Chapter 47 – Help from the Feline Kind
The announcement of the werecats set everyone immediately into motion; Nasuada called for Brom to return with her outside the city, where her tent was to be erected in order to receive the werecats. The soldiers under her command inside Belatona were ordered to continue their search for survivors, despite their clear interest to see the werecats for themselves. Blödhgarm had appeared and whispered to Eragon that he would attend with them, while the rest of his spellcasters remained inside the city walls.
Jörmundur had acted quickly, ordering the soldiers and workers with a loud bellow that made those not directly under his command scurry away in order to not be seen milling about. Eragon stood beside Arya as they waited for the tent to be finished, the two dragons milling about as they watched the men work. Arya's forehead was creased from the downturn of her eyebrows, her gaze ever so often returning to Belatona behind them. He stood as close to her as he figured so was comfortable with in public, their shoulders brushing each other lightly.
Blödhgarm lingered near the dragons, his fur flat against his body. All of the elves seemed morose, and even Eragon could feel a pit in his stomach whenever he so much as glanced at the smoke continuing to rise from the city.
A murmur broke out behind Eragon, whispers rising like a tide. Turning around, he spotted the cause of the commotion; Glenwing was striding forward holding a lance, an eerie green glow emanating from the strange weapon. Glenwing was holding the spear carefully in his hands and away from his body, an unsettled and distraught look on his face.
Nudging Arya beside him to break her from her slight stupor, Eragon nodded at Glenwing. "Is that…"
She turned and peered at the approaching elf, her face twisting at the sight of the spear. Arya let out a hiss so low that only Eragon could hear.
Glenwing stopped before Eragon, eyeing the dragons to the side of him wearily. Fírnen and Saphira had swung their heads around to watch the elf approach, and Eragon could feel a mix of sadness and anger bubbling inside his partner. Blödhgarm stepped in front of the dragons protectively, his fur standing on edge and his hand lingering near his sword.
Without a word Glenwing held out the spear to Eragon, who took it gently in hand. The blade on the end was barbed oddly with oddly familiar lines carved on its end, and the green material it was made of deceptively light in hand. The shaft was smooth and glowed alongside the blade, betraying the magic that the weapon held.
"Niernen." Blödhgarm growled, white fangs peeking out. Niernen, one of the fabled Dauthdaert from the time of Du Fyrn Skulblaka. Most of the weapons, according to the elves, had been lost or destroyed since the war, created to do one purpose: kill dragons. All of the accounts Eragon read told tales of how the Dauthdaertya would make their wielders nearly impervious to magic, and where able to cut through even the strongest of defenses.
To Glenwing, the elf asked, "Where did you find this?"
Glenwing motioned back towards Belatona. "I found it in a lordly manor, buried under some rubble. I only spotted it because of its glow."
"Which lord?" Eragon asked, running his finger gently over the shaft. He knew what the ancient weapons had done, though part of him could not help but admire the craftsmanship. Niernen was a reminder of the ugliness of war, and what fear and hate could do to an entire race. It was a valuable weapon to have, especially in the coming battles.
Shaking his head, Glenwing answered, "I couldn't tell. Nearly everything but the Dauthdaert was burned to a crisp."
Saphira and Fírnen peered closer, and Eragon held it up to them with his palms open. Saphira was the first to sniff at the blade and let out a sharp hiss. This weapon has killed many of my kin, and reeks of their blood. She turned her head and peered at Eragon with her giant sapphire eye. What will you do with it?
"The enchantments woven into Niernen are like nothing we've ever seen the elves make before, and could very well pierce even Galbatorix's wards." Eragon answered, examining the spear again. He debated taking it for himself, but he already had too many things of value that both he and Saphira carted around. Pivoting on his foot, Eragon turned so that the weapon was presented before Arya.
She eyed it gingerly, the crease that had been present on her forehead only deepening. Her gaze flickered to him questioningly.
"Take it," Eragon spoke softly. "It's only right that an elf wield it in the name of protecting the dragons instead of killing them."
Slowly she did as he asked, grasping Niernen carefully as though it would bite her. Fírnen was watching her movements closely, his amber eyes tracking the deadly spear. When she had it well in hand, Arya gave him a sharp nod of understanding.
Eragon made to speak, but the sound of approaching footsteps drew him short. Brom was walking towards them, his face steepled in thought. When he spotted the Dauthdaert in Arya's hands his eyes widened in recognition. Revulsion was clear on his father's face, though he hid it quickly when a call from Jörmundur came from the area near Nasuada's tent.
Brom breathed deeply, his gaze lingering on Niernen. "The tent is ready, and Nasuada awaits us inside." Brom gestured towards the tent, stopping Eragon with a hand on his arm when he made to follow the others. "Is that a Dauthdaert?" Brom whispered, his voice lifting slightly in surprise.
Eragon gave him a nod, his gaze following Arya as she moved into the tent with Glenwing and Blödhgarm. He saw her glance back at him briefly, her furrowed brow still present. "Glenwing found it in Belatona," Eragon answered.
His father clearly wanted to say more, but instead took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. "Come," Brom said, leading Eragon into the tent behind the others.
Nasuada sat upon her high-backed chair, the inside of her tent showing no signs of how hastily it was constructed. The soldiers must have been well practiced at their tasks, for the tent looked to Eragon exactly as it had the day he left for Ellesméra. Jörmundur stood on her left, holding his helm in the crook of his arm, while Nasuada had changed out of her armor and into a green and yellow dress. Brom quickly broke off from Eragon and took up residence on Nasuada's right, holding himself proudly as any Rider could.
A line of people stood on either side leading up towards Nasuada, made up of the various nobles and councilmen that sometimes advised her. Arya and Glenwing stood on the right side of the tent, an empty spot left vacant for him between them. Blödhgarm was barely visible in the light against the edge of the tent behind the two elves, his gaze moving slowly over the occupants.
As Eragon stepped over to take his spot, he could see Angela standing across from him knitting a striped tube sock. Roran was beside her and Eragon a nod when he met his gaze.
Brom was murmuring to Nasuada lightly, far too low for any save the elves to hear, but his father's words were cut short when three trumpets sounded outside the tent. One of Nasuada's pages stepped through the door, displaying proudly the Varden's standard sewn on his tunic -a white dragon holding a rose above a sword pointing downward on a purple field.
"His Most Exalted Royal Highness, Grimrr Halfpaw, King of the Werecats, Lord of the Lonely Places, Ruler of the Night Reaches, and He Who Walks Alone," The page announced, before stepping aside and holding the tent open.
Surprise coursed through Eragon, and he felt Saphira's own reflect back at him through their bond.
A human-shaped being stepped through the doorway, no taller than a dwarf. Four werecats trotted behind him in their cat-shaped form, their features similar to other werecats Eragon had previously encountered. Grimrr Halfpaw wore only a leather vest and a rabbit-skin loincloth, his ragged black hair giving him a feral appearance, while his small, pointed chin and slanted green eyes resembled that of an elf's.
The werecat strode forward, seemingly unaware of those watching from the sides. It wasn't until Grimrr passed Angela that he paused, turning narrow eyes up at the herbalist. Grimrr let out a sharp hiss, his teeth peeling back to reveal white curved fangs.
The others in the room bristled at the hiss, though Angela remained relaxed when she peered down at the werecat. "Cheep cheep," she said.
All four of the werecats tensed, ready to pounce. Grimrr snarled silently at the witch before striding forward, his accompanying werecats following silently on padded paws.
Saphira snorted in his mind, her own amusement mixing with Eragon's. Clearly the werecat disliked Angela, which did not explicitly surprise Eragon in the slightest. Grimrr stopped in front of Eragon, the outrage on the werecat's face disappearing as he gazed up at him.
"Skörungr," Grimrr greeted, his deep voice at odds with his smaller boy-like appearance. Some of the nobles opposite Eragon bristled at him being greeted first, but a quick glance at Nasuada showed that she was more curious then offended. "It has been some time since we've last spoken. Has your journey to the east healed the guilt that burdens your hearts?"
The werecats words caused Arya next to him to shift lightly, though she remained silent. She must have realized just as Eragon did that Grimrr spoke not of Eragon himself, but of the purple Eldunarí he had been given charge of. Choosing his words carefully, Eragon answered, "My guilt is diminished, Your Highness, but the burdens of the past are unfortunately burned into my heart, and cannot so easily be removed."
The ears of the werecat's behind Grimrr twitched as though displeased, but the werecat King's expression displayed none of his feelings. The werecat merely turned back to face in the direction he was heading, trotting forward with a confidence arrogance only dragons and werecats were afforded.
Grimrr stopped before Nasuada and said, "Lady Nasuada."
Nasuada inclined her head, but not before sharing another quick glance with Eragon. "King Halfpaw. You are most welcome to the Varden, you and all your race. I must apologize both for the delay in preparing for our meeting and for the King Orrin's absence. Belatona has suffered greatly at the hands of a Shade, and King Orrin is busy helping those who managed to survive the destruction of the city."
"Of course, Lady Nasuada." Grimrr stated. "Even we heard tales of the destruction such a creature has caused. We will hunt those who created such an abomination down until we find their burrows, and we will teach them what it means to be prey. Only when we have torn their flesh from their bones will be sated, a reminder to all to never repeat their mistakes."
His words were designed to unsettle, as nearly every human save Angela and Nasuada shuddered. "Your kinds fabled ferocity is well earned… Even so, what do we owe the unexpected pleasure of this visit, Your Highness? Werecats have always preferred their solitude, and have become more myth than fact over the past century. Why, then, do you now choose to reveal yourselves?"
Grimrr pointed back at Eragon and Arya with his claw-like nail. "Because of them," Grimrr growled. "One does not attack another hunter until he has shown his weakness, or until other hunters join one's side. When Eragon Shadeslayer returned from the east we stirred, but it was not until Fírnen Grœnnskular hatched that we knew our opportunity to strike was sound. Galbatorix will learn to fear and hate us, and at the last, he will realize that we were the ones responsible for his undoing.
"Time has come, human, for every race, even werecats, to stand together and prove to Galbatorix that he has not broken our will to fight. We would join your army, Lady Nasuada, as free allies, and help you achieve this."
Arya seemed surprised at the title the werecat had given Fírnen, and he saw that a half smile had formed on her face during the werecats speech. Whether Fírnen approved Eragon could not tell, as neither Saphira nor Fírnen had pushed their large heads through the usual tent openings.
On her chair, Nasuada appeared deep in thought, her hands folded gently on her lap. After a minute had passed she inclined her head again. "Your words fall most pleasantly on my ears, Your Highness, but before I can accept there are answers that we must have. If you are willing, of course."
Grimrr did not seem surprised in the least, and flicked a hand dismissively. "I am."
The questions and later negotiations went on for some time, though the later seemed more of a formality then the former. Eventually, when both parties were satisfied and Nasuada had extracted a promise for magicians to examine their minds, Nasuada declared that she would be honored to form an alliance with the werecats.
The cheer that sprung up had the werecats tilting their ears in annoyance. Glenwing clapped loudly, a broad smile firmly in place, and even Arya and Blödhgarm seemed pleased at the outcome. With a whispered order Jörmundur left the tent at once, and Nasuada waved Eragon and Arya to approach her. The other nobles began filing out of the tent as they waited for the magicians, satisfied at the turn of events.
Grimrr and Nasuada's attention caught on the Dauthdaert Arya still held when they stopped before her. Grimrr blinked, though he otherwise maintained his blank expression. "Is that Niernen?" Grimrr asked, pointed a clawed finger at the Dauthdaert. "Such a strange weapon to have, especially in this day in age."
"You know this spear?" Nasuada asked, leaning forward to examine the weapon for herself. Arya held it up before the Varden Leader, her eyes tracing over the fine workmanship.
"Its reputation is… notorious."
At Nasuada's curious look, Eragon quickly explained the history behind the Dauthdaert. At first she seemed horrified that such a weapon was crafted, but when Eragon explained that it may even be able to pass Galbatorix's wards he could see a gleam enter her eyes.
"What of Thorn?" Nasuada asked, her voice dropping low. "Will it be able to slay even him?"
Eragon shifted uneasily on his feet. "Perhaps, if it came to it."
"You still aim to save him?" Nasuada's eyes hardened, her lips thinning into a frown. "After all he has done? Look at the devastation he unleashed on Belatona and all those he killed. How can you let such a creature roam free?"
Grimrr was staring at Eragon intently, waiting on his answer.
Eragon met her gaze as he spoke, his words firm. "These actions are not Thorn's, but the spirits inside him. If the possibility exists that I can still help him, then I will. Killing one of the four remaining dragons is not something we can do lightly, especially if we succeed in felling Galbatorix."
"And why is that?" Nasuada asked, her brows dipping in thought.
It was Arya who answered. "If we manage to kill Galbatorix, then it is likely that we must also kill Shruikan. It will be the only mercy we can grant one as twisted as he is, but it will mean that there are fewer dragons left in the world."
"The spell that created the bond between the elves and the dragons was powerful," Grimrr added, examining his clawed fingers disinterestedly, "and had farther reaching consequences than they could have known. When you humans were added to the spell, it began its work slowly, but we could see it temper your more aggressive behaviors. With the few dragons that remain, killing even one of them will have devastating effects on all Alagaësia."
"My father always said that our survival rested in the dragons," Nasuada said with a pointed look at Brom. "I had just never known how deeply intertwined our races were."
Shruikan's death may be unavoidable, but Thorn's does not have to be, Saphira growled, and Eragon echoed her words so that the others could hear.
"Do you have a plan, then?" Nasuada asked curiously. "We cannot afford to fight on two fronts, and I doubt Galbatorix will so much as lift a finger to help his subjects if Thorn were to attack another city."
"The beginnings of one." That was all Eragon would admit; Tenga's existence was one he played close to the chest, though he could not exactly articulate why he felt the need to do so. The hermit was strange and off-putting, but Tenga's knowledge had helped Eragon in the past. He did not think Tenga was a threat, and neither did he wish to inadvertently leak any information of the man's existence to Galbatorix.
Nasuada seemed content with his words, the tension leaking out of her. The shuffling of the flap leading into Nasuada's tent cut off any conversation that would have emerged. A host of magicians strode into the tent behind Trianna, each of their faces paling when they stopped before Grimrr. Nasuada waved them on, ordering the members of Du Vrangr Gata to examine Grimrr and his companion's minds.
The werecat did not seem bothered in the slightest by their approach, and merely said to Eragon, "There is much that we need to discuss, Skörungr."
Eragon gave a nod even though the werecat had turned away, and shared a look with Arya next to him.
The acceptance of the werecats into an alliance with the Varden spread fast, especially when Grimrr stated that they would help search the city for survivors. The rest of the day Eragon spent in the city combing through debris for any signs of life, though his search ended many times unsuccessfully. Those that were able to escape the city had already done so, and any who remained were well past the point that even the elves were unable to do anything but numb their pain.
It was night when Eragon left the city, passing his hand over Saphira's flank as he pushed aside the flap to his tent. She let out a small rubble in her sleep, the quiet comfort she provided pushing against the crushing sadness that Belatona had wrung out of him. He was surprised when he saw Arya already in his tent, her bare back exposed as she slowly cleaned the ash from her skin.
"Oh!" Eragon said, averting his eyes and taking a hesitant step backwards. "Forgive me, I did not know you were here."
A light trill left her throat as Arya chuckled, the sound dragging his gaze back to her. She had turned her head towards him, and the stoic expression she had worn all day breaking as a small smile emerged on her lips. He could not help his gaze as it wandered the expanse of her skin, his eyes catching on the Yawë tattoo on her left shoulder briefly before continuing on down her narrow back.
"If I did not expect to be intruded upon," Arya began, "I would have gone to my own tent."
Eragon blinked. He had to replay her words over again in his head before he understood their meaning, all the while the smile that she presented him grew. "Right," Eragon swallowed, before stepping into his tent and unstrapping Brisingr from his waist.
Arya let out another chuckle before returning to her task, a wet towel she had taken from his possessions firmly in hand. He could see that she was nearly done but for a small coating of dirt on her back. Dropping Brisingr beside the cot they usually shared, Eragon moved until he was directly behind her.
The heat of her skin warmed him even through the thick tunic he wore, and he softly placed his lips against the tattoo that forever marked her dedication to her people. She shivered lightly in front him, her head bowing even as the hand holding the towel froze against her left arm. Slowly, he reached out a hand and took the rag from her, his other snaking around her waist. Her hand, now absent its charge, fell to his hand around her and twined their fingers together.
Softly he moved the towel against her back, enjoying the way she shivered and pressed back into him when he trailed down her spine. When he was sure that he had gotten every last bit of dirt and ash from her skin he stopped, dropping the cloth and resting his chin on her shoulder.
"You missed a spot," Eragon whispered in explanation.
Her head shook in exasperation beside his own, her raven hair tickling his ears. "Did I?" Arya returned just as quietly. The temptation to look down and take in her exposed chest was high, but Eragon closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the close contact.
Eragon hummed.
A sound left her throat before she untwined their hands, and he could feel her twist around in his grasp. He kept his eyes closed the whole time, even when a soft hand came to rest upon his cheek.
"Eragon."
He let out another hum, only opening his eyes when she repeated his name again. The emerald eyes he found staring at him were soft and filled with humor. "I did not expect you to be so… modest." Arya smiled.
"I told you once before that I would let you decide how far we go."
"You did." Arya responded. "And now I'm showing you."
They spoke in the elven language, as they always did when alone with each other, so he knew she was speaking the truth. Still, he could not help but flick his gaze between her green eyes, examining them for any hint that she was uncomfortable.
When he did not find any he finally allowed his gaze to drift downward.
He always knew that Arya was beautiful, and he could not help but feel his heart catch in his throat as he took her in. Her waist was narrow and her belly taunt, the expanse of tawny skin smooth and unblemished despite the many battles she had faced. Eragon's own body, in stark contrast, was marred with scars from his years spent in the east, though he was no longer so self-conscious over them.
His eyes traveled up and stopped on her chest briefly, taking in the sight before returning to meet her own heavy gaze. The arm that was still holding her around the waist tightened, tugging her toward him. She went willing and laid her head upon his shoulder, her own arms winding around his frame.
Placing his mouth against a pointed ear Eragon whispered, "You are beautiful, Arya."
His hands traced the smooth expanse of her back, feeling the sleek muscles that lied beneath the surface. She was as slender as any elf he had ever met, though he knew how strong Arya truly was.
Eventually, she pulled back with a hint of reluctance, moving over to his cot and taking a fresh black tunic and another cloth in hand. Arya handed him the cloth and pulled on her tunic, and Eragon mourned the loss of the sight she had granted him.
Stripping his own tunic off, Eragon whispered a spell and drew the moisture from the air onto the small towel. In an instant it was damp, and he began the arduous task of wiping the dirt and grime from his own skin. Arya sat on the bed, retrieved a fine elven horse-haired brush, and ran it through her raven locks. Every so often he would catch her gaze when it flicked to him, but neither of them said anything as he cleansed himself.
When he stretched himself to reach his own back Arya stood and, quick as any elf, snatched the cloth from his hand. When he made a noise of protest she raised a brow at him expectantly. "Turn around," Arya commanded.
Not one to deny her anything Eragon complied, and he had to suppress the shiver than ran up his back and down his arms when she gently pressed the still damp cloth to his back. As she cleaned him of the ash she began to speak, and he tried to twist his neck as far as he could to see her.
"You are more rugged than most elves," Arya pointed out. "Though a much fairer than any human."
"I've said as much myself," Eragon lightly chuckled before sobering. He tried to catch her gaze, but Arya was intent in her task, moving away before he could. "Does it bother you, that I am neither?"
Something in his words stalled her, and Arya finally met his gaze. Her green eyes were intent as she studied him. A hint of warmth rose up her neck, though her voice never wavered. "Your form is most… appealing."
Eragon swallowed, aware that his pointed ears were as flush as her neck. When she moved to continue he twisted and took the cloth from her, dropping it on the ground next to the other one. Pulling lightly, he sat on the cot and tugged her down with him. She moved without hesitation, settling against his side and resting her head against his shoulder.
He copied her and rested his head atop hers, winding his arm around her back and pulling her close. One of her hands reached out and grasped his free one, her smooth fingers tracing the many callouses that lined his palm. Unlike the elves, Eragon never bothered to remove the blemishes from his skin, preferring to leave them as a reminder of his past.
They stayed like that for some time, simply enjoying the small moment of comfort they were able to exist in. Arya was the first to break it. "Grimrr indicated that he knew you."
"Aye." Eragon answered, twining their hands together and squeezing. "Saphira and I met him when we were preparing to leave Ellesméra for the east."
"Would you tell me of your meeting?"
Her words were earnest and carried a hint of curiosity. Eragon inhaled deeply through his nose, drawing in the fresh pine needle scent that hovered around Arya. "Grimrr has often been a loner, only traveling with his mate Shadowhunter. As you know, werecat's are unpredictable and may appear without warning, as he did in my tree home once."
"That must have been a surprise."
Eragon chuckled, remembering how he had startled when he discovered Grimrr sitting in front of Saphira on her dais in deep discussion. "He claimed that he was there to speak with Saphira, though I never learned why. When we first spoke he admitted to knowing of the purple hatchling and the madness it suffered at the hands of those magicians. He was one of the few who knew of our leaving, though I do not know why he never told anyone."
"Perhaps it was for the best," Arya added. "If Galbatorix ever found out that a Rider escaped him, he would have hunted you down endlessly."
It was strange that Galbatorix never heard a hint of Eragon and Saphira. Vrael may have been the only one of the Rider's who knew they left for the east, but from what Oromis had told him Galbatorix had hunted down nearly every dragon who lived and forced killed or enslaved them. Not even the wild dragons had escaped his reach, strengthened by the Eldunarí he had forcibly taken.
Neither had Eragon nor Saphira felt an inclining of any events that transpired in their home. He couldn't explain why they had chosen to return when they did, only that their desire to wander had diminished and left them homesick.
"Perhaps," Eragon echoed.
The sun was beginning to crest over the horizon as Eragon moved into the fourth pose of the Rimgar, letting out a soft groan as his body stretched to its limits. It had taken him decades to be able to even attempt it without simply falling over in a tangle of limbs. Saphira had found it humorous and enjoyed watching him, but when he was finally able to achieve it she claimed that he had ruined her fun.
Arya was next to him, maintaining the fourth stretch with ease. When she had suggested stretching with him after they had awoken he had been eager to join her, but now he felt a hint of envy at how flexible she was. The Rimgar barely even seemed to faze her, her slender body contorting without so much a hint of sweat.
The sound of a near silent trot of feet approaching made Eragon abandon his stretch with a small sigh of relief. Turning around, Eragon was surprised when he saw Grimrr stop before him, the werecat using his dagger to pick at some dirt under his long claw-like nails. He was alone, the group of werecats that had accompanied him during the treaty nowhere to be seen.
"Your Majesty," Eragon greeted. Arya dropped from her pose and stood next to him, echoing his words.
Grimrr's nose flared as he smelled the air, his gaze flicking between the two Rider's in front of him. Eragon shifted at the knowing look the werecat gave him, and he was glad when Grimrr merely returned the greeting.
"Skörungr, Shur'tugal."
"Do you have need of us?" Arya asked.
Grimrr flicked the dagger towards Eragon dispassionately. "The Shadeslayer and I have something to discuss."
Arya's expression did not change, giving the werecat a nod. When she moved to leave Eragon grasped her arm firmly, ignoring the curious look she gave him.
"Anything you wish to speak to me of can be said in front of Arya," Eragon stated, switching over to the elven tongue. "There are no secrets between her and I."
Arya cast him a grateful look; he knew how much she disliked being sidelined. Grimrr merely shrugged, his dagger returning to its task under one of his nails.
"If that is your wish, Skörungr," Grimrr returned, his words likewise in the ancient language.
"Why do you call him that?" Arya frowned.
Eragon felt a hint of surprise, but it was Grimrr who answered. "You do not know your own history?" the werecat sounded surprised, though he hardly so much as twitched. "I suppose it is to be expected with so few Rider's left. Few besides the Queen would know of its significance."
Arya's face darkened at the mention of her mother. He knew that their relationship was still strained, though he regretfully never asked after it since they left Ellesméra. He did not even know if Arya had told her mother about their union yet, which was not a conversation he wanted to be a part of.
Another thing that slipped my mind, Eragon sighed.
Grimrr continued, interrupting Eragon's thoughts. "Once, it was a title given to leaders in the Order, though it's use was not widely known. The first to bear it was Anurin after he convinced Queen Dellanir to admit the humans into the pact. His predecessor," Grimrr indicated Eragon, "dislike the title, claiming that to be called a paragon was a folly for any individual. It fell out of favor with most of the Riders, though those of the council and the elven throne continued to address Vrael by it."
Eragon knew all of this, but he was surprised that Grimrr did as well. Then again, the werecat's were mysterious in their own right, and had always kept themselves abreast of the ongoings of the other races.
Arya cocked her heard at him, her question clear.
"I'm not Vrael," Eragon answered before she could ask. "If others wish to call me by that title then I will not stop them."
"Regardless," Grimrr purred, a slight hiss stretching the word. "A brief history lesson is not reason for my visit, Shur'tugalar." The werecat gave him a pointed look before glancing around at their surroundings.
Eragon nodded in understanding before whispering a few spells, ensuring that they were not overheard. It was too early in the morning for a large majority of the Varden to be awake besides the few soldiers that patrolled the hastily constructed encampment.
When Grimrr was satisfied that the few soldiers milling about could not hear them, he continued, his angled green eyes intent on Eragon. "You have changed much from the downtrodden Rider that left Alagaësia two centuries ago. When last we spoke, you did not seem as full of conviction as you are now."
"Two centuries is a long time to spend away from everyone I knew," Eragon answered. His voice dropped slightly as he continued, the familiar pang in his heart rising to the surface. "My return home was… not what I expected."
"You were fortunate to be spared Galbatorix's cruelty," Grimrr avowed. "Saphira and the hatchling were even more so that they were outside of his reach. For decades after the Fall Galbatorix and his Forsworn hunted all remaining dragons, the traitors under him venturing outside of Alagaësia's borders to ensure his dominion. Your father's felling of the Forsworn might very well be one of the few reasons you survived."
"I cannot imagine the grief he went through after his Saphira passed." He let out a sigh, Eragon shook his head. "You asked after the hatchling yesterday. Did you wish to see him?"
"Later, perhaps, when Saphira and I have greeted each other properly." Grimrr dismissed. The strange relationship between the werecats and dragons was one that Eragon still could hardly understand, even if he had met a number of them during his lifetime. "I am most curious to know why you returned."
Eragon blinked, unsure of what the werecat meant. "Saphira and I only felt it was time to come home."
The werecat's eyes narrowed, a slight hiss escaping him. "That is all? Only a feeling?" When Eragon nodded, Grimrr's voice dropped low. "Hmm. Perhaps then it is not as I thought."
"What do you mean?"
Grimrr shifted his weight onto his back foot, displaying for the first time since Eragon had known him a hint of unease. "Never before has my kin gathered like they have now, and through our sharing of stories we have discovered something. Many have experienced a shift in events surrounding them, and others claim that they have felt a powerful presence stretch throughout the lands, quieter than any hunter searching for its prey."
A memory of his time in Farthen Dûr stirred in Eragon, of when Solembum had told him of the weapon hidden under the Menoa Tree and the Vault of Souls. Foreign magic had taken hold of him and Saphira and tried to strip him of his senses, but a multitude of minds had halted its advance.
Was it the same presence? Eragon pondered.
Grimrr and Arya were staring at him curiously, and Eragon realized that they were waiting for him to speak. "I've felt something similar before in Tronjheim," Eragon admitted.
He explained to them his encounter with Solembum and the presence, trying his best to remember the event. The multitude of minds that had swarmed his own made his memory of the magic that had taken hold him of cloudy, hazed over in the pain it had caused.
It was only then that he realized he had never told Arya of the events, though she seemed more worried over the presence that had swept aside his mental barriers with ease then with his omission. "I told the Mourning Sage of the event, but they were both unable to recall the Rock of Kuthian or anything of a Vault of Souls. It's as if a powerful enchantment has been placed over the name, stripping it from everyone's memories."
If Grimrr were in his other form, Eragon imagined that his tail would have been swishing wildly in agitation. Arya's eyes glazed over and she held a hand to her head as though pained, and Eragon knew that the spell had affected her as well.
"After the Fall of the Riders, all of my kin experienced a certain conviction. We believed that if we were ever able to discover a Rider not beholden to Galbatorix, one who was bodily able to fight against the Mad King, that we would tell them what Solembum told you."
"Where did this knowledge come from?" Arya asked, frowning. She seemed to be fighting against the spell, and he wondered how much of the conversation she was able to follow.
Grimrr flexed the three remaining fingers remaining on his left hand, displaying his namesake. "We don't know. All we are certain of is that it is not the work of Galbatorix. Once, after we discovered the compulsion, we tried to ascertain the cause, and only came up with two possibilities. The first is that our memories were altered against our will, and the second that we agreed to the alteration. Some even believe that we may have removed the memories ourselves."
"There must be something in the spell then," Eragon pondered, scratching his chin, "that allows for some to remember, else the all of your kin would have forgotten. It would explain why Saphira and I can remember Solembum's words, but why Arya cannot."
"I cannot?" Arya asked, her brows furrowing.
This was why Eragon heavily disliked any magic pertaining to memories. "No," Eragon sighed. Quickly, he explained, "Any time that either Grimrr or I say the words, you get a blank look on your face and lose track of the conversation."
Arya seemed perturbed, though Eragon was glad that she believed his words without argument.
"Then let us stop speaking of it, so that she may be able to follow." Grimrr stated. He pointed to Eragon, "You said that this presence only helped you, correct?"
Eragon nodded. "From what we can tell, aye."
Grimrr sheathed the dagger he was still holding, crossing his arms. For once the werecat did not display his trademark disinterest, his attention fully on Eragon. "If that is so, then it is my belief that this presence may in part be responsible for why you returned, and why you remained hidden from Galbatorix all these centuries."
A shiver ran up Eragon's spine, and a great feeling of unease fell upon him. "I think I would remember being told to return to Alagaësia," Eragon argued, mimicking Grimrr's crossed arms.
Even Arya seemed unsettled by Grimrr's theory, shifting her weight so that she leaned closer to Eragon.
"Would you?" Grimrr countered. "Or perhaps you entered into an agreement, much like my kin." The werecat shrugged, uncaring. "Who's to say? You wouldn't remember either way, and if Galbatorix's defeat is the goal, then perhaps the end justifies the means."
Grimrr was right, but Eragon could not help the sinking feeling in his stomach. How much of his decisions were his own, and what, if this was true, had he ultimately agreed to? Searching his own memories for the spell might prove futile, but Eragon did not enjoy the thought that he had forgotten something so monumental.
He stood silent for moment as he delved into his own mind, tracing back his memories until he landed upon the day that Saphira and he decided to return. Nothing stood out to him, nor was there a shimmering haze over his memories that would have told him they were altered.
Frustrated, Eragon cursed and ran his hand through his hair. Arya gave him a worried look, and Eragon let out a deep sigh. He wished Saphira was here, but she and Fírnen had left even before he and Arya had awoken.
"I cannot tell if my memories were altered," Eragon confessed to the others. "If they were, then the magic is far more powerful and subtle then any I know of."
To create such magic, large enough to cloud not only dragon and elven minds but werecats as well, was a feat too difficult to be crafted deliberately. It could only have been done by instinct, in the same manner that he had been learning to do from the Grey Folk. Whatever this presence, it was responsible for this deception, and the worst part was that some part of Eragon believed that it aimed to help him.
"If what you say is true," Arya said, her slanted eyes narrowed at Grimrr, "then why would this presence wait for so long to call for Eragon to return?"
A toothy smile shinned from Grimrr, his lips curling at the edges. "The same reason that my kin and your own waited; when stalking a predator, one must be certain of their own footing, so that it is your teeth around their neck and not their own around yours."
Arya turned to Eragon and asked, "Where is this… place, that Solembum told you of? What did they offer you?"
It seemed that not only had the spell wiped the name from her mind, but parts of the conversation as well. Her memories of the conversation must have been disjointed at best, and he could only imagine how much Arya disliked that.
Eragon chose his words carefully, trying to ensure that he did inadvertently trigger the spell. "This place is on Vroengard, and it only stated to go there and speak my name when my power is insufficient."
When Arya's expression remained steady and displayed no telltale signs that she was affected, Eragon let out a brief sigh of relief. It seemed that so long as he did not mention the Rock of Kuthian or the Vault of Souls aloud she would be able to remember.
"What will you do?" Grimrr asked, his slanted eyes peering at Eragon closely. "Will you travel to Vroengard and see for yourself what this presence is?"
Arya's eyes had brightened at the mention of the Rider's old home, and Eragon wanted more than anything in that moment to take her there himself.
Eragon hesitated, his mind spinning at the thought. Could he leave now? If the Vault of Souls was able to give a means to combat Galbatorix, then it would be foolish of him not to explore the possibility. The more worrying part was whether it was the right time to leave. He could not leave the Varden undefended from Thorn or Galbatorix, and he knew that Nasuada planned to march for Dras Leona before long.
If he left then Arya would have to stay behind, and while he was confident in her abilities he would not let her face Thorn alone. Saphira and himself had barely survived the last encounter, and that was only because Saphira was able to outmaneuver the bulkier dragon.
"Not yet," Eragon finally answered, shaking his head. "There are too many things here that require my attention, and I cannot in good conscious leave the Varden until it is all but necessary."
Grimrr shrugged. "When you do, I only ask that you tell me what you have found. This spell has afflicted my race for decades, and I would know what manner of creature was able to extract such a thing from us."
"I will," Eragon agreed. There was too much on his mind, and he needed to think. "If that is all, Your Highness," Eragon's words trailed off, the meaning behind them clear.
Grimrr nodded, turning away and flicking a hand at them in farewell.
As the werecat walked away, Eragon turned and strode for his tent, pushing aside the fabric roughly. Part of him was frustrated, but he could not help the slight tinge of worry that hide underneath it. He wanted desperately to know the answers to all the questions swarming in his mind, but the past few centuries had tampered his more childish tendencies to whine when they were not immediately sated.
Still, Eragon could not help but fall into the one of the chairs in his tent, balling his fists tightly and resting his forehead against them as his elbows dug into his knees. Thoughts of the past and future plagued him; What did this presence want with him, and how much of his life hand been dictated by another? There were many powerful beings that roamed the wilderness, some that Eragon had encountered for himself, but none of them fit with the sparse description he had.
The sound of fabric moving made it to his ears past his swarming thoughts, and immediately the calming scent of freshly crushed pine needles rushed through him.
Arya gently grabbed a wrist and pulled, coaxing his hand open and running her slender fingers over it lightly. When he glanced up he could see her kneeling before him, her face a mix of her own frustration and uncertainty, but it relaxed when she noticed his stare. A soft, tender look replaced it, one that Eragon was becoming familiar with.
Her presence soothed him, calming the storm in his mind. His other balled fist relaxed, and he could feel his frustration draining out of him as quickly as it built. Green eyes peered at him closely, and he held them steady with his own gaze.
Did she know how much she affected him?
She wouldn't unless you tell her, came an unbidden thought.
He grasped her fingers in his own, bringing her knuckles up to his lips. "I love you," Eragon murmured against her skin in the elven tongue. A sharp inhale of breath came from Arya, her emerald eyes glistening in the meager sunlight that passed through the tent. "You are.. the calm in the storm, the wind in my sails, and the warmth of the sun on my skin."
Arya blinked, surprise filtering past the tender expression she wore before a bright smile lit her face. She pushed away his other hand that he had been leaning against, pressing her forehead against his own. He closed his eyes at the contact, a film of peace descending over his thoughts.
She chuckled good-naturedly, the trill of her voice vibrating through their pressed foreheads. "Eloquent as always."
Eragon smiled and made to respond, but Arya dipped her head forward and captured his lips with her own. Any trace of frustration that remained behind bleed out the moment their lips touched, and for once Eragon simply let his worries slip away.
The remaining few days the spent at Belatona were spent searching for any who remained, but even Nasuada soon realized that their efforts were in vain. They had managed to find nearly three dozen survivors, a third of which and unfortunately passed their wounds, but the last two days all of the search parties were unsuccessful.
The Shade's destruction had been absolute, and the Varden did not have the resources or time necessary to rebuild the city. Nasuada had sworn to those that lived that when Galbatorix was defeated Belatona would be restored, though their blank faces belayed their disbelief.
When Eragon told Saphira of his troubling conversation with Grimrr, she had growled loudly and declared, any who messed with my memories will learn the taste of my wrath, and feel my teeth around their throat.
During one of the few meetings they had, Arya had briefed them of the elven army's movements: Islanzadí and her soldiers had successfully taken Gil'ead with little fan fair, though the inhabitants of the city were none too happy with their new residents. Islanzadí planned to then take assault Bullridge while the Varden laid siege to Dras Leona, in order to cut off the supply of food that the smaller city supplied to Urû'baen.
From there, as far as Nasuada was concerned, they would march directly to Urû'baen. The other cities would be too far to lend aid, and from what their spies reported Galbatorix had already requisitioned nearly all of his own soldiers to defend the capital.
On the third day after their arrival to Belatona, Nasuada ordered the army to leave the city and ready themselves for the long march ahead. Belatona was situated on the south-western side of Leona Lake, with Dras Leona on the lakes eastern flank, which meant that the Varden needed to cross the lake; a task made easier by the prebuilt bridges spanning the waters where the lake met the Jiet River.
The meager supplies Eragon possessed where easily packed away and readied for the road ahead, and he spent the rest of the morning helping the Varden in their own preparations. By the time the army was ready to move the sun had risen to its highest point in the sky, the heat it radiated making Eragon take a deep pull from his waterskin.
Saphira nudged him lightly on the shoulder before taking off into the sky, Fírnen following her movements more gracefully then he had in the past. The green dragon had grown quite large ever since the Blood-oath celebration, the strange magic of his ancestors making him larger then the scant few months he was. Saphira was still nearly double his size, her massive wingspan dwarfing Fírnen's, but even Eragon had to admit that they made a fearsome pair in the sky.
Beside him Glenwing grumbled, leaning against one of the carts the Varden used to ferry their supplies. "I hate marching."
A small smirk rose on Eragon's lips as he peered at the elf. "You can always ask Saphira to carry you."
The elf brightened at the thought, though his expression fell when he saw the chuckle that Eragon tried in vain to hide. "Don't toy with me," Glenwing groaned, swatting a hand in Eragon's direction half-heartedly.
He dodged the blow easily, slipping away from Glenwing's extended hand. "It will only be a few days before we reach Dras Leona. I think you can survive that long."
"Not if I have to spend my time watching the two of you," Glenwing muttered, flicking a hand dismissively towards the front of the army. Arya stood garbed in her armor besides Nasuada, listening intently to whatever the other woman said. Her responsibilities nearly outnumbered his own; she was both a Rider and an ambassador, a position that pulled at her from both sides.
How she managed it, Eragon did not know, and he was grateful for any time he was able to steal away with her.
"See!" Glenwing complained, dragging Eragon's gaze away from Arya. "Ever since this started, its like you've forgotten who it was that pushed you two to admit the truth!"
"What truth?" came from behind them, and Eragon turned to see his cousin approaching him. Roran wore his armor proudly, a familiar looking hammer strapped to his belt. Eragon offered him a smile and extended his arm in greeting. Roran clasped his arm tightly, giving Eragon a nod before returning his attention to Glenwing.
The elf gestured between where Arya was and Eragon. "Only how these two felt! For months I had to watch them dither around each other like clueless idiots, and now that they are together they can hardly stand to spend five minutes without the other."
Roran looked confused for a moment, before a flash of understanding crossed his face. "So you are, what did you call it? Mates?"
Eragon hesitated. He had forgotten that he never told Roran what happened between Arya and himself, and part of him was surprised that Glenwing never spoke a word to his cousin over it. Before he answered he cast a wary eye around; the nearest soldiers were busy carrying gear onto the many carts the Varden used for transport, speaking loudly and too far to hear his words. "Aye, we are."
His cousin smiled, clapping Eragon on his back. "Congratulations are in order, cousin!" Roran frowned before glancing back at Glenwing. "Are there any traditions or celebrations that are part of it?"
"Nay," Glenwing waved aside. "Elven romance is, unfortunately for one such as I, a private affair. We take mates for as long as we wish, which may be either a day or centuries."
Roran seemed perturbed by the notion, and he knew that it flew in the face of everything humans held sacred. "I see."
Glenwing made to speak but paused, glancing over Eragon's shoulder. A smirk appeared on the elf's face, and Eragon felt a hint of trepidation rising inside him. "You know," Glenwing grinned, "My kin's children are rare, but half elven children? I can only imagine how delightful it would be to meet such a unique individual."
A breeze picked up, carrying the fresh scent of pine needles. On instinct Eragon's hand shot out and grasped at the arm that brushed past his own, holding tightly as Arya tried to reach the other elf. He could feel the fury radiating from her, her arms shaking in her anger, and from the pale look on Roran's face he could only guess at the expression Arya wore.
Why did Glenwing tease Arya like this? If this was how their companionship was for the decades spent in the Varden, it amazed Eragon that Arya had yet to kill the elf.
Arya whipped her head around and glared at Eragon, but he refused to release his grip on her. "Don't-" Eragon began, but was cut off by the sounding of a horn.
It was the order to march, and around them the soldiers of the Varden straightened and fell into line. Horses neighed as their riders kicked their heels, and the cart that Glenwing leaned against pulled away and making the elf jump in surprise.
In a surprising move, Roran grabbed hold of Glenwing's shoulder and pulled the elf along with him. His cousin spared him a glance mixed with mirth and pity. Only when he was sure that Glenwing was far enough away did Eragon release Arya's arm.
Her glare did not abate, the heat of her eyes nearly making him shrink away. "Why do you defend him?" she accused. "His incessant teasing has grown far beyond mere annoyance, and yet you continue to side with him."
"I don't," Eragon refuted. Arya gave him a disbelieving look, and he let out a sigh and dragged his hand over his face.
"I don't," he repeated, switching over to the elven tongue. She eyed him for a moment before giving him a sharp nod, her glare reducing down to her a light simmer. Trying to lighten the mood, Eragon gave her a small smile, "If I let you, you would have strung Glenwing up from the nearest tree and left him there."
"I would not."
"No," Eragon shook his head, reaching out and placing his hand on her shoulder. "You would have done something you regret, forever damaging your friendship with him."
Arya inhaled deeply through her nose, her agitation still clear in the tense way she held herself. "Then what would you have me do? Ignore his teasing remarks?"
"Yes," Eragon answered. He squeezed her shoulder lightly, pulling her to the side of the road and letting the marching Varden continue to stream past them. "He only teases you because of how you react to it. If you stop letting his words bother you, his amusement over it will fade."
She studied him for some moments, her emerald eyes flicking every so often between his own. Eventually she gave him another nod, her posture relaxing some. "I will think over your words," she said.
"Good." A curious thought entered his mind, and after a moments pause he voiced it. "Why does his teasing bother you so? I can't imagine that you would have stayed friends with him for decades if his remarks were such an annoyance."
Arya glanced away from him, her bound raven hair bouncing against her shoulders. "It never used to," Arya admitted. "He would always try to find something to amuse himself over, flitting from one thing to the next."
"And now?"
She turned her gaze back to him, a slender eyebrow piqued. "You do not know?"
Frowning, Eragon shook his head. "Obviously not."
"It's because it's you."
So, um, I really only meant for there to be one ExA scene this chapter, but somehow Arya just kept showing up?
Writing is weird. Sometimes it feels like the characters have a mind of their own, and other times I have no idea what to write. Hopefully this chapter turned out descent.
Anyway, thanks for all your kind words! I was surprised that I managed to get this chapter up today. Towards the end of the month my semester starts, so updates might not be as on schedule as they have been in the past.
I ain't giving up on this story till its done, even if I need a brief break (I don't... At least not yet.)
There's still quite a bit ahead of us, but I also don't want to drag this story out. Hopefully the pacing feels good.
Up next, Dras Leona! Don't want to spoil the fun :)
Ancient Language translations (Old Norse):
Italics represents the Old Norse translation; Bold represents Ancient Language.
Fyrir Neðan – Below Something. Fallen One
Du vættr Bani – The Bane of Spirits: Name of the Brotherhood
Vættr - being, creature; supernatural being, spirit
Bani - death; bane, cause of death, slayer
Skörungr – leader, notable or outstanding person, paragon. Title for Leader of the Riders; given as an honor.
Guliä waíse medh ono, Skörungr - Luck be with you, Leader.
