Chapter Forty-One: Dragon Bites
The Varden was welcomed into the Surdan capital mere hours after the Riders flew to the castle.
They'd been left a spectacular mess to clean up. The families of the slaughtered aristocrats had to help identify and separate the bodies, which were then prepared for burials. The grisly task took some time, and with no small amount of mourning—Morzan had not given the aristocrats a gentle death.
It meant Roran's funeral was a private affair, with Murtagh helping Katrina, Brom, along with some men Nasuada had assigned to help them with the task. They buried Roran at the foot of a huge oak tree, and Murtagh used magic to create a simple headstone to mark it. He cast several enchantments upon it as well, to ensure it would not be disturbed.
Ismira cried all the while. Katrina's tears fell in silence, as did Brom and Murtagh's. Thorn was not present, but he remained in the back of Murtagh's mind as a quiet comfort.
The dragons were currently flying in a wide patrol around the immediate territories of Aberon, searching carefully for any signs of Morzan whilst also doing some hunting to fill their bellies. They'd found nothing of their enemy so far.
None of the civilians had seen or heard Morzan and his nameless dragon leave. When the Forsworn visited Aberon, as they told Murtagh, there was a strictly-enforced curfew, and none of them had been foolish enough to tempt his wrath.
That first day was long and difficult for everyone.
The next was only easier because there weren't corpses to clean up.
Murtagh stood in the Surdan throne room, now cleaned of blood and bodies. There was still a distinctive hole in the center of the throne itself where Morzan had stabbed King Orrin through, but now the seat was occupied by Orrin's son, Larkin II—named after his grandfather, Larkin.
The Boy-King was fifteen years old. His advisors were all retired old men and women who had left the aristocratic government in the hands of their now-dead children years ago.
At Murtagh's sides were Eragon and Arya. The dragons were waiting outside Borromeo Castle, as they could not fit through the entrance hall for their great size. Nasuada stood before the Boy-King, with Brom and Vanir flanking her.
The boy had been coronated just earlier this morning. Now they had to pick up the pieces of his country.
"King Larkin," Nasuada began. "Please allow me to express my condolences for the death of your father."
"Just Larkin, Lady Nasuada," the boy replied, sighing. "Father always told me you and your father, Ajihad, were great allies of our people. You are the Leader of the Varden, and I do not think either of us share the illusion that I am more experienced in the ways of politics than you. My studies are far from complete."
Some of his advisors didn't look thrilled by that statement, but they said nothing. The past two days had been grim and miserable, and stating the obvious wasn't going to do any more damage than had been done already.
"Larkin then, but I would not have you lessen yourself before your subjects in such a way," Nasuada warned him. "I know how difficult it is for responsibility to be suddenly thrust upon you, but you cannot afford to be weak in such a time. Your people need you."
"I know this well. Forgive me," Larkin closed his eyes, breathed, and seemed to steady himself.
"Now. There is much to do and we have much to speak of," Larkin continued. "I imagine you need to know what Morzan has been up to these past few years?"
"Anything you know might help us figure out what he plans to do in the future," Eragon spoke up, gaining the child's attention.
"Eragon, correct? The Shadeslayer," the King studied him curiously. "I had heard you were human."
"It's a long story, your Majesty. Perhaps one day, I will tell you that particular tale. But know this—I was no older than you are now when my dragon hatched for me. If that is of some comfort to you, I hope it might bring you strength."
Larkin blinked at him in surprise, and straightened in his throne. Murtagh relaxed at the sight; perhaps the child had a spine, after all. "I think I will take you up on that. But as you said, that is for another time. Morzan's visits were infrequent over the years, but when he did come to Aberon, he stayed for some months.
"He ensured my father and the rest of our government were doing nothing to aid the Varden, and kept us isolated. Anyone he found guilty of such 'treason' was executed and made an example of. When he was not present, he left a number of magicians here to keep us controlled."
"Where are these magicians now?"
"I do not know," Larkin frowned. "They disappeared with him in the night. No one has seen them since—not that any of us would recognize them. They used a spell to conceal their faces wherever they went. Looking upon them, one would see only shadows."
The boy tapped his fingers on the throne's armrest. "I myself was kept as far from Morzan as possible. My father did not want me to get too close to him, for he could be unpredictable and dangerous—especially when he was drunk. He once threw his sword at a man simply crossing the streets and killed him on the spot. When he was not investigating our government for treason, frightening the aristocrats, or drinking, he occasionally spent some time at the pleasure houses in the city, or so I was told."
Larkin pressed his lips. "He had a…brutal way of ensuring he never fathered any bastards. It was not uncommon to find a woman dead after nights he ventured into the city."
Murtagh felt revulsion swell in his gut. A glance at Eragon was all he needed to see the rage blazing in his dragon-eyes, and the entire court seemed to shift uncomfortably.
"Morzan is a brutal and terrible man," Nasuada responded slowly. "As I'm sure you've already noticed, Larkin. I am relieved he did not seek you out after what he did."
"Oh, he tried to find me," Larkin corrected her. Nasuada blinked in surprise and the boy suddenly squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds. They waited curiously for several moments, and then Murtagh spotted a large, fluffy cat walk into the throne room from one of the halls to the side.
Eragon's rage faded and was replaced with relief. "Solembum!"
The werecat walked over to Larkin's feet and sat by the boy, smirking with sharp teeth at the Riders. It has been far too long, Eragon.
"That it has," he agreed.
Larkin seemed surprised. "You know him?"
"Solembum is an old friend," Eragon answered. The advisors looked rather confused at the silent conversation going between their King, the Rider, and the werecat. "This might be easier if you change."
Agreed, Solembum reared up and shifted into his boy-form quickly, shaking his hair. The aristocrats let out startled cries, but Larkin held up a hand for them to relax. He seemed amused by the werecat.
"Let me formally introduce you all to my savior," Larkin glanced at his advisors. "This is Solembum, the werecat. It was only with his help that I escaped Morzan's massacre at all."
"Mm," Solembum hummed. "I witnessed the events that took place when the Varden met Morzan outside the walls of Aberon. I learned of his intentions to slaughter the government when he fled Surda some time ago. But I had little time to act, and there was no way to save the majority of the aristocrats he preyed upon. I managed to get into the castle and snuck Larkin out while Morzan was…otherwise occupied. We just had to hide for a few hours before he decided to give it up as a lost cause and left."
"Then we owe you a great debt," Nasuada smiled at the werecat. "Without Larkin, we would be far worse off."
"Catch me some fat fish," Solembum purred. "And provide me with a bowl of cream. That will satisfy me."
Murtagh smirked. Some things never changed.
"Angela is here as well, then?" Eragon asked.
"She is. We've been hiding in Aberon for much of the past few years," he confirmed. "I will tell you more of that later. For now—you still have a government to rebuild, do you not? I believe Larkin has told you all he can of Morzan's activities here, save one: he showed a rather odd amount of interest in the city of Dauth. There had only been whispers of his visits there before, and nothing unusually suspicious, but there has been no word from the city for some weeks now."
Murtagh exchanged a glance with Eragon. His younger brother stepped forward. "Saphira and I will travel there with some of the elves to check on it."
"Firnen and I will go with you, as well," Arya said.
Nasuada nodded and Larkin dipped his head to the Riders. "I appreciate your assistance in this matter. When will you leave?"
"In the morning. There is no need to put it off any longer than necessary."
"I will have a missive written for you to deliver to the Lady of Dauth when you arrive. I have to send a number of them out to the other cities in my lands, but this will allow word of our current situation to be delivered to the far side of the country sooner than later."
"As you wish."
"Your Majesty," Murtagh spoke up. "If I may—I would ask you what you wish of our dragons for the time being. Your people have been tormented by Morzan's beast, and we do not wish to subject them to more fear if it can be avoided. Would you have us ask the dragons to remain outside of Aberon's gates?"
Larkin pressed his lips and drummed his fingers on the throne. "That is a concern…can you swear to me they will bring no harm to my people?"
"We can," Arya agreed. "Morzan's dragon is a twisted monster with little of its mind left to it, but true dragons are kind and wise creatures."
"I can vouch for them as well, Larkin," Solembum said, glancing at the Boy-King. "I have spent time around these particular dragons. They have good hearts."
That seemed to reassure Larkin more than anything. "I will make an announcement to the people regarding your dragons. It will take time, I imagine, for their trust to be built, but I will not banish your partners outside of my city."
The Riders dipped their heads as one. "We appreciate that, your Majesty."
Larkin looks amongst his advisors. "If those are the most pressing concerns we have for now, I believe we should move this conversation to the council chamber. We will have much more to speak of, and there is no need for all of you to be standing for the next several hours."
"Your Majesty," one of his advisors, an old man at Larkin's left side, made himself known. "There is also the matter of your succession…we will likely have to find a wife for you soon. The people will be more at ease when the royal family has regained some of its stability."
The Boy-King raised an eyebrow. "That matter can wait for the council chambers, I believe."
"Your Majesty, you should at least propose the idea of marriage to Lady Nasuada. She is one of our greatest allies and is unmarried, as you are. Such a union would only strengthen our alliance with the Varden."
Murtagh stiffened and he glanced at Nasuada, who did not react to the advisor's statement save the slightest tension to her frame, unnoticeable to any who did not know her as well as he did.
Larkin stared at his advisor. "I appreciate your advisement, Lord Dustin, but this is not a matter that should be decided on a whim. We have been dealt a heavy blow, but acting in haste will only serve our enemies to the north. We will table the matter for later. Am I understood?"
Dustin didn't seem pleased with that, but he bowed his head. Good—the boy was establishing himself, even if the subject was one that formed a pit in Murtagh's belly.
"In that case, let us move to the council chambers," Larkin announced. "I will have food and drink brought to us. We will be there for some time."
"I will have to depart for now, Larkin," Solembum told the Boy-King. "I must speak with the Riders in confidence elsewhere. I shall see you again later in the day."
"You have the freedom to wander the castle as you so wish, my friend," Larkin smiled at the werecat. "I'll have that bowl of cream prepared for you whenever you want it."
That pleased Solembum, who leapt forward and shifted into his cat form, then padded to the Riders. He glanced up at Eragon, then at Murtagh. Come. Let us make haste.
The Riders dipped their heads to Larkin, then turned and followed the werecat out of the castle. Murtagh glanced over his shoulder at Nasuada and Brom just briefly before they left with Larkin, and he locked eyes with the Leader of the Varden. Her gaze told him all the things she couldn't say then, and said they would speak later.
It was enough for now.
Solembum led them to a small house in the depths of the city, such that the streets were too narrow for dragons. Saphira and the others opted to bask in the city square, staying close together and remaining passive so as to not alarm the civilians, who were still very wary of their race. Until Larkin made his announcement, Eragon imagined they would not venture anywhere near the dragons—in fact, even afterwards, it would take some time for the people to trust the partners of the Riders.
As soon as they reached the house, the door opened up, and there was Angela the herbalist.
"Ah, it's about time!" She exclaimed, ushering them in. "I wondered how long it would be before you found your way to my residence."
The Riders stepped in after Solembum and Angela took a second to hug Eragon, then Murtagh. They were briefly surprised, but returned the gestures gladly.
Angela stepped away from the brothers and faced the third Rider. "And this will be Arya."
"Yes," she confirmed. "Eragon has told me a bit about you."
"What, not my whole life story? For shame, Eragon!" Angela threw a smirk at the young Rider, then looked back at Arya. "Quick question: do I refer to you as Drottningu, or would you rather I keep that a secret?"
Arya stiffened and shot a look at Eragon, who lifted his hands and spoke in the Ancient Language. "I have never told anyone of your status, just as you asked of me."
"Yes, don't be irritated with him," the witch chuckled. "Forgive my broaching of the subject; you look startlingly like your mother."
Murtagh stared at her in surprised. "You know the Queen?"
"I was acquainted with the Queen a few times many years ago," she corrected. "Islanzadi Drottning is a very difficult person to forget."
Arya watched Angela warily. "You are not what you seem."
"Few things are, if one knows how to look deeper," the witch agreed mysteriously. She studied Arya in-turn. "Hmm. You look like your mother, but your bearing is that of your father. Evandar Konungr was always more…up front than his mate."
That drew Arya's brow into a deep furrow. Angela continued to study the elven Princess for a few moments more. "But that conversation can wait, I think. I will keep your position a secret, if that is your wish."
"It is."
"Then that's that! Now, I would ask how you've all been doing these past few years," Angela set her hands on her hips and faced Eragon. "Look at you! All grown up. Where did that lanky, reckless teenager who wandered into my shop at Tierm go?"
Eragon smirked in amusement. "He's not gone entirely, I think."
"Good! Life gets boring when you forget your youth. Hold onto that."
She looked at Murtagh next and here she grinned. "This one has grown up as well, I daresay. Dangerously handsome, I must say. Have you stayed out of trouble?"
Murtagh rolled his eyes. "Did you ever find out if toads are frogs?"
"As a matter of fact, I did! As it so happens, all toads are frogs, but not all frogs are toads. Therefore, toads don't really exist! Evil witches will despair when the truth reaches their ears, for there are no toads for their dark magic!"
"I'm relieved to see you haven't changed a bit," he snorted.
"Perish the thought!" Angela waved her hand. "How are your dragons?"
"Doing well. There's a lot to tell," Eragon admitted. "You might want to make yourself comfortable."
"If I'm getting the whole story, then I'll be happy to do just that. But before we venture down that road," the witch's humor gave way to something graver. "Morzan played his nasty game, didn't he? It's the only way you could be here now."
Eragon's happiness faded and his expression dropped. "You knew?"
"I knew."
"Why didn't you—"
She held a hand up at the oncoming question, halting Eragon in his tracks. "I would have intervened if I could. But it was a gamble I could not take—there was another life already hanging in the balance when we discovered his plan."
Angela's mouth curved up into a gentle smile. "You remember why I came here, don't you?"
Eragon's breath caught in his chest. "Angela."
"Come," she led them to the back of the room and around a corner into a hall, where she opened a door. Eragon stopped before he entered the doorway and looked back at Murtagh, eyes wide and barely daring to hope. Murtagh just swallowed and reached up to squeeze the shoulder of his younger brother.
With a breath, he took those last few steps and looked into the room.
A woman with dark hair lay in a bed on the far side of the room, slumbering under blankets to keep her warm. A chair was at her bedside, along with a number of Angela's potion-making instruments.
Eragon didn't have words. His eyes stung as he stepped into the room and stared at the woman who could only be his mother. Murtagh followed and made a quiet, strangled gasp.
Angela stepped around them as Solembum ran into the room and leapt onto the bed, curling up close to Selena. Arya walked in behind them all, looking uncertain of her welcome.
"Selena was not easy to find," Angela admitted. "Even for Solembum and I. She had plans to investigate Morzan's presence here and by the time we'd caught up with her, she was already trying to steal information in the castle. Unfortunately, she triggered a ward that cast her into a deep sleep. It was luck that saw Solembum and I were close to her when she collapsed just outside the castle walls—we spirited her here, and I've kept her alive for the past five months."
Eragon's gaze jerked up to the herbalist. "Why haven't you—"
"—Morzan's spells are strong, Eragon," she reminded him. "Are you aware of the dragon's hearts?"
They all stiffened. Angela knew of the Eldunari.
Their reaction was all she needed to see to continue speaking. "Morzan keeps several of the Hearts on his person at all times. Hidden, most often, but they are there, nonetheless. They empower his spells dramatically. I have been able to keep Selena alive, but I did not have the strength to remove the curse. For that, I need your help. You and your dragons will be strong enough for this task."
Arya pursed her lips. "You have much explaining to do."
"I will explain what I can when I don't have to spend every few hours tending to Selena just to keep her alive. I have drained much of my energy reserves over these past few months to keep going, and this will not last indefinitely."
Eragon nodded. "Tell us what to do."
Angela went into an explanation of the ward Selena had triggered, and how she'd kept it at bay. Then she told them the wording to lift the spell itself. It was complicated and lethal for anyone who wasn't expecting it—Selena had very nearly been killed for her thievery.
She had gotten lucky.
The dragons joined their strength to their Riders, even with the distance separating them, and the three of them fused their magic together to test the curse. It was strong—Angela had been fighting it off and steadily weakened it by doing so, but it was so powerful that it took their combined strength to remove the damned thing.
By the time the task was done, Eragon, Murtagh, and Arya were panting and drenched in sweat. Angela quickly brought them food and drink, which they gratefully accepted.
While the Riders recovered, Angela set a hand on Selena's forehead and murmured a few incantations in the Ancient Language. After some minutes, she finally let out a sigh of relief.
"She's free of it. She's just sleeping now—it will take some time for her body to regain it's full strength. I think it likely she will wake tomorrow or the day afterwards."
Eragon swallowed another gulp of water and looked up at Angela. "Thank you. Gods, thank you so much—"
The witch lay a finger over the Rider's lips, smiling at him with gentle amusement. "You're welcome, Eragon. Now breathe before you pass out."
He nodded and did as he was told.
Angela brought in chairs for all of them, then sat down herself at the one closest to Selena. "Now…I'd like to hear that story you mentioned. You've been busy while we were out here getting up to no good underneath Morzan's nose. Worry not about secrecy—I've buried this house in more wards than I care to count. Feel free to check them yourself."
Arya took her up on that offer, though she still looked somewhat distrustful of the mysterious herbalist. Angela caught the uncertainty in the elf's eyes and tilted her head somewhat. "I'll level with you; tell me your tale and I will share some of mine. Like you, there are many secrets I cannot share, but I will give you some of my history with the Dragon Riders of old. Will that suffice?"
Arya slowly nodded. Angela glanced then at Eragon. The young man regained his breath, steadied himself, and launched into the story of what they'd done since leaving Farthen Dur.
They omitted Oromis and Glaedr, though when they mentioned their "teachers" Angela got a knowing glint in her eyes. That look was replaced with shock when Eragon trusted the witch with the tale of how they retrieved Opheila's Eldunari and Illgra's egg from Ristvak'baen.
"Opheila is alive?" Angela whispered.
"Her Heart-of-Hearts only, but—yes. You know her?"
The witch covered her mouth for a moment and Eragon thought he briefly saw the shine of tears in her eyes, which startled him; it was the first time he'd seen such an emotion on Angela's face. "I knew her long ago. And her Rider…"
Angela trailed off and they could see an old longing and grief in the witch's eyes. She took a moment to compose herself and then looked back at Eragon. "Forgive me. Please, continue."
He did as she requested. Angela brightened when she heard Saphira had lain two eggs, and she was visibly surprised when she learned of how the Rider's pact was altered. To discover that Illgra's egg had hatched for Garzhvog—that got a laugh out of her.
"Oh, how I wish to see the look on Morzan's face when he witnesses that," she cackled.
Eragon skipped over much of their training, but he told her a few things—certain trips they'd taken that were not overly important as far as secrets went, as well as the going-ons of the past few months. Garzhvog's victory of Kulkarvek, Hunihr's attack, and most recently, Saphira and Firnen becoming mates. Murtagh occasionally interjected with a comment here and there, though Arya said nothing.
He didn't speak of his battle with Roran. That grief was too fresh and hurt deep in his heart. Angela was smart enough to put the pieces together.
She processed everything and after a while, the witch clasped her hands together. "My, my, my, you have been busy. Sometimes it startles me, how much can get done in such a short time when I have lived for so long. This last century in Alagaesia has been so quiet by comparison."
Angela suddenly screwed up her face. "Ugh, I sound like those boring elves who want for nothing but to live 'neath their trees to the end of time. I need to get up to trouble more often, I think. That will not do."
Solembum purred in amusement at the antics of his companion. Angela shot him a short glare, though there was no heat in her eyes. Whatever the werecat had said to her had been taken in good humor.
"Now, you've told me quite the tale," she said. "I owe you a few answers, I think."
Angela paused then, considering where to start. "I cannot tell you everything, as I stated before. Just as you have your oaths, I have mine. Not that that stopped your predecessors."
Murtagh frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The Riders of old—especially the Elders, those ancient coots—knew of my presence in Alagaesia. I wasn't a threat to them, but they were aware I possessed knowledge on magic that had eluded them for eons. They never threatened me—Vrael was kind enough to ensure it never came to that. Instead, they tried all manner of…diplomacy to convince me to give up my secrets. I was harried endlessly on Vroengard if they discovered me on one of my visits."
"You've been on Vroengard?" Eragon exclaimed. Even Arya looked more curious than wary now.
"I spent a lot of time on Vroengard in the two hundred years before the Riders fell," she confessed softly. That old longing returned to Angela's eyes, but it was joined with the warmth of good memories. "Assuming the Elders hadn't figured out I was sneaking about the city, I spent much of my time with Opheila's Rider, Andume."
She stood up and walked over to a table on the side of the wall. She reached for a small compartment in the side of the furniture and pulled out a slate—a fairth. Angela looked at it for a few moments before handing the fairth to Eragon, and he blinked at the image inscribed upon it.
The viewer was looking through an open window into the second story of a house, or so it seemed: from the angle, he wondered if it had been viewed through Opheila's eyes. Inside of the room—which was lit by candles in the dark of the setting sun—and upon the bed, two people were huddled beneath the sheets. The one laying behind the person closest to the window was clearly Angela, who was leaning over a scarlet-haired elf-woman and pressing a kiss below her pointed ear. Both of them looked sleepy, but had soft smiles upon their faces, and Eragon knew the emotion in their eyes well.
"You loved her," he whispered.
"She was my mate," Angela said, smiling fondly. "Andume and I were lovers for over two hundred years. She smuggled me onto Vroengard more times than I can count. Vrael overlooked that rather often. It's how I got away with staying there for so long."
Eragon had to take a minute to process the information. "I don't really know what to say."
"You have shared some of your secrets with me," Angela murmured. "You have earned a few of mine, I think. But keep them as you keep yours. Do not tell others of my love with Andume. I would not give the more…prickly residents of Du Weldenvarden another needle to poke me with for eternity."
"Of course," he agreed. The other Riders murmured the same promise.
"Now," Angela took the fairth back and returned the picture to its resting place. "As you've already figured out, I am far older than I appear. I'm certainly older than all of you by a fair margin, that's for sure. But my life has been one of secrets and shadows. I do not have the power of elves or Riders, but I have knowledge. It is why I have lived such a secretive life, for that knowledge in the wrong hands would be indescribably dangerous.
"My predecessor, Tenga, first learned of the magics I know, and he taught me long ago. But he was not of his right mind—I figured that out quickly. I learned under him for many years, but eventually he grew too unstable and insane to be trusted with the power he wielded. I was forced to kill him."
She fell silent for a few moments. "Since then, I have wandered through the centuries. Where I lived amongst mortals, they lived and died quickly throughout the decades, and none would recognize me when I chose to return to a city I had once resided in. But the immortals—the elves and the Riders—who had seen me before realized over time that I was not the simple herbalist they first assumed me to be. I got on their radar and though they never viewed me as a danger, I was an oddity nonetheless. I chose my living places more carefully after those particular encounters.
"I met Andume and we fell in love after some years," Angela's mouth quirked up into a smile. "She and Opheila met me in Ceunon when first we encountered one another, and some time after she left…much to my surprise, she came back. I admit, I was wary at first—I assumed this was an odd attempt by the Elders to get my knowledge, but Andume was nothing like them. She was fiery and mischievous, unique for an elf. Granted, that's not such a big surprise. She grew up on Vroengard instead of Du Weldenvarden. Her upbringing was rather different compared to the forest elves.
"We shared no small amount of wit and laughter. We drank and danced together on countless nights. Before I knew it, I lost myself to her."
Angela fell silent. "Then came the Fall of the Riders. Andume was gone and Opheila with her, as far as I knew. I mourned my fallen mate, and did the only thing I could; I kept going. This past century, I've been mostly passive, but meeting Solembum has kept my life interesting. Only these latest years, after Eragon wandered into my shop, have I started to wander with purpose once again."
They fell into silence for a short time. Arya finally spoke. "For all your knowledge, it took you some time to find Selena."
It wasn't an insult—just a statement of surprise, for Arya realized that the witch was far more skilled than she'd initially believed. Angela pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "This woman was not the Black Hand for nothing. Selena's creativity with magic is rivaled only by a select few people I've known over the centuries. She is not as powerful as an elf, but she is intelligent and crafty, and more elusive than you can imagine. If you ever see her in action, you'll understand what I mean."
Arya nodded. She seemed to trust Angela more after hearing what she had. Eragon was pleased by that—he really wouldn't have wanted to see the elf at odds with the witch.
That was asking for trouble.
"So then," Angela looked back up at them. "You said you would be flying to Dauth soon?"
"Yes. They've been too quiet lately according to King Larkin," Eragon answered. "Arya and I will take two of the elven spellcasters with us and fly there."
"Well, that seems unnecessary. Bring one elf, and I will come along," she suggested. "You'll have a stronger defense here to support Murtagh should things go south, and I will be able to put my rather extensive skillset to use on your little trip. I need to get out of Aberon, as well, if only for my own sanity."
Eragon exchanged a glance with Arya, who pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "I see no reason to refuse such an offer. We could bring her and Blodgharm."
"That seems reasonable," he agreed. "We'll leave Yaela in charge, then."
"Excellent! In which case, Murtagh and Brom have the house," Angela declared. "I'm sure Solembum will wander as he pleases. It will likely be more comfortable for Selena to awaken with her family close by, as well."
Eragon felt a little saddened by that—he wanted to be present when his mother woke up, but he had his own duties to perform. He could not shirk them.
He closed his eyes and pushed that thought away. There would be time enough to see his mother when he returned.
Arya seemed to sense he needed a second to re-prioritize his thoughts and spoke in his stead. "We will leave in the morning, at first light. I assume you know how to ride with a Dragon Rider?"
"In more ways than one, my dear," Angela grinned mischievously, waggling her eyebrows. Arya stared at her and Eragon was convinced she was questioning their decision to bring the witch along with them.
He found that rather amusing.
The wind blew past Arya's face as Firnen flew at a steady pace to the west, trailing to the right and a little behind Saphira.
They'd caught a favorable air current and were making good time thus far. It wouldn't take long to reach Dauth—a few days, perhaps. They'd be back at Aberon within the week, she expected, unless unforeseen complications slowed their progress.
Whose idea was it to put me behind you, again?
The urge to sigh was growing increasingly harder to resist. Firnen's amusement was roiling off of him in waves, to her slight irritation.
Angela was behind her and the elf knew her reasoning for this particular comment was due to the fact that Arya's long, black hair was undoubtedly flying into her face. In hindsight, the witch should have thought of that earlier.
Yours.
Hmm. Must be force of habit.
How do you deduce that? Firnen asked.
Whenever I flew with Andume, I was always behind her. She liked to cut her hair shorter than most women, so it was never an issue.
Perhaps when next we fly, I will put you behind Eragon to solve that problem, Arya said.
You would subject Blodgharm to this punishment?
He is covered in fur. He will survive.
Angela laughed behind her and Firnen let out a chuckling growl. At least someone found the witch to be amusing.
You are the only one who does not, Firnen pointed out privately.
She is…taking some getting used to, Arya admitted. It is not that I think ill of her. But she is certainly an oddity.
True, Firnen agreed. But she is very interesting. She knew the Riders of old and the elves before the Fall. Why don't you ask her something about them?
Like what?
Firnen thought about that for some time before providing a suggestion. When Arya heard it, she had to admit, she was curious…but also hesitant.
Try, he encouraged.
Arya bit her lip, hesitating for a few minutes, then took the chance.
Angela, she thought.
Yes?
You met Evandar Konungr before, did you not?
You can call him your father, you know, Angela told her gently. There is no need to stand on such ceremony for family. But yes, I met him a few times. The most memorable by far was when I visited Illirea once with Andume, before we flew to Vroengard on one of our escapades.
Evandar was visiting the city to meet with the King of Illirea. Some diplomatic trip, I'm sure. When his duties were concluded for the day, it was not uncommon for him to wander about the city—he loved to walk amongst the people, for Illirea was a city that housed humans, elves, and dragons in the old days.
Without variation, his wanderings would always bring him to a square on the southern end of the city. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon and stars filled the sky, Evandar would sit on a bench beneath an old pine tree…and he would sing.
Arya blinked into the wind. Sing?
Yes. He was very fond of singing, Angela said. And he was quite good at it, I must say. It was something of an unspoken tradition amongst the Illireans who knew of Evandar's little excursions. Civilians would gather round when the Elf King visited their city, and the Dragon Riders present in Illirea would fly from their homes to join him.
Andume took me to one of those gatherings. Evandar sang for hours, such that I wondered how he could continue to speak afterwards. Your mother was with him for that visit to the city. They danced together 'neath the old pine tree, and he sang for her all the while.
Arya contemplated that for a long while in silence. Her mother had never told her about that. She knew that Evandar had meant the world to Islanzadi, and that his death had caused her immense grief. She rarely spoke of her deceased mate, and for many years, Arya had felt like that was something she'd lost in her life—not just that her father was killed when she was so young, but that she did not hear of him much afterwards.
Angela seemed to sense the elven Rider become solemn and poked Arya in the side hard enough to make her jump. She whipped her head around and glared at the witch, who grinned at her.
I think we are due some laughter at the end of this day, she proclaimed. Her eyes trailed to their right, towards the blue dragon flying not far away. We could all use it, I imagine.
Arya frowned and followed the witch's gaze. She knew the woman was looking at Eragon, and she knew why; although he appeared to be in better spirits, Arya knew it was a front. Eragon had thrown himself into his work to conceal his grief and anger, but it was certainly not gone.
Firnen concurred with the witch in the privacy of his bond with Arya. She speaks wisely. We should take the evening to lighten our hearts some.
We're working.
We will not be working before we retire for the night, my dear.
Arya did not say it out loud, but she had to admit they were right.
That evening, when the stars came out and blanketed the skies above them, Arya sat around a fire with Eragon, Angela, and Blodgharm. Saphira and Firnen were somewhere not far away—they'd desired to spend some time alone together while their Riders and companions enjoyed themselves.
Angela pulled out a bottle of some kind of liqour from her bags and they passed it around, drinking as the herbalist told bizarre stories that somehow became far funnier than they should have been when she finished each one. Arya didn't really understand how they could be as funny as they were, but she quickly found her lips tugging up into a smile while Eragon laughed and Blodgharm snickered.
Some of the stories were gaudy and overly dramatic, and the characters involved ranged all over the spectrum; humans, elves, dwarves, dragons, and Urgals. She even included a few stories about werecats, and those were some of the funniest ones. Angela seemed to have quite the history with the mysterious race of shape-shifters.
At some point in the night, Arya felt a familiar heat pulse from Firnen that made her breath catch. To her right, Eragon gasped and had to breathe deeply for a few seconds.
Angela blinked at them and suddenly grinned with pure devilry in her eyes. "Dragon Bites!"
Arya stared at her in complete confusion. "What?"
"We're playing a game!" The witch cackled. "Your dragons are mating right now, aren't they?"
Eragon's face was a distinct shade of red, even in the fire, as he struggled to push Saphira's emotions away—the inebriation from the liquor wasn't making it any easier. They weren't drunk, just floaty.
"So?" Eragon muttered.
"Oh, this is going to be fun," Angela snickered. She looked from Eragon to Arya and considered each of them for a few seconds before finally pointing at Eragon.
"You're definitely a biter."
"I beg your pardon?"
Ignoring his astounded stare, she looked at Arya with pursed lips. "I can't tell with you yet. We'll just play with Eragon for now. The rules are simple: Arya, Blodgharm, and I will take a drink one at a time. After we drink, we try to break Eragon's concentration. If he doesn't bite, we move on to the next person. If he bites and misses, you win that round and he drinks. If he bites you, he wins the round and we all drink."
Blodgharm was already laughing, but Arya was utterly bewildered. "I'm sorry, what sort of game is this?"
"It was a guilty pleasure of the younger Riders on Vroengard," the Blood Wolf answered, much to her surprise. "We'll tell you more another time. There's only so much time before the game ends—that is, when your dragons are done with their, ah…activities."
"This seems ill-advised," Arya said immediately.
"Best kind of fun there is!" Angela disagreed cheerfully. "We're playing, no arguments!"
To add fuel to the fire, Blodgharm quickly reached into his own traveling bags and extracted a bottle of Faelnirv. "We'll drink this."
This was such a bad idea.
Angela and Blodgharm both moved so they were sitting closer to Eragon, and Arya sighed in exasperation before she did the same. The young Rider looked terribly perplexed by his friends sitting around him in a semi-circle, close enough to reach out and touch them.
"I'll go first," Angela announced, grabbing the bottle of Faelnirv and taking a swig. She then reached up and quickly pinched one of Eragon's cheeks hard enough to make him yelp.
"Hey!"
She passed the bottle to Blodgharm, who also took a drink. The Blood Wolf tweaked the end of one of Eragon's pointed ears, earning a glare of growing irritation.
The Faelnirv was passed to Arya. She hesitantly took a drink against her better judgement—smaller than her companions, though—and reached up slowly, frowning. "How am I supposed to do this?"
"Just do something that might make it easier for Eragon to lose all that tight control he needs to keep Saphira's emotions from getting the better of him," Angela advised, snickering.
Eragon wasn't really glaring at her, but there was heat in his dragon eyes that was strangely thrilling. Arya considered her options before prodding his neck, causing him to jerk back, but he didn't react beyond that.
"Why am I going through this again?" Eragon demanded.
"To amuse us," Angela grinned. She took the Faelnirv from Arya, had another drink, and then reached up to tousle the young Rider's hair roughly. Eragon swatted her hand away, causing her to laugh, and she passed the bottle on.
This went on for two more rounds, and the Faelnirv was starting to actually affect Arya's judgement. The warm, fluttering feeling was getting a bit heavier than she preferred, but she didn't stop. Eragon was getting more and more aggravated, and the dragons were still a steady, hot presence in the back of her mind.
She poked Eragon's cheek, smirking at the annoyance on his face, and passed the bottle to Angela. The herbalist reached up and a low snarl built in Eragon's throat. Angela's hand stilled and she grinned at the dangerous sound.
"Careful now," the witch giggled. "He's almost there."
Her finger waggled in front of Eragon's eyes and he followed the motion like a cat watches a bird. It moved closer and his lip curled until the razor-sharp teeth were exposed and the snarl built until a full-on growl.
Arya's blood set itself afire at the sound. She and Blodgharm watched Angela test Eragon's patience for several long seconds until the witch darted forward and tapped his nose.
Eragon snapped at her finger, but he missed. Angela laughed and thrust the bottle of Faelnirv into the Rider's hands. "Missed! Drink!"
The growl faded somewhat, but was still present even as he took a quick swig of the Faelnirv. He had the lowest tolerance of them all, and just that drink of elven liquor seemed to sway him somewhat before long given that he was already a little floaty from earlier.
Angela had won that round, but now it was Blodgharm's turn again. The Blood Wolf took the Faelnirv and drank, then tested his luck. His fingers rose and once more, the deep, threatening growl built up in Eragon's throat until it seemed to vibrate through his entire being.
Blodgharm's hand slowly eased closer to the Rider's face and the tension built up palpably. He started to move faster when Eragon struck.
Quick as a snake, he lunged forward and bit into Blodgharm's fur-covered fingers with the snap of breaking bones. The elf yelped and yanked his hand out of Eragon's mouth, swearing as he cast a healing spell. Angela cackled until she couldn't breathe, and when Eragon reached up to get the silver-blue fur off of his tongue, Arya almost fell backwards for her peals of laughter.
"Dragon Bite!" Angela gasped out, slapping Blodgharm's leg in her merriment, much to the elf's chagrin. "Everyone drinks!"
Eragon looked utterly unapologetic about the broken fingers and probably deep lacerations he'd left in the elf's fingers. Blodgharm was wincing, but he healed the minor injury despite the influence of alcohol. When he was done, he took a drink and passed the bottle to Angela, and then Arya—as Eragon had won that round, they all had to drink.
Arya was still giggling when her turn came around again. She set the Faelnirv to the side and leaned heavily on one arm as she considered Eragon, who was watching her with a scowl. Oh, he was so irritated. Maybe getting Blodgharm back had alleviated some of his annoyance, but they'd been poking and prodding at him for a while—he still had a lot of steam to let off.
The dragons were still mating in the back of her mind. Weren't they? Ah, what did it matter?
This was fun. Teasing Eragon was fun.
She reached up with her left hand almost languidly, and watched with growing trepidation as Eragon's eyes fixed on her fingers. The draconic growl built up in his throat once again. Arya blinked, considering where to poke at him, and decided to place her index finger upon his lips.
She laid her finger over his mouth, as if telling him to be quiet, and Eragon's eyes narrowed. Slowly, Arya slid her finger down until the pad of her fingertip was pressed to the softness of his lips. She tilted her head curiously and slid her finger lazily across them, feeling them from top to bottom.
She looked up at him and realized he wasn't watching her hand anymore. He was watching her.
Blazing brown eyes danced in the firelight, intense and steady despite his intoxication. She stared back, unwilling to back down, and kept her finger upon his lips. She could feel the way he was still growling, but it was quieter now—a low, deep sound that travelled from his throat to her finger and through every cell of her body, making her shiver.
The air was sparking with tension. Arya's tongue darted out to wet her suddenly dry lips, and Eragon's eyes flashed with something she wanted to see again immediately.
What are you doing?
All of them stopped and looked up, blinking at the sight of Saphira and Firnen staring down at them with priceless confusion upon their faces.
Angela held a hand up and waved at them cheerfully. "Drinking!"
Saphira studied the herbalist dryly, then eyed the other three. You've had more than enough to drink, I think.
I concur, Firnen hadn't torn his gaze from his Rider and Saphira's, who were looking back at him despite Arya's finger still pressed against Eragon's lips.
Arya blinked at him. "What?"
You're more drunk than I thought. I wondered why our connection was growing so dull.
She frowned. "I am not drunk."
As you say, my dear, Firnen humored her. Now come—we must rest for the night.
With his head, he gently pushed himself between them and herded Arya away from the fire to his side when the dragon settled down for the night. She wanted to argue for a moment; the game was still going, right? Her turn hadn't ended.
But then her head spun a little too violently and she groaned. Maybe Firnen was right…
Her dragon draped his wing over her and she could vaguely hear Saphira shuffling somewhere nearby. Sleep, Arya. You're in for a rough morning.
Arya thought that was a good idea. She closed her eyes, rolled onto her side, and curled up in the grass before she fell asleep.
A/N: A little more lighthearted than the previous chapter, huh? I think we were all due a little humor and some sparks.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!
