Chapter Thirty-Nine: Wild Souls
Two weeks had passed since Eragon and Saphira had returned to the Varden.
By now, the massive exodus had made their turn around the Beor Mountains' most northern peaks and were curving around south towards Surda. They still had a couple of weeks to go, but they were making good progress.
The Riders had received word that Garzhvog and Illgra were successful in their endeavors to depose Kulkarvek. It was a huge relief—to know their friends were safe and had removed that particularly nasty thorn in their side.
Eragon recalled their short conversation with the Kull Rider, just days after he'd slain the previous Urgal King. They'd scryed one night, when Garzhvog had some time to himself for all the work being done in the north.
"I have sent messengers out to the Chieftains of the mountain clans," Garzhvog said. He sported a new scar across his face, and it only added to his naturally ferocious appearance. "I will likely have to reach out to the wandering tribes myself, or send runners to meet them. It will take time. We will not be amassed for at least a month, perhaps two."
"We expected as much," Arya responded. "What of the Eldunari Kulkarvek took?"
The Urgal King sighed. "They are…not well. He controlled five of them. There was a sixth, but I do not know if the dragon it belonged to ever transferred its consciousness into the gem. Kulkarvek destroyed it for some reason. None here remember why—I assume it was done many years ago."
Eragon's eyes closed. "Then its pain is over."
"Aye. As for the other five—they are damaged and drained. They will take time to heal. If they heal."
"Did you recognize any of them from what Oromis and Glaedr told you?"
Garzhvog nodded. "The red; Corona, if I remember right. The two blacks, Dwerva and Darkclaw. The pink, Rosenna, and the blue, Frostfyre."
Murtagh's lips pressed. "Jarnunvosk's Eldunari was destroyed?"
The King nodded gravely. "Yes."
"I hate to say it, but I'm relieved to know she isn't suffering. I don't want to imagine what she'd have to go through if she could still feel her Rider," Eragon crossed his arms. "What are you planning to do with them in the meantime?"
"I intend to leave my new second in-command in charge for a short time," Garzhvog told them. "I cannot keep the Eldunari here; they are in desperate need of peace. I will fly them to Ellesmera and return to the barrow within two weeks. By then, the Chieftains should have gathered. The schedule will be tight, but I can make it."
"Do so if you feel it is wise," Eragon agreed. "Those Eldunari have seen enough of fighting for a lifetime, I think."
"We will inform Nasuada of your success," Arya told the new Urgal King. "Fly safe and swift, Nar'vair."
Garhzvog smiled at the mention of his new title. "To you as well, my friends."
Eragon took a quick drink from his water skin, scanning the army as it began to march upon a new day. He and Saphira had been traveling on-foot with much of the population as of late. Their frenzied race to the Varden had left them both terribly exhausted and too weak to fly for days at least—their muscles had been torn and horribly sore, despite steady healing.
It meant their friends were around them all day every day, trying to make traveling easier on them. Firnen was a constant presence beside Saphira whenever he wasn't patrolling and Eragon had been escorted by Brom, Arya, or Murtagh virtually at all times. If they were all busy, Arget had taken to walking with them anyways, and Maud rarely left the wolf's side.
That was all fine and good while they were healing, but it was starting to get suffocating.
Saphira's wings were finally back to snuff and Eragon no longer felt like he was dying every time he walked longer than ten minutes. They were itching to get back in the air.
Currently, Firnen was grooming Saphira just a few minutes before he and Arya were due to patrol the head of the Varden. The blue dragon's annoyance was being sent to Eragon keenly—she liked Firnen, but this…pampering had gone on long enough.
At this rate, he's going to forget that I am a dragon, she growled.
Her Rider glanced at the green male, who was currently nibbling at a loose scale on Saphira's shoulder. She was humoring him for now, but Eragon had a feeling she was going to whack him if that kept up.
But he was in a good mood—his body no longer causing him constant pain certainly helped with that. Shall we play a game, then?
Saphira's blue eyes slid over to him. What did you have in mind?
Eragon told her and her gaze became dry. You are feeling ornery.
Don't pretend you don't want to, he teased.
My Rider is a hatchling, Saphira let out a long-suffering sigh. And I am enabling him.
Mmhm.
She snorted and they waited until Arya arrived. As the elf climbed onto her dragon, Eragon snuck up onto Saphira's back as well. With a quick glance, he confirmed that both Arya and Firnen were still unaware he was atop Saphira.
He didn't need to tell her what to do next.
Arya had just finished strapping herself into the saddle when Saphira's head darted over and bit Firnen's neck just hard enough to hurt. The green male yelped and jumped, causing his Rider to gasp. Arya's gaze darted over to Saphira and she laid stunned eyes on Eragon, whose grin was full of utter mischief.
"Catch us if you can!" He shouted even as Saphira lunged forward, bounding in two leaps before launching herself into the air with a bellow. The people beneath them yelled in surprise as the dragon-lady took flight, climbing rapidly.
Eragon looked behind them and his smile widened when Firnen roared indignantly before jumping after the pair. Arya was leaning low over her dragon's back, and he could see the stern slant of her eyebrows even at this distance.
They might be a little mad, he snickered gleefully.
Saphira hummed with amusement. They cannot catch me.
Her wings pounded through the air, making low thrums like thunderclaps. Saphira raced to the side of the mountains and began to fly upwards, towards the high peaks above them. Forest passed by in a green rush until they only saw the gray and brown of the mountainside, and finally white at the tops.
Firnen was keeping up with them, but Saphira was playing for keeps, and she was the fastest dragon alive. They danced through the air among the Beor mountaintops, twisting and turning round peak after peak.
She lunged upward through the wall of clouds above them and began to glide over the white sea. A few moments later, they saw Firnen and Arya emerge with a gust of twisting fog.
Not bad, Eragon smirked.
He's keeping up better than I expected, Saphira admitted. Perhaps I'm a little stiff.
It has been a while since you last flew, he agreed.
He spotted one of the mountain peaks piercing the clouds like a spire and Saphira sent him a sudden burst of inspiration. Eragon grinned and nodded. She flared her wings and began to twist round the spire, unleashing a blast of blue fire upon the frozen rock. As Firnen caught up with them, he caught onto her game and also bathed the peak in his own emerald flame. Before long, it glowed molted red and the snow melted into steam.
Satisfied with the game, Saphira was about to continue their flight when Firnen suddenly lunged in a blur of speed and bit the end of her tail. She roared and Eragon gasped as lightning traveled through his veins from the bond.
This close, he could see Firnen's mocking grin of sharp teeth and the amused smirk on Arya's face.
Fire built in their bellies. Saphira dove through the clouds without hesitating and they hovered beneath it for a moment before spotting a valley surrounded by the great peaks.
She trumpeted as Firnen followed her, then tucked her wings in and dove. The green male immediately matched her, but pounded his wings a moment longer to catch up, so they fell side by side.
Eragon leaned low over Saphira, feeling the wind blasting his face and mangling his hair. It was cold like ice, yet his veins burned. Not one of them were bothered by the freezing temperatures.
They dove deeper into the valley, and at an unspoken cue, both dragons flared their wings out, swept over the forest so close they could touch it, and then rocketed back up with the tremendous momentum they'd built up.
Saphira roared jubilantly and Firnen bellowed with her. They released short bursts of fire once again, then began to climb to one of the mountains that was flatter and wider than most others.
They reached the top and landed on the frozen rock, kicking up flurries of diamond-dust ice crystals. Saphira shook herself stretching her wings a bit more before tucking them in. Firnen's tail flicked at her flank and she made a playful bite in his direction.
Eragon dismounted and walked around his dragon, meeting Arya between them. The elven Princess was smiling.
"I suppose that's your way of saying you two are feeling better."
"Or maybe we just wanted to have some fun," he said teasingly.
She rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling.
Saphira nipped Firnen at his hips and he growled playfully. She was getting very distracted—so was he, for that matter.
Eragon knew where this was going. With a mutter of the Ancient Language under his breath, he commanded the saddles to release the dragons. Both Saphira and Firnen were freed as the saddles unbound themselves and hit the snow with a thump, then the pair of them jumped back into the air. Within seconds, they'd disappeared in a dive past another nearby peak.
"Eragon!" Arya protested, spinning towards the fleeing dragons.
"Murtagh and Thorn are watching the Varden; they're fine," he told her, walking over to his saddlebags to retrieve a thick, woolen blanket. He tossed it to her and she raised an eyebrow at him as she caught it. Eragon shrugged. "I've only got the one right now."
"And you're letting me use it for what reason?"
"Because I'm pretty much the reason you're up here," he admitted shamelessly. Her eyes narrowed at his mischievous smirk. "This little game was mostly my idea."
Arya's eyes gleamed despite the sternness of her expression, and he could tell she was trying to resist the urge to smile.
She knew he was funny.
"Well, come and share it with me," she told him. "Unless you want all of us to hover over you yet longer for getting frostbite."
Eragon was sure he could keep himself warm with a spell, but he was feeling light and happy. He took that offer. They sat down on his saddlebag and wrapped the woolen blanket around them, huddling shoulder-to-shoulder for warmth.
His breath came out in rushed mist as he looked over the Beors. It was a beautiful scene; snowy white peaks, massive crags of rock, the forests and valleys, and rolling clouds licking at the highest of the mountains. The wind was behind them, and his hair ruffled in the cold air.
Arya had a much bigger problem in that sense; her long, black locks flew forward in a mess that made him laugh. She elbowed his ribs and smirked when he got the breath knocked out of him, still giggling.
She managed to tuck her hair back behind her ear and looked over the mountains again. From the position of the sun, Eragon knew they were looking south. "I wonder how many people have seen this view before."
"If any have, they must have also been Riders," he murmured. She inclined her head in agreement. "I wonder if anyone has seen the southern borders of the mountains. They can't stretch on forever, no matter how big they are."
"Maybe dragons have seen them," she answered. "The Riders never had a reason to go so far, but the wild ones could fly wherever they pleased."
"Perhaps some of the wild ones escaped the Fall going that way," he sighed in a breath of mist. "It seems odd, but I want to fly there. I want to see what lies beyond."
"It is not odd. I know how you feel," Arya blinked at him slowly—they shared a silent understanding for a moment. Two creatures born for freedom, seeking and hungering for their birthright.
"Maybe one day," he said quietly.
"Maybe."
He felt heat pulse through his body from Saphira and they both gasped. Eragon felt the hot pit growing in his belly and quickly forced it away as best he could. The freezing air was suddenly a welcome relief.
Arya's face was flushed, and he was mostly sure the cold wasn't exclusively responsible for that gorgeous spread of red across her pale face. The elven Princess took a long breath and focused on dulling her connection to Firnen, even as Eragon did the same with Saphira.
After pushing the mating dragons as far away from their minds as possible, they managed to look at each other again. He had to work very hard not to focus on how incredibly beautiful she looked right then; green eyes bright, black hair flowing in the cold wind, the perfect shade of red adorning her cheeks, and how her rosy lips were slightly parted to breathe.
For all that he'd pushed his feelings for her to the back of his mind over the years, Eragon found it immensely difficult to stop himself from kissing her. His heart was aching and it took every ounce of willpower he had to not say or do anything stupid.
It felt like a crime to look away from her, but he needed to ground himself for a moment. No sooner had he forcibly pulled his eyes away did he feel her hand press against his arm. He assumed she was trying to put some space between them; maybe things had become too much, what with the dragons influencing them somewhat. He definitely needed a moment to breathe as it was.
But Arya didn't push him away. Her hand pulled on his arm a little and then their fingertips were slowly lining up. Eragon looked back and stared, eyes wide, at how their fingers were barely touching; ghosting the tips with tiny motions that were somehow careless and intense all at once.
He dared to meet Arya's gaze again and she looked from their fingers to his face slowly. The dragons were all but forgotten to him now.
Their fingertips pressed against each other more firmly for a moment, and then she pushed her hand flat against his. He returned the pressure, feeling the way her pulse raced in-turn with his own. Studied how her hand was just a little smaller than his, yet sleeker and more elegant.
They were searching silently with their eyes and the join of their hands, unsure what it was they were looking for…
There was a blazing pulse from the dragons neither of them could ignore and they both flinched, scrambling to mentally reinforce the barrier between their partners. Their breath came out shakily—they became all-too aware of the tension between them. They pulled apart, no longer able to concentrate on each other for fear of the dragons distracting them again.
Until Saphira and Firnen returned, they sat there together on the mountaintop—quiet and unsure, but not uncomfortable.
About a week later, Firnen was taking a break from patrols around the Varden as the exodus. They were a little less than one week's march from Aberon—Surda itself was just days away.
There were still a few hours before they settled down for the night, but being a dragon meant getting comfortable was easy, anyways. He found a nice spot, curled up, and slept when he wished. It was even easier as of late, because since Saphira had accepted him as her mate in the mountains—and didn't that send a joyful thrill through him—he spent every night resting close to her. He didn't have to bother setting up tents like all the two-legs.
The world was, in fact, excellent as far as he was concerned. He hunted wild Nagra in the mountains with his fellow dragons, spent hours flying each day with his wonderful Rider, and had the most beautiful and fiery dragoness in Alagaesia for a mate. What more could a male dragon ask for?
Arya caught up with him as she left a short briefing with Nasuada, but paused when they heard a roar overhead. She looked up with Firnen and spotted Saphira fly past them, curving around to make another loop around the Varden's mass.
While Firnen felt admiration and joy at the sight of his new mate, he sensed Arya's normal happiness become slightly subdued with uncertainty.
He and Saphira had spoken the day after they became mates and both came to the same realization; something had happened between their Riders while they had separated from them. What, exactly, they did not know for sure, for Arya and Eragon both were reluctant to speak of it. They weren't upset by any means, just…confused, and maybe a little wary.
The real tell was that outside of meetings and short exchanges when switching out for patrols, they weren't talking as much, and they seemed nervous around one another.
It was such a strange thing for Firnen to see. He knew Arya and Eragon had met just days before he hatched nigh on five years ago. For elves, that wasn't long at all, but they'd become so close so fast that seeing them skittish around one another was just bizarre.
But he knew his Rider better than anyone; Arya would share with him when she was ready. For now, he sent her a pulse of reassurance and comfort, and his Rider turned to him with a thankful smile on her face.
The sound of a war horn made the whole column of the Varden freeze briefly.
Arya was on Firnen's back in an instant and he was in the air a moment later. They flew high overhead, converging on the source of the sound on the army's left flank with Thorn and Saphira just ahead of them.
He spotted movement in the trees by the mountains and then a horde of Urgals began to run out of the woods, howling at the top of their lungs. Firnen growled, ready to unleash dragon-fire before they got anywhere near the Varden, but he felt Eragon's mind reach to his and Arya's. In an instant, the Riders and dragons were all connected.
Stand down, Eragon ordered. Firnen watched as Saphira landed between the Urgals and the army, and he dove down to join her.
Eragon, Murtagh sounded tense. Thorn remained overhead.
Trust me.
There was a brief pause before Murtagh acquiesced. He and Thorn wheeled around in the air and turned back, undoubtedly going to seek out Nasuada and the leaders of the army.
Firnen landed next to Saphira and spotted the elven spellcasters rush from the Varden to join them. Eragon was already approaching the charging Urgals calmly as Arya leapt from the back of her dragon.
Eragon pulled up the sleeve of his right arm and lifted his hand high into the air, exposing the tattoo inscribed upon his skin. He stopped a fair distance from the Urgals; they still had some distance to cover before they reached him. A spear was thrown at the Rider and ricocheted off his wards, veering uselessly into the dirt behind him. Saphira growled threateningly at that.
Despite the spear, Eragon didn't so much as flinch. Firnen had to admit, the Rider's steel nerve was commendable. Very few creatures could stare a tribe of charging Urgals in the face and hold fast.
Even so, they hadn't stopped yet.
Firnen's tail lashed. This isn't working. Their blood runs too hot.
If they do not stop, we will help Eragon fight, Arya assured him.
The Urgals were just ten meters away by now. The fingers of Eragon's left hand were starting to twitch towards Undbitr at his hip. Arya reached for her sword and the dragons crouched in preparation for a fight.
One of the Urgals suddenly faltered in his step. He howled and the whole line of charging Urgals hesitated and slowed, focusing on the Rider before them. Before long, they'd stopped completely.
The charge had become a very uncomfortable standoff. Eragon kept his arm raised and the Urgals were pointing at it, muttering amongst themselves. They'd undoubtedly seen the Urgal tattoo upon his skin, and were probably more confused than anything else.
The Varden had by now formed their ranks, but no attack came. They were putting their trust in Eragon to handle the situation. Firnen heard wings pounding and glanced back long enough to see Thorn land on Saphira's other side; Murtagh jumped from his back a moment later. They'd alerted Nasuada, then.
One Urgal turned and began to run back to the mountains. A messenger?
Perhaps, Arya replied. I suppose we're meant to wait, then.
Eragon slowly lowered his arm, but remained where he was, facing the Urgals down as the group began to mill around uncertainly. Some still looked ready to pick a fight—their blood frenzy was halted, not quenched—but they did not attack.
As they waited, Nasuada came to join them with Brom, Vanir, and Jormunder. She approached Murtagh and they began to speak quietly. With a glance at Jormunder and a few words, her commander returned to the Varden's main force and Firnen could see the soldiers hesitantly standing down.
It was some twenty minutes of waiting before the first Urgal returned with a huge Kull and several more warriors. The Kull was clearly female, due to her slightly slimmer build and thinner horns, but she was as bulky and imposing as any male of her race. She held a long spear with an unusually large blade at the end, a weapon he knew was used to fell the giant beasts of the mountains.
Firnen recognized the beads around the Kull's neck as the sign of a Chieftain—well, Herndall in this case due to her gender. The Urgal that departed earlier had run home to alert their leader.
The Kull set eyes on Eragon, who lifted his arm again to display the Urgralgra tattoo. Firnen watched the Herndall tilt her head slowly to one side; she was undoubtedly as confused as the rest of her kin.
She began to approach and Eragon lowered his arm, steadily walking forward to meet her. As they got closer, they started to circle one another like a pair of guarded wolves. She pounded her chest and howled at him, a thunderous sound that was both a challenge and a greeting.
She's testing him, Firnen thought. Trying to see if the tattoo is a fluke or not.
Arya hummed acknowledgement. They watched as Eragon—almost three feet shorter than the Herndall—matched her circle step-for-step, then he sucked in a deep breath and bellowed his dragon's roar, which made her falter briefly for surprise.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing that sound come out of him," he heard Nasuada tell Murtagh quietly.
Firnen snorted. On that, he had to agree; Eragon's roar could have come from a true dragon. It was higher-pitched, but still unnaturally deep for any humanoid save the Urgals themselves, with their barrel chests and enormous lungs.
The Herndall seemed more interested now. Eragon was displaying all the right signs of communication with her race. She stopped circling and he matched her. There were a few more moments of uncertainty on her part, but she stepped towards him with a low grunt. Eragon turned to meet her.
He couldn't tell exactly what they were saying from where he stood, but he could tell they were speaking in the rough Urgralgrish tongue. Eventually, Eragon offered his right arm for her to inspect, and she took it in her massive hands to study the tattoo. The Herndall looked back at the Varden—the dragons, elves, and horde of men, before returning her eyes to Eragon himself. She uttered something that sounded like a question and the Rider answered.
The Kull seemed to relax somewhat. She inspected Eragon up and down, clearly intrigued, and nodded. He offered his arm and she clasped it for several seconds before turning back to her people.
Eragon in-turn began to walk back to the Varden. Firnen could see the Urgals discussing what had just occurred. Several of them ran off back to their home, but they didn't all leave.
"Well?" Nasuada prompted as the Rider met her, the other leaders, and the dragons.
"We're fine," Eragon said, and they all relaxed. He was grinning widely. "Nar Vel'Vor said we crossed onto their territory. Some of the younger warriors saw the dragons and got rather overzealous."
Saphira snorted. Indeed.
"They stood down that easily?" Blodgharm raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
"Not quite," Eragon's grin was suddenly full of mischief. Firnen knew that look all-too well.
Brom groaned. "What did you do?"
The Leader of the Dragon Riders, a so-called paragon of maturity, smiled with the impishness of a troublemaker child. "I invited them to dinner."
Arya had spent much of her time since she became a Dragon Rider around an Urgal. Garzhvog had taught her and the others much about his culture and people.
Of course, hearing about it and actually being a part of it were two very different things.
The Herndall, Vel'Vor, had brought her whole tribe to eat with the Varden. Eragon and Saphira were mostly the ones helping to organize the feast; a peace offering to the Urgals for trespassing on their territory. The Urgals had brought food to share, and Nasuada had put the cooks to work.
Many of the human soldiers and families were very unsure or frosty towards the Urgal tribe, but that was fortunately subverted by the Riders, dragons, and elves who were unbothered by them. The tension began to drain more when some of the elves began to play music, which was joined by the Urgal drums, and then the thumps of the dragon tails.
Then Murtagh dragged Eragon into a large circle they'd set up for dancing and they started messing about. The roars of laughter that followed them broke the ice significantly. Invidia took Yaela's hand and the elves joined in, although they danced more elegantly than the humorous Riders. A pair of Urgals soon joined the fray, and then it seemed the circle was filled with dancing bodies.
Saphira had her own way of helping out. She encouraged the Urgal children to climb upon her neck and tail, and some of the human children joined in. That was easier for most of the parents of the young ones, for their offspring looked startlingly similar and were carefree enough not to care about the differences between them.
Thorn and Firnen joined in her game, and Arya laughed at the sight of so many human and Urgal children swarming the dragons. It was a wondrous sight that made everyone merry.
The drinking started and the Urgals shared some of their alcohol, which tasted like cherries gone bad. Arya knew it was even stronger than Faelnirv, the elven liquor, and she drank only a little to avoid becoming intoxicated. Before long, she felt the pleasant buzzing she enjoyed on occasions like this.
She remembered spending time with Firnen, who encouraged her to interact with the human and Urgal children, and Arya happily did so until she became aware of the Urgals bringing a large amount of dried lumber to the center of the dancing circle, which had grown massive. They stacked it high, clearly preparing to make a bonfire.
Eragon stopped them and cleared some space, then nodded to Saphira.
All three dragons breathed their flames upon the huge pile of wood, creating a multicolored pillar of fire that lit up the darkening area for a huge distance. There was a deafening cheer, and the celebration intensified.
She saw Murtagh dancing with Nasuada, spinning one another playfully in the thrum of energetic music. The drumbeats of the Urgals, the frenzied music of the elves, and the humming of dragons made the celebration incredibly potent. She could have mistaken it for a gathering in Du Weldenvarden.
Blodgharm was currently dancing with the Urgal Herndall, Vel'Vor. The Urgals were as surprised as the humans had been when they set eyes on the Blood Wolf, but his wild nature fit right in with the Urgralgra. Elsewhere, she was aware of Invidia and Yaela still dancing together—though they occasionally parted to dance with someone else, they seemed to rejoin with growing frequency.
Arya was content to watch for some time, eyes flitting from elf to human to Urgal at random as the music changed and they all switched partners. The hours passed and she slowly forgot they were a part of an army.
Amidst the throngs of people, she managed to pick Eragon out with surprising ease as he weaved his way towards her and the dragons. He was smiling widely, joyous and gleeful, and his happiness was infectious.
"Taking a break?" Arya prompted.
"Just for a moment," he admitted, laughing and catching his breath. "It is…very exciting out there."
"I noticed," she smiled with amusement.
Eragon hummed and looked over at Saphira, who currently had a human and Urgal child on her neck as they laughed together in delight. His expression softened at the sight. "There's something that needs to happen more often."
Arya followed his gaze. "We might be the first people to see such a thing."
"Hopefully not the last," he murmured. She inclined her head in agreement.
Eragon looked back at her and they were both struck with that same uncertainty that had been plaguing them since their venture to the mountaintops. He suddenly tilted his head and she wondered if Saphira was speaking to him. Then his eyes gleamed, bright from the firelight in a way that was entrancing.
"Have you partaken in a dance yet?"
"Not yet, no."
The corners of his mouth rose as held his hand out towards her, fingers outstretched. Arya blinked at the offer and was struck with a sudden bout of familiarity; she'd asked and offered exactly the same way during the Agaeti Blodhren years earlier.
She felt a tension in her belly that had been emerging more and more often as of late. For a moment, she was unsure, and then she met the browns of dragon-eyes and took his hand without a second thought.
Where things differed from their dance at the Blood-Oath Celebration was that the music was fast and energetic, and she was swept into the energy of it almost immediately.
She and Eragon spun around each other, bodies a hair's breadth apart and laughing like children. Their hands never parted, even as he twisted her around, then she did the same to him, and over and over until they were almost dizzy with glee.
Arya lost track of how long they danced. The bonfire was suddenly growing dimmer and the crowds were dispersing as people retired for the night. Many of the human and Urgal children were collected by their parents. The music dimmed and died slowly, and the tempo of the dance slowed as well.
Wyrden and two more elves started to sing a gentler song that encouraged the exhausted people to wind down the energy. They all would need to sleep at some point. Arya caught a glimpse of Murtagh, Nasuada, and Blodgharm speaking with Vol'Vor and an Urgal Shaman on the edge of the celebration. She vaguely wondered if they should also be there, but things seemed fine, so she quickly focused back on Eragon.
His face was flushed from exertion—she imagined she looked much the same—but he was cheerful and bright even in the dimming fire.
"Well, I think the negotiations were a success," he proclaimed.
She snorted. "I concur. Though I confess, I did not expect to be dancing and feasting with an Urgal tribe. I half-expected wrestling matches to break out everywhere."
Eragon's smirk was all trouble. "I may have informed Vol'Vor that many humans would find stripping before the masses for a wrestling contest rather…uncomfortable."
"And how did she respond to that?"
"She thought they were being silly, of course. So I delicately suggested that the human males would find themselves…incompetent compared to her warriors. The shame might have been too much for their egos."
Arya burst out laughing. Eragon joined in her mirth and their footsteps became small shuffles as they lost control of their humor. Somewhere nearby, Firnen and Saphira let out their ululating laughs that made all who heard it giggle, for a dragon's laugh was an amusing sound, indeed.
"Fortunately," Eragon giggled. "She was willing to avoid humiliating our men this time. I think there will be wrestling matches regardless of their shame, however, when Garzhvog rejoins us with his army."
"However will the men live with themselves?" Arya shook her head, smiling hugely.
"I'm sure they'll get over it. Eventually."
They caught their breath and returned to their dance. Eragon's gaze suddenly flitted over her shoulder. He frowned for a moment, and then his eyes briefly widened. "Oh."
"What?"
"Don't turn," he stopped her. Arya tilted her head at him in question, and he slowly spun them so their positions were reversed. She looked past his shoulder and felt surprise rush through her.
At the back of the remaining dancers, in the shadows of the dying fire and the mountain, and thus on the far side of the Varden where only those with exceptional eyes could see them, Arya spotted Yaela and Invidia still dancing together—but they were far closer than before and watching for a few seconds, she realized their lips were joining and separating in chaste kisses. The two elven females parted eventually and pressed their foreheads together, whispering in silence, and Arya averted her eyes, feeling like she had intruded on something that was not hers to see.
"I didn't know they loved each other," Eragon murmured softly, a mere breath that only she could hear.
"Neither did I. We should—"
"Not speak of it to anyone and give them some privacy?"
Arya couldn't help but smile. "Yes."
"Well," he pursed his lips as they pulled apart and began to retreat to the dragons. "It is…probably time we thought about retiring for the night, anyways."
"Many of our soldiers will be nursing hangovers, I expect."
"They knew what they were getting themselves into," he snorted. "It's their own fault."
"True," she agreed. They reached Firnen and Saphira, who lowered their heads to meet their Riders. Arya lifted a hand to scratch the underside of the green dragon's jaw, who rumbled with content. Did you enjoy yourself?
I did, he hummed. The Urgals could match the elves for the energy of their festivities, if not the elegance.
Her lips curved into a smile. Perhaps so. I wonder what a grand celebration of our races would be like?
One day, we must find out, Firnen's amber eyes gleamed excitedly at the thought of such a celebration. And on that day, we must be sure that men and dwarves and dragons join us.
A festival for the ages, she thought.
Firnen's eyes twitched towards Eragon, who was still speaking with Saphira in the privacy of their thoughts. You had fun?
Arya nodded slowly. Her dragon tilted his head at her, but said nothing. He waited patiently to see if she would open her thoughts on the subject to him.
Eventually, the elf leaned her forehead on Firnen's snout. I do not know what to do.
You are a Rider, Arya, he hummed comfortingly. You do what feels right.
If only it were so simple.
Is it not?
Arya considered that for some time and glanced at Eragon. Saphira snorted at something her Rider said in his thoughts, ruffling his hair and prompting him to grin. Firnen felt a pulse of fondness from Arya and sent back silent encouragement.
Saphira seemed to take notice then of the elf watching them and Eragon blinked at her unspoken cue. He met Arya's eyes and tilted his head in a silent question.
"I feel like I should apologize," she murmured. He frowned slightly and she explained. "The other day at the mountain. I do not know what came over me to behave in such a way. I'm sorry for making things…strange between us for the past few days."
Eragon's eyes flashed with something unreadable. "Are you?"
Her lips parted to answer, but Arya stared at his dragon-eyes and the words died in her throat. She considered his question for a few moments and the thought of answering yes felt…so wrong.
Slowly, aware of her blood thrumming like electricity through her veins, she shook her head.
"No, I'm not," she breathed.
She glanced around—with them standing between the dragons, there weren't many people who could see them, and no one was looking at the moment…
Arya stepped closer to Eragon and lifted her hand between them, still unsure what exactly she was asking for. His eyes widened in trepidation and he looked down at her half-outstretched arm, then hesitantly lifted his own hand to meet it. Their palms met, pressed flat against one another.
She watched as she slid her hand slightly to the side, encouraging their fingers to weave and interlock slowly. When her eyes slid back up to his face, she caught the way his skin was flushed even in the low light. He squeezed her hand and she returned the pressure with a strange sort of intensity.
She spotted him reaching for her other hand and willingly met it, entangling their fingers there, as well. They'd pulled themselves close to one another, face-to-face and inches apart. Arya breathed in the scent of him, of wild mountain winds, their eyes met and they shivered in unison—
"Errragon?"
Quick as snakes, they leapt apart, almost jumping into their dragons and spinning towards the source of the sound. Saphira growled in annoyance as Brom suddenly staggered into view, rubbing his head as if in pain. Arya realized with no small amount of her own aggravation that he was intoxicated.
Eragon's eyes narrowed when she glanced at him and he looked, she thought, like he was close to attacking his father.
"You are drunk," the young Rider said flatly.
"S'not my fault. Never had Urgal liquor."
"Gods above and below, how much did you drink?" Eragon growled. He pinched the bridge of his nose, evidently irritated, and had to take a deep breath before he lost his temper. "Never mind, let's get you to your tent."
"Thanks," the old man grunted. He would suffer a miserable hangover in the morning for this, and that was the only comfort Arya felt in that moment.
Saphira stood up to leave with them. Eragon glanced back at Arya and she saw the frustration in his eyes. She inclined her head and though she didn't speak to his mind, she reached out and sent him a pulse of what comfort she could offer.
It seemed to calm him enough that she wasn't worried he'd strangle Brom in his sleep for the untimely interruption.
Firnen's snout touched her head delicately. I'm sorry. He was too drunk for us to send him off with our minds.
It is not your fault, she sighed, lifting her hand up to his chin.
The dragon pressed a bit closer. How do you feel now?
Annoyance aside, Arya began, pausing for a moment. Light, yet heavy.
Firnen's thoughts pulsed with love and amusement. You are figuring it out.
She rolled her eyes, but smiled anyways.
Perhaps so.
They reached the gates of Aberon on-schedule.
The Varden had encountered no resistance on their march to the capital and it was somewhat unnerving. The open fields leading to Aberon were perfect terrain for the cavalry of the Surdan army. If Morzan was controlling them, it would have been the perfect place to attack.
It felt far too easy when they set up camp a mile and a half away from the walls of the city. Arya did not like how smoothly this was going.
Nor did anyone else.
The day after they arrived, she joined a party heading to the gates. Nasuada was at the head, along with Brom, Jormunder, and Vanir. The Riders and dragons were there as well, and flanking them were the elven spellcasters.
They stopped before the gates and saw the guards at the top of the walls watching them fearfully, but they said nothing. Arya felt her discomfort grow significantly.
Saphira's lip suddenly curled. The dragons had all been able to smell the nameless one since they arrived, but they had not yet seen him. They knew Morzan was just behind the doors.
The blue dragoness roared, unleashing fury and challenge in her bellow that demanded the traitor's attention. Firnen and Thorn matched her, and their roars echoed across the land and the city beyond.
There was a moment of silence, and then the nameless one answered.
Arya's eyes narrowed at the sound of a bellow as deep as Glaedr's—perhaps even more so. The dragon sounded savage and enraged by the challenge, and it only prompted further snarling from Saphira, Thorn, and Firnen.
The gates made a grinding sound as they were pushed open.
The first thing she saw was a man dressed in full armor. He was tall and looked startlingly like Murtagh, but his eyes were bicolored blue and gray, and his smirk was cruel. He bore a black Rider's sword at his hip, and for each step he took, his armored boots clinked heavily with the sound of steel.
Arya glared at him. So this was Morzan.
Then her eyes fell on the gigantic dragon behind him.
It was red like Thorn, but instead of being the color of wine, this dragon was darker—the same shade as freshly spilled blood. It's bloodshot veins made its eyes look like they were fully red, with little whites visible. Where Thorn's claws and spikes were a snowy white, the nameless one scratched the ground with black thorns.
She felt madness and cruelty radiating from it, such that it almost made her sick. Here was a dragon that had chosen to betray its race for its own greed and desire, and it would gladly do so again despite the price it had paid for its first terrible transgression.
Morzan stopped some distance away and regarded the gathering. His eyes scanned the dragons and fixed greedily on Saphira for some time, prompting Firnen to hiss viciously. The Forsworn glanced at the green male and seemed amused.
Arya frowned. He wasn't surprised to see Firnen.
"Quite the welcoming party," Morzan purred. His voice was rich, yet wrong in a way that made her skin crawl. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You know why we are here," Nasuada answered, her eyes stern and dangerous.
"Do I? I rather think you don't know why you are here," he said cheerily. Morzan's gaze locked onto Murtagh for a few moments. "But we have much to discuss, so we will get to the matter at hand in time, I am sure. For now—will you surrender to me, my son? Or will you fight for these fools?"
"You are no father of mine," Murtagh retorted stiffly. "I would feed you to Thorn, but I do not want him to grow ill."
Thorn growled agreement and Arya saw Morzan's eyes flicker with annoyance. "Well, you'll see things my way soon enough. I suppose I should have expected as much. Rebellion flows in your blood, after all.
"As it does yours," Morzan turned next to Eragon, studying the younger man. "Eragon Shadeslayer—or Eragon Bromsson? Which would you prefer?"
"I would prefer to put your head on a spike."
"I imagine you would. The bastard son of a traitor and a coward," Morzan sneered. Brom and Eragon bristled, but kept their tempers under control. "Your mother was faithless and your father a weakling. Has he ever told you—"
"We are not here to listen to you prattle," Eragon growled. "The words of a dead man are inconsequential."
"On that, we may just agree," now the Forsworn smirked. "Someone is going to die today. But it will not be me."
He turned towards the gates and snapped his fingers. Two soldiers came from around the dragon, herding three people towards Morzan. Arya frowned at the sight; a man, a woman, and a small child. She glanced at the rest of their party and most seemed just as wary, but Arya froze when she saw Eragon, Murtagh, and Brom's faces turn bloodless.
Morzan made a gesture and the soldiers held the man and woman back. They shouted as the Forsworn stepped forth and seized the child—a little girl—by the wrist, then pulled her none too gently until she was standing in front of him with his hands on her shoulders.
"Do not," Eragon choked out, and Arya knew something was horribly wrong.
"I see some of you know who these people are," Morzan's smile was nothing but cruel joy. "For those of you who don't, allow me to introduce them to you. This is Roran Garrowson and Katrina Ismirasdaughter. They've been living in Aberon as my…guests for some years now."
He looked down at the child, helpless in his grasp. "And this is their daughter, Ismira. Isn't she a beautiful little thing? How wonderful for something so sweet to be born from a situation so unfavorable for her parents."
His hand slid from the girl's shoulder to her neck and Eragon took a step forward, eyes panicking. "Don't!"
Morzan stopped, holding Ismira's neck with false gentleness. The child was crying, grasping his hand, but unable to so much as move it. "Feeling more cooperative now, are we? It would be such a shame if something happened to your cousin, his wife, and their precious little girl, wouldn't it?"
"What," Murtagh's teeth were grit tight. "Do you want?"
"I want to kill him," Morzan's gaze fixed on Eragon and the light in his eyes was mad, such that it made Arya want to recoil. "I want to rip away anything and everything your father holds dear, boy. I want to see him break into a thousand pieces and then I want to listen to him babble in madness until his dying days."
The insane spark faded somewhat. "But unfortunately, you are too valuable for me to kill. Your dragon is the last female in existence. You are, for now, untouchable."
The Forsworn glanced back at the soldiers and gestured to Roran. "Arm him."
Arya suddenly knew what was coming and felt her blood go cold.
One of the soldiers pushed a hammer into Roran's hands, and the man stepped forward with a hateful glare at Morzan. The Forsworn lifted a hand to pat him on the shoulder as a friend would.
"I cannot kill you, but I can ruin you," Morzan purred. "You will kill your cousin, Eragon Bromsson."
"I will not—"
"Ah, ah, ah," Morzan held a finger up. "No interruptions. You will kill him or I will first feed his wife to my dragon. Then I will kill little Ismira here and feed her to him, as well. If that is your choice, Roran will go with you. But if you kill him, I will give you Katrina and Ismira. What do you think?"
"You're a twisted fuck," Eragon snarled, sharp teeth bared and dragon-eyes blazing.
"Is that a refusal?" Morzan's finger began to point to Katrina, but Eragon took another step forward and he stopped. The Forsworn smirked. "You accept?"
"We aren't here to play your games, Morzan!" Nasuada tried warningly.
"If that's the case, I'll just kill them all here and we can discuss your surrender," Morzan answered. "But I think your Riders will have something to say about that."
Eragon faced Roran, eyes wide to meet his cousin's desperate glare, and reached for his sword.
"Good," Morzan purred.
A/N: Goodness, all the tension in this chapter was even hard for ME to write XD
I would apologize, but I am not sorry in the slightest~
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!