Chapter XI: Evasion

The first few weeks after Murtagh's arrival were tense and difficult. Eragon fielded many questions, and there were debates about opening his mind and prying through it to see what was truly in there. It was something they never would have done before, and Eragon didn't like the sound of it. It sounded too much like the old ways, and he had fought so hard to keep them from coming back. In the end Eragon had informed them all that if any ill were to come at his half-brother's hand, he would be held personally responsible. While it eased them some, most people did not trust Murtagh.

This arrangement didn't seem to bother neither Murtagh nor Thorn. Eragon had given them strict instructions never to be alone with another Rider, which was for the protection of everyone. Groups were fine, but since Murtagh was happy to be alone that's generally the way that he stayed. A few of the younger dragons had taken and interest in Thorn, who was pretending not to enjoy the attention as much as he was. Some had started to pick fights, but he quickly put them back into place.

Training had resumed as much as possible, though they were down to two days a week devoted only to that. The rest was taken up with meetings and sparring and patrols; they were no longer allowed to go out on their own. The more experienced Riders went in pairs, while the newer ones were in threes. Ilia therefore was spending a lot of time with Narqa and an elf called Druian, who was much more tolerable than the elves they had arrived with.

Over the course of time more of the decaying patches of ground were located, but they appeared to be growing increasingly at random. If there really was a creature behind it there were no patterns. There was nothing consistent about the places, which meant a food source was not the answer, and went from forest to plains to bogs and then further towards the mountains, where a few of the stronger Riders had ventured out. They were discovering more and more and yet understanding less and less.

It was a regular training day, and Eragon was showing Ilia how to store energy in other places and then draw it back. He explained how that had aided him in his final battle against Galbatorix, and how finding such means was important for being a Rider.

"Putting energy in when you have time to restore it naturally is important. Then, you can draw from it later on," he explained, motioning to the diamond that he'd placed in her hand. "Later on, it will be put into your sword. For now, keep it close."

Ilia had come a long way since she'd first come. While she still carried no particular love of the Empire itself, she could see why everyone here was so trusting of their leader. They followed him without question, but she knew this that kind of loyalty had been earned and not bought with fear or gold. Whether Ilia herself fell into this category or not she wasn't entirely sure, but she did trust him.

"When do I get my sword?" she asked him. As far as she was concerned she understood how to do this energy-storing thing and didn't need any further practise right now.

"When you prove that you're good enough to be a Rider," he answered.

Ilia rolled her eyes; it was the stock-standard answer that he gave everyone. Even she had heard it before.

"So when," she insisted.

Sighing, Eragon shook his head. "I don't know. Normally we would have had a much better schedule, but it's hard to say. Usually it's a year before anything like that happens."

Ilia might have found a way to take offense to that some months ago, but she was learning. "This problem is getting in the way."

Eragon nodded. "I'm sorry, that it has."

The woman snorted. "It's not exactly your fault, Eragon. Powerful you may be, but you are not all-knowing. Unless you really have been holding out on us."

Eragon raised an eyebrow at her. "The old Ilia would have said otherwise."

"You killed the old Ilia."

This startled a laugh from the man, who shook his head. "No, no I simply uncovered the girl that was hidden underneath. She's much more pleasant to be around."

Ilia felt her cheeks burning and she averted her gaze to hide it. "Do you make a habit of doing that?"

Eragon shrugged. "It's my job, isn't it? The people who come here to be Riders never start out that way. Most of them want it, and some of them have ideas that need tearing down before we can start building up."

Somehow his answer had her feeling deflated. "Is it a difficult job?" she asked.

"It's a lonely one," he answered.

Her face furrowed in confusion. "You keep saying that. You keep talking about being lonely and yet I don't often see you alone. I know what loneliness is, and this is not the place I feel it. For the first time in my whole life I feel like I belong because of me, not because of who my parents are or what I am to inherit."

"I thought your life was pretty good, before," he challenged.

Ilia shrugged. "It was, but it wouldn't have been that way if my father wasn't who he was. People would have treated me differently."

"You wouldn't be here if Luan hadn't chosen you," he pointed out.

"But everyone here is a Rider-"

"Not everyone," he said, cutting her off.

Sighing, Ilia amended. "Many people here are Riders and the rest don't care that's who you are. The people that don't want to be around me don't have to be, and there are some people that actually want to be around me. I've never had that."

Eragon nodded thoughtfully; he supposed she had a point. He was the leader here, yes, but he knew it would be different if he had remained in Alagaësia. Many Riders had chosen to dwell here instead of returning to their homeland for that very reason.

"But you're still evading my question," she told him.

A light smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "You never asked one."

"Semantics."

"Which are extremely important when casting spells in the ancient language," he pointed out.

Again, Ilia rolled her eyes. "Fine. Why do you keep saying you're lonely when there's lots of people around?" she asked him, speaking slowly and purposefully accentuating every word she spoke.

Eragon thought about brushing it off, especially because she was being ridiculous now, but after thinking about it he heaved with another sigh. "Because no one quite understands," he answered.

Ilia raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay, so right now I'm having this very strange sense of deja-vu, except we're having this conversation in reverse."

He looked at her with confusion. "A sense of what?"

Realising she'd used an idiom from her homeland, she clarified, "We've been here before. Except you were the one telling me that I was being a baby because I was focused too much on my pain and not enough on the present."

"My pain is not a problem for me," he answered.

"And I'm willing to bet that's because you ignore it. All the stuff you preached to me about facing your past and dealing with your pain…you haven't done that."

"I have," he said, though he was starting to sound defensive. Aware of this, Eragon sighed. "I've done what was necessary. The rest is irrelevant."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

Ilia watched him for a moment, playing with the diamond in her hand. It was a strange thing, having their roles reversed like this. She was not a stupid girl, and she'd always been perceptive. Even through her pain she had been so, but it had made her blind to certain things. She contemplated the conversation they'd had when she'd first stopped being a brat, sifting through his words and what he was trying to get at. When she thought she'd found something, her eyes narrowed. "You've only done enough to survive," she accused.

Eragon's lips twitched. He thought he knew what she was getting at, but he wanted her to spell it out for him. He did not grace her with a response, instead watching and waiting for a continuation. If there was one thing that Ilia never ran out of, it was things to say.

"You've dealt with the pain of loss in such a way that you're able to function, but you're not letting people get close to you. That's why you're lonely, even though I bet you have more friends, and your circumstances are more stable than they ever have been before.

Slowly, Eragon nodded. "Yes, I'd say you've pretty much got it."

There was scrutiny in her gaze as she looked at him, though Eragon wasn't sure what she saw. "Who was she?" Ilia asked.

"Who?" he fired back, choosing not to react.

"The woman. I'm assuming there was one, of course. She's not here though. Unrequited? No, you're too handsome and powerful for that. Dead?"

"You think I'm handsome," he stated.

"Come on, Eragon. You are easily the handsomest man here and everyone knows it, yourself included. Most of us can't even decide if you're elf or human. Sorren's decided you're a hybrid."

This had him laughing again. "I'm human," he answered.

"That's what I said. But you're also very good at evading things you don't want to talk about."

"You, woman, are relentless." He sounded exasperated, but he hadn't left so Ilia didn't feel bad.

"And you are impossible, and still evasive."

He'd thought that calling her names would have distracted her, but apparently she was determined.

Sighing again, Eragon considered walking away. He didn't, and instead relented. "You've met her. The Queen Arya, though she was only a princess when we met."

Ilia's eyes went wide, then covered up the insecurity instead with a smart remark. "I should have guessed you would pick the most beautiful woman in all the Empire. And the most powerful too, from what I hear."

Eragon's jaw clenched, but he knew she was goading him. It was incredible how she'd managed to turn the tide and suddenly she was the one in control. "She was unable to leave her people, and I was unable to stay. We both chose our duties above our feelings and that was the end of it."

It was subtle, but Ilia knew she'd touched a nerve. Instead of challenging him again immediately she thought about her next words. "Obviously you didn't love each other very much," she decided.

This was starting to make Eragon angry. "You speak of things you do not understand. You don't know the weight of the responsibility that either of us carries. You were betrothed, you don't know what it's like."

Now he was taking unfair shots. "And yet I know that love is a choice, and it was one that I made, once. We could have called it off at any point, and it did get difficult. Duties did get in the way, but we decided that what we could share together was more valuable. And then I lost it. You chose to let your love go, Eragon. I did not." Her words were clipped, her tone reminiscent of when she'd first arrived.

The fire in his eyes raged, but then after a gentle touch from Saphira it quickly died down. "You're right, I did choose that," he conceded.

Silence hung in the air, and Ilia was satisfied with that. It was surprising that she'd managed to get that much out of him at all; normally he was so closed off. The pressure of what was going on around them must really have been weighing on his shoulders for him to divulge so much.

"Your sword," she said, changing the subject.

Eragon had been about to dismiss her when she suddenly brought the topic back to weapons. "What about it?" he asked.

"What is it made of? I've never seen anything like that before."

Eragon drew Brisingr from its hilt, revealing the iridescent blue blade. "Brightsteel. The elves mined it and crafted swords for the riders from it."

It was truly a beautiful thing, and after a moment of consideration Eragon handed it to her. "Are all Riders swords like this?" she asked, holding the sword with one hand at the pommel.

Eragon shook his head. "They used to be. Saphira and I found the last known deposit of it in Ellesmera a long time ago. Since then no other deposits have been found, as it's probably been completely mined. That, and the swordsmith has sworn never to make such weapons again."

Ilia gave him a sharp look. "So not only do you get all the strongest spells, you get the best stuff."

"Murtagh has one," he told her with a smirk.

"You know what I meant. But I've seen some of the swords. The blades are always coloured, at least," she continued.

"We've discovered a way to make a composite using the Brightsteel we have left, with the hopes that we will have enough. The six of you will likely be the last Riders to join us for quite some time, so we will use some for those swords and the rest will be stored away in case of an emergency."

"You mean in case something happens and there's another war."

"We're dealing with people, and people are fallible. It's always a possibility and we need to keep safe. So far up to this point, we've had no reason to worry," he answered. While he did not think another war was coming, there was definitely conflict.

Ilia fell silent, but an idea was turning over in her head. She considered the lack of available Brightsteel, as well as the patches they were finding. They seemed random, and while it wasn't a rule they did seem to be generally getting closer to their little town. "What if it's looking for something?"

"What?" asked Eragon, not having been through her mind to connect the dots.

"This creature, or magic, or whatever it is. What if it's looking for something? Whether it's found what it wants or not, we don't know. But maybe, like us, it doesn't have all the pieces. It's looking and not finding. But maybe it's picking up a trail. You announced that Murtagh had followed a trail all the way across Alagaësia. We're not seeing that here. But maybe that's because it knew what it was looking for and where to find it on the mainland, but just like for us this is new territory. It has clues, but it doesn't know for certain." For the most part Ilia was thinking aloud.

Eragon considered her words; it was not an implausible theory. "What would it be looking for?"

The look on her face turned apologetic. "I don't know. Talking about the Brightsteel and how rare it is just got me thinking," she explained. "But what does anything ever travel to seek?"

"Power, money, food," he answered.

"Love," Ilia added, and this time it was her turn to smirk.

"Yes, I think you've solved it. These patches are made by a creature looking for love," he deadpanned.

"Hey, we can't rule out any possibilities here. Take it to your Council. I bet they'll like my answer the best."

A sound of exasperation left the man. "You're out on patrols tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes," she said with a grin.

Taking his sword back from her he sheathed it, signalling the end of their session. "Good. It will give me some time to think." He turned and walked away without saying anything else.

A laugh escaped the girl, which was a far cry from the kind of reaction she might have given at an earlier stage. Eragon walked until Saphira rose from her spot on the ground, allowing the man to climb up onto her back to take him flying.

'She gets under my skin,' he told the dragon.

Saphira made a laughing sound. 'You like her.'

'I do. She'll make a fine Rider someday. I'll just have to find ways to keep her occupied.'

His companion made a humming sound that told him she was agreeing on some levels, but that there was some hidden intent beyond it. Normally he let that slide, but not today. 'What?'

'Nothing, Little One. I am simply agreeing with you,' she told him.

Eragon grunted, willing her to fly higher. 'I know that tone of growl,' he insisted.

'You have not thought of Arya for a great many decades. You have not spoken of her for even more.'

What this had to do with the human they'd left on the ground, Eragon didn't know. 'What is your point?'

'The she-elf still evokes emotion in you.'

Eragon softened. 'Of course she does. I've never…felt like that toward anyone before.'

There was a pensive sound from the dragon beneath him. 'And you know she felt that way for you?'

Eragon grunted. 'Why are you questioning it now? You know how it went. You know what we shared together.'

Saphira snorted. 'Do you think it is the same as it once was?'

'Do I think what is the same?'

The dragon had listened to their conversation before, and the girl was right. Eragon had gotten very good at being evasive. 'Your True Name, Little One. Is it the same as the one you shared with Arya?'

'These things do not change easily.'

'And yet, they do. Murtagh and Thorn themselves are living proof. Your name is not what it once was, I sense that.'

Eragon wanted to be angry with her, but that was partly because he had a suspicion she was right. 'Impossible. I am the same I have always been.'

Saphira knew she had him then. 'Are you? I've seen how you've become quick to admit your faults and take ownership of them. You are patient and kind, and you take the word of others because you want to, not because they are in authority over you. The truth is that no one is in authority over you, and you are a far better man for it. You have not charged head first into this problem, and you are seeking out all angles and as much information as you can before you make any decisions. The Eragon that I met as a hatchling would have done none of those things.'

'People do not change that much,' he tried again, but his resolve was weak.

'It's always been in you, Little One. These decades have helped you to grow. Arya was decades older and had centuries of knowledge at her fingertips where you had nothing. Knowledge and time together are enough to change a person.'

'Wisdom,' he amended, 'wisdom, not just knowledge.'

The dragon made a sound of agreement. 'And with all that you have seen, I would expect that you would have learned a thing or two. Your heart is kind, Eragon, you would not have been able to go through such things and remain unchanged.'

'And how are you different?' he asked her.

Saphira let out a loud roar. 'I am the most powerful female dragon there is, matron of the new line of Riders. I am Brightscales and bane of Snalgli, and bearer of the greatest Dragon Rider to ever live.'

Eragon sighed. 'Oh great Saphira, the humblest of all the dragons,' he teased.

In retaliation Saphira did a roll, but it wasn't nearly enough to shake him from her back. Once she was righted the pair circled back, but Eragon had no intentions of landing just yet, as it had been far too long since the pair of them had gone flying.

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