades poised to strike. When her blade met Zar'roc, she was not surprised when her strength was met with stiff resistance to a rider's sword. However, what did surprise her was when he brought his foot up to meet her face. Jumping back slightly, she frowned at the move. Surging forward again, she made a cut for the right side of his ribs, only to watch as her blade sailed through thin air as Eragon jumped over it with ease. His body twisted in air as he righted himself, parrying away a stab aimed at his left hip. He landed on the ground softly underneath her before rising to meet her blow for blow once more.
Eragon's fighting style was unusual. She had never seen such a form like his before. Even though they fought with swords, he used his free hand or his feet to draw out her openings, oftentimes forcing her into a defensive stance. Then there were times when she would ferociously charge him, only to have him dodge and jump out of the way. His control and reflexes proved exceptional against her quick attacks. He easily danced about her blade, never showing her the same angle to attack from.
Time seemed to stand still for them as they fought, always dancing together, to let the flow of the moment push their bodies away. Eventually, she began to tire; even an elf could not continue fighting forever. Observing his languid movements and calm demeanor, frustration soon clouded her mind. "How could Eragon, someone who had not eaten or rested well the previous night, continue fighting without his limbs tiring?" She thought. Even when it was well over half an hour since they began sparring, his breathing was regular and his movements' were as fluid as when they had first began. Arya pulled back, watching as Eragon ran forward, she thrusted her sword outwards with great effort, frantically trying to mark her attacker.
He had anticipated the movement and ducked under her jab, gripping her outstretched wrist as he slid past her defenses, his eyes met hers with a cocky smile. And as fast as he was there, he was gone, she could feel him slide around her, stopping behind her back. In one last desperate move she dropped her sword from her captured right hand into her left and swung her sword to the side, she attempted to hide her frown when Eragon caught her other wrist , his strength tightly holding her sword hand in place. She felt her other arm that was controlled by Eragon, twist roughly around her and soon she saw Zar'roc at her throat, the cool blade resting inches away from her jugular.
She froze at the close but intimate proximity; there was no space between their bodies as he held her there. She could feel his smooth breathing on the back of her neck. One emotion that she had thought she had grown out of came back to her, which raised the hair on the back of her head. Nervousness. Arya felt it rise when she heard him murmur softly something softly into her ear. "Dead."
Hello Hello! Infinity again. I hope you are enjoying what I have to offer for Rain's work. I would just like to give you a heads up as I will be soon attending college and because of that my work here will be sparser soon. But do not fret! for I have not given up on this story. Please be patient with me as I continue my work in finishing this modified version of Rain's work. I also don't wanna burn myself out writing so I'm thinking about doing as much as I can every week and releasing the stuff I have at the very end of each week. Please review if you have any disagreements with what I am doing and thank you for your support! Infinity out.