Chapter VI: Convalescence
It took Ilia a month before she returned to Eragon. For the first week she sulked; she was a dog licking its wounds after a fight. She barely ate but it was Narqa who had been the one to ensure that she was eating. The urgal woman was one of very few who had been chosen of her kind, and Ilia knew that it must be difficult for her. She didn't say much, but Ilia could see that she was constantly on edge and often didn't engage with large groups of people. From what she heard Narqa and her dragon Elen were being trained by Ailara and Brin, and they were doing very well.
During the second week, Ilia came out of her room and began to speak to Narqa. She learned that the urgal had been from a poor but proud tribe, and that her father, a Kull, had fought hard for her to have the opportunity to pass before the dragon's egg. Apparently the eggs had been in their region for months before she was allowed to even look at it, and it was only when she bravely slipped through the crowd of her own accord that she was able to touch it. The rest, of course, was history because the dragon had obviously chosen her.
Ilia did not share any of her troubles with the urgal for a number of reasons, the least of which being that it had been a group of stray urgals that had weakened her father's defenses. For some reason she liked the woman (Ilia wasn't entirely certain of the proper way to refer to an urgal, but it seemed the most polite), and had decided to trust her. Luan was delighted as a result, since he got to spend more time with Elen. He strutted around like a peacock more than ever, especially when the other males were around.
By the third week Ilia was a little more comfortable, but still unable to meet Eragon's gaze. It seemed to work out because none of them saw much of him, and most of their mentors had been called away for the better part of the week. Patrols, they called it, but Ilia knew better than most that you didn't send your best men out, much less the captain, to do patrols. The rest of them carried on as though nothing were amiss, however, and so she was forced to dismiss the thought.
In some strange turn of events she was able to hold a full conversation with Sorren without wanting to remove his head from his shoulders, and the elves were a little more humble and easier to be around. Ilia still didn't want to spend much time around any of them, and Althea the dwarf had happily stayed away as well. She had found some of her kin and was apparently happy to stay with them. Rumour had it that she had been one of the deep dwellers and was not fond of life on the surface. It had struck Ilia as odd that there would be another reluctant rider, but Althea was much more willing to take on the training as if she relished the sacrifice.
By the fourth week, Ilia was starting to feel the boredom sinking in. Luan had been told off by Saphira for acting like a 'foolish hatchling' and was now sulking himself and was therefore no fun for Ilia to be around. It was a strange thing, she thought, as it was normally she who did the sulking and wondered if Luan sometimes struggled with her and didn't show it.
'I always know you'll come out of it, Dove,' he'd gently told her, but Ilia knew she never came out of it.
Eragon was back on the grounds, though he was busy overseeing the rest of the trainees in the way that he normally did when he did not have a pupil of his own. Ilia had had to watch as each of them got his full attention and she was promptly ignored, which did not stir up as much irritation as she might not have thought. She was a child throwing a tantrum, and perhaps it was she who had been the foolish hatchling and not Luan at all.
It was just that the thought of facing her pain was all a bit too much. How did she do it? Whenever she thought about it it was there, lingering in the back of her mind like a malicious shadow. It was ready and waiting to take over and devour her, and she was certain it would extinguish any light that the other people thought she had. More tears were shed in this final week than there had been since everything had initially happened; Ilia had learned to bury it. Strong emotions were dangerous for a person who needed to learn how to survive, and she'd had to adapt quickly.
Whatever Eragon had done to her, it had made it impossible for her to shove the black beast of her pain back into its cage. He had been right, of course; she'd thought she'd had it locked up, but she could see it seeping regardless into everything that she did. Every word she spoke was darkened by its colour, every action marred by the dark creature trying to claw its way out. Even the lens through which she viewed the world had darkened in such a way that she'd not trusted anyone, and it had taken the silent kindness of an urgal for her to see that. It was not a nice thing to feel, however, and Ilia wanted it gone.
For the last few days before she finally relented, Ilia found herself cycling between desperately wanting the pain to stop as it overwhelmed her and that general apathy and then anger towards the world and everything in it. Her hatred did not stop at the Empire, she found, but Ilia was able to find reasons for hating just about everyone and everything. It was when she realised that she could find it in her to hate her own dragon that she finally decided that something needed to change. She couldn't live like this, though currently she resented Eragon for opening the floodgates.
The night before she went to see him, Ilia did not sleep. When morning dawned she was up and dressed in such a way that she had not been before, but the gaunt look on her face spoke volumes about how she was really feeling. Propriety was once again ignored as she marched to Eragon's barracks and knocked on the door, her heart nearly leaping to her throat when she heard the great rumble of a dragon just beside her. In her haste and through all her swirling thoughts she had not even noticed that Saphira was there, curled around the building and watching Ilia as she approached.
'He is expecting you,' the dragon told her. Somehow the dragon seemed amused, and Ilia did not wish to ask why that might be.
The girl felt her mouth go dry and all the things she had been wanting to say to Eragon died on her tongue. For whatever reason she herself had had very little to do with the blue dragon who was watching her curiously now. The great eye that she could see, usually half-lidded with apparent disinterest, was fully open as her giant head was tilted in the girl's direction, though still resting on top of her claws.
'He's been waiting for me?' she asked. It was a stupid question, but the thought that he'd been expecting her was strange and she wasn't sure how to process that.
That eye glinted and the scaly lips turned upwards as Saphira regarded the girl, revealing further the sharp tooth that sat on the outside of her upper lip. 'Luan mentioned you were coming,' Saphira told her.
Her eyes narrowed some as the realisation hit her; the 'waiting' had really only been a few minutes, and his expectation of her arrival had been due to a tip-off from her dragon. Somehow it seemed to ease her a little, however, because suddenly Eragon was less a distant and all-powerful master and a little more human.
Before Ilia could say anything further the door opened, revealing a fully-dressed and well-rested Eragon. There was something in his brown gaze that Ilia could not quite read, though she wondered if that was due to the fact that she really hadn't spent that much time actually talking to him.
A few moments of silence passed between them before Eragon stepped aside to invite her in. He had been debating making this harder for her and waiting until she told him the reason she was here, but he decided that she'd humbled herself enough by coming here in the first place.
"Apologies. Her bark is worse than her bite," he said, casting an amused glance towards the dragon outside the door. Eragon had not heard the exchange between them, but judging by the looks on both of their faces Saphira had been meddling. She did that with most who were brave enough to visit him, which generally resulted in people staying away. For the most part he did appreciate it, because it meant that this place really was his own and he didn't have to worry about others bothering him here.
As a protest there was a snort from the dragon, sparks of blue flame rising from her nostrils. Saphira closed her eyes then, signalling that she was no longer interested in what the humans had to say to her. Eragon knew that this was far from the truth, but he'd let her be for now.
"Have you had breakfast?" he asked her. For the most part she looked fine and well, however she was pale and her face had sunken in just slightly. Most wouldn't have seen it, but he was far more perceptive than most.
Slowly Ilia shook her head. She hadn't been eating much of anything lately, but it hadn't been because she didn't want to. Eating was just difficult.
As if in understanding Eragon nodded. "I've got some mead here that might do the trick to start. It's warm, and might stir your appetite." He motioned to the table this time, pulling out a chair for her to sit in. Somewhat dazed Ilia did as she was more or less told to, grasping the mug when it came to her.
"You look like hell," Eragon said after she'd had a sip.
A sharp look was cast in his direction, her emerald eyes shooting daggers.
To her surprise the man in front of her chuckled. "Well, at least you haven't lost your charming side. It would be a shame if it was gone completely." There was a small smirk that graced his lips, and Ilia was frustrated that it made him look so handsome.
Eventually a sigh escaped her and she sat back against the chair, her hands still clasped around the mug. "I can't do this anymore," she said, her gaze falling to the golden liquid in front of her.
Eragon folded his arms across his chest and watched her for a moment, internally debating his choice of words. "No, I would imagine not," he eventually responded.
Lifting her gaze she met his, having both a thousand things to say and nothing at all. There was a look in his eyes that stood less as a challenge and more of an invitation, though Ilia wasn't sure to what. "Everything I love is gone," she whispered, her gaze falling to the table once more.
Leaning forward he opened his posture, knowing he had to be gentle here. He knew how long it had taken her to open up and he knew he needed to be careful lest he drive her back into a more difficult shell to get out of. "You have Luan," he said gently.
There was a bitter snort from the girl. "Luan has to be around me. He's stuck with me for life."
Eragon let the silence hang for a moment before responding. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but Luan is quite a bit bigger than you are."
Her head was raised again, and this time the look on her face told him that she was rather unimpressed with his answer.
He continued, "What I mean is, dragons do not do anything they do not wish to do. Luan chose to be with you in the first place, and he chooses to remain by your side." There was one notable exception to this rule, but Eragon would not bring that up for it was not a happy tale.
A deflated sigh escaped her and she shook her head. "By all rights I could have had him anyways, along with everything else. I could have come here with all the pride of being a dragon rider and then gone back with him to my father's estate."
"And you would have been forced to give it all up anyways, because the life of a dragon rider is a lonely one. You would have lost it all, but in a different way."
Ilia wanted to be angry with him, but she recalled the emotions he'd shared with her the last time they'd spoken. She knew he was right.
"So how do I fix it?" she asked.
A heavy sigh escaped him, and he shook his head. "You don't."
This time she did grow angry. "So why am I here? Why drag me through all of this, all just to say that there is no hope? Is this some sort of sick game that you enjoy playing?"
She was goading him because he'd touched a nerve, and Eragon did not take the bait. "I did not say there was no hope."
The lack of force in his tone had her relaxing back into her chair again, for she'd risen out of it some with her burst of emotion. The look on her face was deflated; what was he talking about? How was she supposed to handle this pain if she couldn't fix it?
Her silence was question enough. Eragon knew that she didn't understand, and he knew that this moment was important start in the process for her, but also that it would take some time before she was fully able to come to terms with everything. "You can't fix it because you can't change the past. While we Riders are powerful, we are not that strong. The ghosts that haunt you have only the power that you give to them. You, dear girl, have given them much power."
Ilia's jaw clenched again. "I don't do pet names," she growled.
Despite his better judgement Eragon grinned. "No, I didn't think so."
The look on her face was incredulous; he was toying with her now? She was opening her mouth to this effect, however Eragon lifted a palm to both stop her and offer his surrender.
"You've latched onto the unimportant part of that statement, which I expected you would. You, Ilia, give far too much control to the pain of your past. It hurts, yes. It never should have happened, and you loved dearly the people you lost. By all rights you should have been able to live the life your father had set out for you, but you can't do that." His tone was still gentle, and Eragon hoped she would finally start to listen. They'd barely begun with her training, but this was part of it. If she could learn to deal with things now it would better prepare her for the trials that would inevitably come in the future. If she got through this successfully, she would be far better off than most of the other new trainees who had joined them.
Conflicting emotions raged within the girl. Surprisingly she found that she was not angry at Eragon himself, just at the words he was saying. It allowed her to sift through the emotion and separate it from the man before her as a person. It enabled her to articulate what she wanted to say without yelling and storming off.
"I can't. I…I have to make them pay for what they did. I have to bring justice for my family. I can't forget them," she told him. In her tone was the conflict, and Eragon paused a moment to consider his response in light of it.
"So after you've fully trained you'll go back to Alagaesia and assassinate King Aurian?" he asked her.
Ilia made a face that told him she thought he was crazy. "I'm not stupid," she told him, then added, "but it would feel good."
Eragon snorted, shaking his head. He was, of course, testing the waters a little here and both he and Saphira were on high alert mentally. The girl was not serious in her words, and he had nothing to worry about. "Would it? Would it bring them back? Give you the life you wanted all along?"
After staring at him for a few seconds Ilia heaved with a heavy sigh, slumping against the chair. "No."
Eragon nodded. "I killed Galbatorix," he told her then.
Another sigh escaped her, but this one seemed to be from exasperation more than anything. "Yes, everyone knows that. You ran him through and restored the empire and became the legendary master of the dragon riders." There was a sarcastic lilt to her voice that told him she wasn't herself entirely impressed by this, but he knew where that had come from.
There was a thoughtful look on his face as he regarded her. As time went on it seemed they spoke less of his faults and more of his victories, making him more a figure of myth and legend than of reality. It was ironic, because his younger self might have relished in the thought of his faults ending up virtually erased. Now he wished it were the opposite; he wished they told of his faults more widely.
"In truth, Galbatorix killed himself. The spell I casted on him was my revenge for everything he'd ever done. All he pain and hurt he inflicted on everyone around him since his birth came rushing back and it was too much for even him to bear. The only way I was able to defeat him was not because of my strength, but because of his weakness in that moment. Were it not for that spell I never would have been able to do it."
Ilia was intrigued; she hadn't known about this. How it was relevant, however, wasn't clear. "What does it matter? You won."
"It does matter, because Galbatorix represented everything evil and sad not just in my life, but in the whole world. My revenge was to let him feel all of that pain. When it was all over, I thought it would make me feel better. I thought it would fix the hole that what he took from me, directly and indirectly, had left. It didn't, and I was left with a choice. I would either become bitter and end up like Galbatorix himself, or I would become better and spend the rest of my life working to keep people like him from rising up. Being bitter is easy, and it's the path that most people walk. Making something of yourself afterwards is the more difficult choice."
Again, Ilia sat in silence as she considered his words. Her initial response was that all-too familiar anger, but this time she pushed it aside to see what he was talking about. The implications of it were both wonderful and terrifying, and she wasn't sure if she could make the same choice. It was obvious that he was accusing her of doing the former; she had chosen to become bitter. He was right in that it had been the easy path; in fact it had been natural. No one had told her that there might be another way.
"But if I let go of the pain I'll be letting go of them," she said softly, her voice barely audible.
Eragon knew they were finally getting somewhere, and this time he really did have hope that this girl was going to be just fine. "That is the biggest lie that our pain tries to tell us," he told her softly.
Ilia met his gaze again, and was surprised to find that the small smile on his face was full of kindness and understanding. "I don't understand," she responded.
"When my father died, my real father, I had no idea that's who he was. We buried him and Saphira blessed his tomb in such a way that it turned from stone into diamond. It was a beautiful tribute, and one that I will always return to should I ever get back to Alagaesia. We honour the dead and the pain that their death brings us, just as we honour the pain of the injustice of what was stolen. You have lost much, Ilia, there is no denying it. Grieve for it, and then wash your face and turn to the future. Don't think about the past and what was done to you, think about how you can become better because of it."
Eragon watched as she processed his words, giving her the time to do so. He decided when she didn't speak that their time was over, and she likely needed more time. "Meet me in the training grounds tomorrow. We will resume your training then," he told her, "and go get some lunch. You won't train well if you're starving."
A look of confusion crossed her face as she watched him rise from his seat at the table, effectively dismissing her. "Don't you want to know what I think of all of that?"
After clearing away the empty mug in front of her, Eragon turned his back and headed towards a different part of the building. Before disappearing he stopped, turning to look at her over his shoulder. "Tomorrow I will find out. We will train and I will learn what you think, and then I will decide if I think you've learned from it or not." Not waiting for her response to that one he disappeared into another room.
Ilia had half a mind to follow him after a comment like that, but she knew it wouldn't get her anywhere. He was infuriatingly calm and almost certainly right; she just didn't like it. It was all the things that Luan had consistently told her, but he was usually much gentler about it. Eragon had been gentle, she supposed, but much more direct.
When it was very clear he wasn't coming back, Ilia rose and excused herself from the house. Saphira was still outside, though her eyes were closed and she appeared to be sleeping. She decided not to head back to her room, however; she'd spent enough time there over the last few weeks and she didn't want to go back until she had to.
'Luan,' she called, for she was uncertain as to where he was.
It was only a few short seconds later that there was a silver shape blotting out the sun. 'Done your training for the day?'
'I want to go flying.'
There appeared to be some level of apprehension in the dragon as he glanced towards the female that was on the ground beneath him. She was effectively the leader of all of them, but she was also his mother. 'We are not supposed to do that on our own, you know this.'
A grin crossed her lips and she beckoned for her dragon to land so she could climb onto his back. There was no saddle and so riding for a long time would be painful, but she wouldn't be out there for long. She just wanted to feel the freedom that came from flying.
"Eragon won't come after us. We won't go far," she said aloud. It was somewhat of a challenge, and if Saphira had heard her she didn't show it.
After a moment of watching the larger dragon Luan eventually relented, landing on the ground and helping Ilia climb up onto his back. 'Come on then, Dove, and you can show me all that you learned today.'
Calmer of the Storm: I'm honestly not entirely sure where this story is going, but it's going somewhere so I'll keep writing. Looks like we're going to find out together!