Leaving the room, Eragon sighed. Events were developing not as he had hoped they would. Fealty. The word was like a heavy burden to him. Nearly his entire life had been spent living in the Empire. He had desired freedom, but now he was swearing his loyalty to the next leader of the Varden. Even Galbatorix could not make him swear his fealty and yet to give in to these weak council members . . . it made him want to lash out. It was different with Galbatorix.
Eragon stared at Saphira, not knowing where they were going but letting her lead him. How so?
We respect Nasuada and believe she will make a strong leader, and trust her to make the right decisions. If we did not swear our fealty, this organization would be demoralized knowing that a Rider and dragon will not devote themselves to their cause, Saphira explained. And if the Varden should fall or refuse to house us, where would we turn? Galbatorix? No, not after we killed Durza and set the Urgals free from his control. And if he were to find out that you purposely let Arya and Murtagh go free with the last egg . . .
Still . . . Fealty.
You will grow accustomed to it I think. It was a necessary agreement for survival. Even Murtagh will likely be claimed by another power. Hrothgar will not let this pass and with Murtagh left as an independent Rider, he will seek to gain control of him. We are not alone in this. She stopped in front of a large door. Besides, just because you swore fealty does not mean that it binds me as well. If Nasuada's orders place you in danger or I disapprove of them, I will force you from following her orders. Ah, to be forgotten.
He snorted and glanced at the door he had arrived at, realizing that it was the entrance to the library. What are we doing here? Do not tell me you want to read a book.
Arya wishes to speak with us. He frowned, pushing the doors open. The vast room was silent and empty. Allowing Saphira to lead him through the vast bookshelves, he found Arya sitting in an alcove of the room, with her dragon lying on the ground beside her chair. As he took a seat opposite her, Eragon studied the elf. She seemed beyond agitated. Saphira positioned herself between them.
"What have you done?" her hostility was expected, Eragon thought, as he stared at her. His temper was not in the best of states either, after being forced into such a position.
"I did what I had to, is that wrong of me?"
Arya's eyes slanted dangerously, her green eyes flashing. "Wrong? Seven decades I have spent as an ambassador for my people, fifteen of those years I carried Thorn's egg between the Varden and Du Weldenvarden. And throughout that time, I have ensured that the Varden had wise, strong leaders. Your father helped me by forging the agreement of the new Rider—your brother. And Ajihad had wished for you both to remain independent of any group or king. And now I see you siding with the council, willingly or not, to control Nasuada. What have you done?"
His temper flared when she mentioned his father, the way she spoke insulted him to the core. "Do not belittle me! You may have seven decades of experience with politics, but I know how to manage, without you berating me like a child."
He covered his shock as she stood, slamming her hands on the table, her eyes a burning emerald inferno. "You fool! You are in many ways but a child!" His eyes flashed and he too, stood, hands slamming down on the table.
"By your standards only! How can we remain independent? It was clear when the last egg hatched for you, an elf! You are already tied down with your loyalties to your Queen! Everyone could see that. Eventually, Hrothgar will claim Murtagh and Thorn. To establish a position of leadership, Nasuada needed power and with a Rider bound to each race, they can acknowledge each other as equals," he retorted, his temper continuing to flare. "And do you think it pleases me to swear fealty? To give into that accursed council's intent? It is a good thing that Nasuada is an honest person, or I would have refused from the very beginning!" By the end of his rant, he found himself shouting and his hands were gripping the edge of the table with such force it was beginning to crack under the strain.
They stood there, both glaring at each other. After a long moment's deliberation, Arya seated herself, running her fingers through her hair. "Your position is not what I would wish, but better than I had hoped." He sighed; suddenly feeling tired and too, seated himself. No one spoke for a while. Then Arya's quiet voice floated over to him, along with the scent of freshly crushed pine needles. "I apologize for my actions earlier . . ."
"I would like to apologize as well; my temper was not in check, for I would not otherwise have spoken so harshly, or outright." It seemed as if everyone was on edge. And they sat there in silence again, not knowing what else to say to one another. "So . . . seven decades . . . you must miss Ellesméra."
"I do."
"Your family must miss you. Elves may be immortal, but seven decades is no small span of time." Eragon said, watching as her face pinched into a frown, as if she had thought of something unpleasant.
"Even so, when I left Ellesméra… I left my family on ill terms." She spoke hesitantly. He frowned, suddenly curious.
"How so?"
"They did not approve of me becoming ambassador for my people." He nodded; it seemed he was not the only Rider with family problems. Arya turned to him, her eyes looking tired. "I shall see you at the funeral, Eragon. May the stars watch over you."
He nodded and watched as she slipped away between the darkness of the shelves, her dragon following silently behind her. My, what a scene. Saphira said dramatically as she watched them depart. I thought the two of you were going to draw swords and destroy the library.
Not quite. Though you would not stop us, would you?
Me? Not at all. It appears Arya has a talent for extracting such intense emotions from you. I like her. At the last part, Saphira lazily winked at him, though he did not understand the meaning of it. Women, he replied, as they left the library together. It felt as if his entire life revolved around females. His mother, Saphira, and now Nasuada, his new liege lord. But where did Arya fit into the equation? His feelings for her were hard to understand. He sighed, feeling suddenly tired, and started towards his chambers.
The next morning as Eragon was polishing one of his two swords, he frowned when in the silver blade gleamed his brother.
He glanced up to see Murtagh, Orik and behind them, Thorn. "Good morning," Eragon greeted them, if rather stiffly. He remembered that Angela had spoken of Murtagh feeling rather ill, from the scar on his back. "Is there something the three of you needed?"
"King Hrothgar requests your presence." Orik replied. Saphira, who was curled up behind him, unfurled, snapping her jaws as she, from his understanding, yawned. Orik bowed to her. "Good morning to you, Saphira." She replied with a friendly growl.
Sheathing his sword, Eragon stood in a fluid motion, nodding for him to lead the way. As they walked, he glanced sideways at Murtagh. His pale face spoke for his condition. It would limit his abilities as a Dragon Rider, Eragon knew. They arrived at two granite doors inscribed with a seven-pointed crown. Seven armored dwarves on each side of the entrance pounded the floor simultaneously with the hafts of their mattocks. After the doors had turned inwards, Orik stepped back to wait for them.
Passing through the granite doors, the four of them entered the throne room. King Hrothgar waited on his black throne, his war-hammer Volund lying across his mail-sheathed legs. Eragon and Murtagh bowed while Saphira and Thorn remained standing behind them, watching the proceedings with their sapphire and ruby eyes.
Hrothgar spoke, "Welcome to my hall, Shadeslayer." He inclined his head towards Eragon, before turning to Murtagh. "And welcome back, Rider." His eyes came to rest on Zar'roc. "It seems that I was proven wrong about Zar'roc. The blade that saved Tronjheim from Durza's grip will always be welcomed here, as long as you bear it."
"Thank you," said Murtagh, rising. Eragon followed suit.
He waited as Hrothgar spoke with Murtagh about the armor that had been given to him for the battle. When the pleasantries had come and gone, the tension in the room seemed to grow as the King finally decided to bring forth the matter at hand. "It has been requested of me that I should support the Council's decision in choosing Nasuada as Ajihad's successor. It has created an uproar the likes of which I have never seen. Most have concluded that Nasuada is indeed fit to lead the Varden. The question I'm most worried about is where you stand on this, Eragon and Murtagh."
"I cannot say for Eragon and Saphira," Murtagh began, his eyes flickering back to Thorn, "but Thorn and I support her and do not oppose her succeeding Ajihad in the position to command the Varden. She is wise and canny beyond her years."
Affection? Eragon thought, surprised. Unless his ears deceived him, it seemed as if Murtagh had somewhat of a soft spot for Nasuada. Eragon nodded, pushing the thought out of his mind. "We also do not oppose her ascension. And I hope that you shall do the same, your majesty. What the people need now is unity."
The dwarf king nodded. "And unity they shall get, though the grab for individual power looms like a dagger above our heads." An uncomfortable silence drifted over them. Murtagh, who seemed uneasy, spoke.
"What will be done with the dragon hold? Will a new floor be laid down?" Grief and sorrow, as deep and as wide as the centuries in which the king had lived, emerged in the dwarf's eyes, deepening the lines of his face.
"When Isidar Mithrim was shattered, so was the heart of Tronjheim and in turn, our hearts." Hrothgar reached down to grasp Volund's handle. Saphira touched his mind, her remorse and guilt washing over him. It surprised him somewhat, for in her entire four years of life, she regretted little. Little one, ask Hrothgar if the dwarves have the ability to reconstruct Isidar Mithrim out of the shards.
After conveying her words, Hrothgar frowned. "The skill we have, but to do so could take months or years, and the end result will only mock the beauty of the Star Rose, rather than restore it. I shall not be done."
Saphira continued, her gaze never wavering from the king. Tell him if Isidar Mithrim were put together, with not one piece missing, I believe I could make it whole once more.
He did not blink at her request. Eragon knew that dragons' magic had possibilities beyond normal limitations. His transformation was proof of Saphira's power and so he did not question her statement. When Eragon conveyed Saphira's offer, Hrothgar seemed dazed with shock and even Murtagh stood ramrod straight with surprise. "Is it possible? Not even the elves might attempt such a feat!" he exclaimed.
"She is confident of her abilities," said Eragon, "and so am I. If you will have it recovered and repaired, Saphira shall restore the beauty of the Isidar Mithrim and the hearts of your people."
"Then we shall rebuild Isidar Mithrim, even if it takes a hundred years. Every piece shall be assembled and put in place, not a single chip forgotten. You will come then, when we are finished, and heal the Star Rose, and the hearts of mine kin."
"We will come," agreed Eragon, bowing.
Hrothgar smiled. "What joy you bring me, Saphira. I shall await the day that we might see Isidar Mithrim restored and when it comes, dwarves everywhere shall honor your name and sing ballads of you deed for generations. All of our halls shall echo with the jubilation of your race."
After a few more bows, the four departed, leaving the smiling king in their wake. When the doors shut behind them, Murtagh turned to them, his face full of curiosity. "That was a big promise."
"Not by Saphira's standards," Eragon said. He glanced at Murtagh one last time, before turning to leave. "I shall see you at Ajihad's funeral." With that, they took their leave from his presence.
Word of Saphira's promise had indeed traveled throughout Farthen Dûr. As they retired to their room to rest, dwarves in their way bowed and kissed the floor before Saphira. He tried to hide his smirk — even if it was out of the goodness of Saphira's heart; she was flattered by such actions.
When he opened his room, Rosalie was inside, placing a pair of clothes onto his table. "My lord!" she said in surprise as he entered.
"I don't see why you're surprised, seeing as I sleep here." He said, though not unkindly. He gestured to the clothes. "For the funeral?"
"Yes," she said, her familiar smile adorning her face. "I'm sure you will look most handsome in it."
Eragon raised an eyebrow at her compliment but let it pass. "Have you ever been to a funeral before?" he asked, removing his boots as he went to sit on the bed. Rosalie shook her head. He instantly felt like an idiot. How could he forget? She did not have anyone close to her, to attend a funeral for, when he had taken her under his wing. "I'm sure that this won't be the last funeral for the Varden."
"What do you mean?" asked Rosalie.
"Anyone could die." Eragon sighed. He glanced up to see tension and worry rolling off her in waves as she moved about the room. He frowned. "I'm sorry if it makes it harder to guard my mother, but I'm counting on you."
"I know you are, my lord, and I shall never fail you." Her green eyes turned to him. "Eventually, you will have to face Galbatorix, won't you?"
Eragon was a little surprised at the sudden change of topic, but said nothing of it. He nodded. "It cannot be avoided, seeing as I've betrayed him with such intensity. I can only hope that Saphira will escape with her life."
"I see." He frowned, noticing her movements became tenser, but not understanding the meaning of it. When she bid him goodnight, Eragon felt the one word roll around in his head, as if it were a taboo. Women.
When he and Saphira arrived at the funeral procession the next day, he wore a white shirt with cuffs and above it, a red vest embroidered with gold lining, dark pants, polished black boots, and a black cape that was fastened under his throat with a studded brooch. Instead of carrying both blades, he had only decided to carry one, which was fastened to an ornate belt.
A column was arranged and Ajihad laid in the front on a white marble bier, held by six men in black armor. Close behind his body stood Nasuada, grave and strong in appearance, though tears adorned her face. To her side was Hrothgar in dark robes and beside him, Orik; then Arya and her dragon, his mother and father; to his shock, the Council of Elders, Murtagh and Thorn, and finally a stream of mourners. Whispers and sighs entered the air at Eragon's and Saphira's appearance. He caught sight of his servants within the line of mourners and despite their sorrow for Ajihad, approval seemed to line their faces at his clothing.
Ignoring Jörmundur, who waved to him, Eragon picked the empty space beside Murtagh who was dressed in a similar fashion. Saphira followed in tow, and impressively — with her bulk — slid into the line without disturbing the formation. Thorn turned his head to stare at her and Eragon assumed that they were talking.
The lanterns were shuttered halfway to a cool twilight. Then, deep in Tronjheim, a drum gonged.
Boom.
The precession stepped forward and with every note that struck the air, they brought their feet across the ground. The dwarves who had come to mourn for Ajihad grew even more solemn as they were forced to cross the open chamber where the shards of Isidar Mithrim lay, casting sparkles of golden light onto them. With a final note, they halted in a great catacomb lined with alcoves. The bearers strode to a small room annexed to the main chamber. On a raised platform was a great crypt. On the top was carved in runes;
May all, Knurlan, Humans, and Elves,
Remember
This man.
For he was Noble, Strong, and Wise
Gûntera Arûna
When the mourners were gathered around, Ajihad was lowered into the crypt. Those who had known him personally were allowed to approach. Eragon would not say he knew the leader of the Varden personally, having spoken to him only on several short occasions and none more pleasant than the other. They were seventh in line after Murtagh and Thorn. As they ascended the steps to his body, he was gripped by a sense of sorrow. He had never felt much sorrow for other people in his life, for there was not anyone to feel sorrow for. As he stared at the peaceful and serene expression that shone on Ajihad's face, he came to understand the emotion that clutched him.
This was how it was to die and be mourned for, Eragon thought. Death was an eternal sleep and Ajihad was now resting without interruptions. Not able to think of anything to say at first, he eventually settled for something. He said, his voice quiet, "May you rest in peace, Ajihad. And rest well, knowing that Nasuada shall ascend to your command and that the Empire shall be overthrown." Turning, he stepped off the platform with Saphira, allowing Jörmundur to take his place.
Once they had all finished paying their respects, twelve dwarves came, carrying a great marble slab which they slid over the crypt, covering Ajihad. The procession then moved to the amphitheater. Eragon stood and waited, as the spacious arena was filled with voices discussing the funeral that had just concluded.
He sat on the lowest tier of seats, with everyone else of importance. He sat between Arya and Murtagh. He did not bother to speak, as Orik was saying something to his half-brother. He was anxious, for in a few moments he would have to pledge his fealty to Nasuada in front of the entire Varden. He clenched his hands and unclenched them.
"You have my support."
Eragon turned his head to stare at Arya, who was gazing at him with her piercing green eyes. "Do not falter. You have our support." His gaze flickered to the green dragon that sat on the ground, watching the ongoing. He nodded and she returned the gesture with a small jerk of her head. He did not bother listening to Jörmundur as he began to speak, only stepping up to give his word that he supported Nasuada after Murtagh.
When the Council finished pledging themselves to Nasuada, they lined up on either side of the podium, Jörmundur at the head.
"Then by the power of the Council, we give the commands and rights of the leader of the Varden to Nasuada, Ajihad's rightful descendant." He laid a circlet of silver on Nasuada's brow and took her hand, bringing her upright. "I give you our new leader!"
For ten minutes, the Varden and dwarves cheered, thundering their approval. Eragon fought the urge to cover his ears, as the loud level of noise felt as if someone were taking a hammer to a piece of metal. Once their cries subsided, Sabrae motioned for Eragon. "Now is the time to fulfill your promise," she whispered to him.
Silence overcame the amphitheater as he started towards Jörmundur and Nasuada, Saphira beside him. As he walked, he cast a dark glance at the Council, effectively wiping their smiles and smugness from their faces. Behind the council members stood Arya and when she nodded at him in support, that strange confusing feeling overwhelmed him again.
With a brief look at Nasuada, he bowed and then knelt, slipping his blade from its sheath and laying it flat on his palms. Then he lifted it, balancing the sword between Nasuada and Jörmundur; letting it hang between them, for a moment. Eragon darted his eyes to Arya again, and he swung around to face Nasuada. "Out of deep respect and appreciation for the hardships facing you, I, Eragon Shadeslayer, give you my blade and my fealty, Nasuada."
The lines over Ajihad's crypt, I am so sorry for taking but I couldn't rephrase that. But besides that, what did you think of the chapter? And I'm considering, just a little, that maybe every once and a while the POV should switch from Eragon to either Arya or his parents or Murtagh. In the future, there shall definitely be some POV of Nasuada. As for the next chapter, I'm deciding whether to do it in Arya's POV or Eragon's. If it's not in Arya's then the one after the next chapter will be, I hope. But until then, please review!