I'm so excited! Hehe...finally we're getting somewhere! Oh I forgot to mention in the previous chapters that the two elves stayed to guard the outpost in Ceris so I hope no one got confused there when only two accompanied Eragon. Another chapter, and it seems that the majority of you want Eragon and Arya together at the Agaeti Blodhren and I shall try to make that happen. But I want to see if I can cover some of their relationship first. But besides that, happy reading and reviewing!
Since leaving the outpost of Ceris, Eragon had found traveling with the elves to be an irritating experience. They laughed at any opportunity, smiled too often and praised the dragons too much — though it was clear that they did not mind. Saphira loved to be flattered. They were a proud race. He did not trust the elves, except for Arya; and even she appeared uncertain of how to act around her own people. He was glad that she was so forthright, for Narí and Lifaen never gave him straight answers, always in roundabout ways. That was why he gave up speaking to them altogether. He found it meaningless to waste his breath, when he would not receive an answer to his question. Murtagh on the other hand was delighted to be in their company and continued asking questions. His half-brother was a fool.
The elves, Eragon decided, were a conceited race. The war with the dragons' had proved that. They had killed a dragon as if it were a mere animal and had resigned their fate to a bloody war. They still were a conceited race. Their superiority in magic and strength made them overconfident. His eyes drifted to Arya's back. He sighed, whenever he thought of or saw her, his mind could not focus and ached as if someone was pounding on his head with a hammer. He stretched slightly where he sat; he hated sitting in one place for so long. It made him feel restless. Arya turned to stare at him, one brow raised, "Would you like to rest?"
Eragon shook his head. "No, I'm fine." He brought his paddle down again only to have it tugged out of his hand. Glancing down at the water, he openly frowned when he realised that Arya's dragon had taken the wooden board and bit a large chunk out of it. Yesterday, Saphira had been busy communicating with the dragon. Eragon had grown annoyed at this. Her attention was constantly occupied with the emerald hatchling and he had deliberately distracted her. This must be revenge, Eragon thought, half amused, half irritated.
The elves on the other hand were praising the emerald dragon as it swam through the river beside their canoe. It may turn out that they would write sagas about this. Now with nothing to do, he felt even more restless. Eventually, Arya handed her paddle to him, and turned her entire body so she sat facing him as he paddled. "So," Eragon started, casting about for a topic. "He does not seem to like me much."
A smile formed on her face as she reached out to stroke her dragon's snout. A few more days and it would be old enough to talk. "Only because you can easily draw Saphira's attention, as he can. Maybe even more so. I am afraid he has taken to her."
He sighed. "Having to share her attentions will take getting used to."
Arya turned to gaze at the clear, sparkling water of the Gaena River, before turning to face him. "What was your childhood like, Eragon?" Her voice was soft as she asked and he so was thrown off by her sudden interest that it took him a moment to reply.
"Why would you like to know?"
"You never speak of yourself often . . . and I—" she stopped herself and turned to stare at him. Eragon gave her a grim smile.
"I grew up in a castle in Urû'baen, next to the palace in which Galbatorix resides. Being a child I did not understand many things. I never did much work or labor at all. Servants did all of that. The only things I have ever done were read and learn." Eragon sighed. "My mother did not go out much, so neither did I. That is why I did not have friends at that age. I stayed indoors with my mother often. I did not truly understand the world, until Saphira hatched for me."
"Were you happy?"
He considered this for a moment. "Yes and no."
"Growing up, there was very little that made me happy. And being under Galbatorix's watch was not one of them." His expression grew thoughtful. "Or perhaps I was just hard to please."
I believe the latter; Saphira appeared from over the trees and dived into the water before them, shaking the canoes roughly. He watched as she swam over to nudge him in the nose. You were a spoiled child. From the way Arya chuckled, he knew she had heard it too. But I love you.
He smiled and bent forward to kiss her snout, a sign of affection he rarely showed to anyone. This earned him a wink as she pulled back before diving underneath the water and reappeared next to Arya's dragon. He could feel a somewhat strange emotion from Saphira as she swam in the water. He gave no voice to the thought. "I think I can imagine that, you as a spoiled child."
"I am sure that you can," Eragon replied, straight-faced.
The following day, as they were packing up camp, Arya instructed the dragons to fly only at night, as they would be passing one of the elven cities, Sílthrim. It was integral that the Queen be the first to meet them. Saphira had violently protested to this. She did not trust the elves as much as she let on. Her bitterness for the arrow mishap was still intense and deep. If I leave you, the next thing they might do is stick a lance through your heart!
You worry too much, Eragon soothed, though he was grateful for her protection. I trust Arya to protect me, don't you?
Here, the strange feeling welled up within her and he made a curious expression as she turned her head away from him, hiding her large eyes. You seem to become more relaxed around her.
Her presence is soothing; she is a good friend.
Saphira sighed as if annoyed with his response. You are rather blind, Eragon. Then she continued in a softer tone. I have always known this would happen. I was prepared for it, but it is much harder than I thought. I have to accustom myself to sharing.
To say that he was confused was an understatement; he did not understand her inference. Sharing? What was she going to share? When he had asked, she did not answer, but lightly nudged him. Go on, little one, I will be fine with Thorn and you can calm Arya's fear. Nothing shall happen to the hatchling.
Take care, then.
With that, he reluctantly turned away from Saphira to board the canoe before frowning at the sight of Murtagh wearing a hooded cape. "Should I wear one?"
He felt his blood boil when Arya stood close to examine his ears, though he could not understand why. "No, your ears are pointed as ours; no one will suspect that you are an outsider."
He nodded and boarded the canoe again, though the stark loneliness of not having Saphira close by pierced him. It was hard to endure, for everywhere he went since he was twelve; she had been by his side, as much as part of him as he was her. She had protected him with her physical strength and her warmth. As their connection grew fainter, the loneliness grew larger, until he felt a coldness the world.
They had passed many elves, as Arya had predicted, propelling the same type of canoe down Ardwen Lake. She must have noticed the effect that not having Saphira with him had on him. She would murmur to him quietly as they traveled through the water, to keep his thoughts occupied. For that he was grateful.
"We will stop here for the night," Arya said as Murtagh brought his canoe next to theirs. They made camp a ways away from the bank of Lake Ardwen. Before dinner, Eragon went to collect firewood. Wandering about, he heard a loud rustling noise, mixed with harsh cries not far away. Following the sound, he came upon a small ravine and on the other side, a gyrfalcon with a broken wing thrashed in a thorn bush.
The raptor froze when it saw him, then opened its beak and uttered a piercing screech. Watching through his eyes, he regretted the raptor's predicament. What a terrible fate, for one of the sky to die on the ground. Concentrating, he cast spells of inspection, hoping to find the falcon's body healthy enough to heal. While he intoned, Arya and Murtagh walked towards him, having gone to look for him when he had not returned with the firewood.
When he had finished, he found Arya looking at him with an inquiring stare. In reply, he shook his head. An unspoken understanding passed between them and Arya fixed a comforting look towards the falcon. Quietly, she spoke a single word of death and the falcon slumped over peacefully. Without another word, they both turned away, heading back to camp. Murtagh stood still, processing what he had seen. Turning to them as they passed, he asked simply, "Why?" Arya and Eragon exchanged a glance. Eragon replied, "It had lost too much blood and could not be healed. It would have died tonight. It was no easy thing to do, but Arya saved it hours of suffering." With a slightly troubled expression, Murtagh nodded in reply. The three then walked back to camp in silence.
Dinner was a boisterous affair; Narí sang a fast melody, while Lifaen accompanied with reed pipes. After the meal, their energy died down to soft spoken conversation. Eragon felt a strong urge to throw his bowl at Murtagh, who kept asking questions to the elves. New ones sprung from his mouth with as much ease as breathing. This person must have grown up in a world that knew nothing of matters besides farming, hunting and chopping down trees.
Leaning against a trunk, he stared tiredly at a meteoroid streaking across the sky and was about to sleep when a woman's voice drifted from the direction of Sílthrim. Soon enough, more voices joined in, creating a sensual melody that rose and fell with a teasing sigh. It was good that he had wards protecting himself, but even then, his blood seemed to pound thunderously through his body. Eragon forced the strong feeling away, stomping it into nothingness.
Murtagh on the other hand was having a problem. He stood up with a wild abandon and made to run for the forest, but when he went past Eragon, he deftly stuck his foot out. Watching as his brother tripped, Eragon sighed. He stood up and held Murtagh to the ground, while Arya murmured the spell to ward off the music. On the other side of the fire, Lifaen and Narí were busy wrestling Orik into submission and for a dwarf he seemed to be giving the elves a decent bit of trouble.
". . . Nasuada."
He glanced down; surprised at the name of his liege lord leaving Murtagh's lips in a faint whisper. So he did have affections for the dark-skinned woman. A smirk stretched across Eragon's lips as he stared down at his struggling brother.
"Gerr'off me," growled Orik. Lifaen and Narí lifted their hands and backed away.
"Your pardon, Orik-vodhr," said Lifaen.
Eragon, seeing that there was no further need to restrain him, stood as well, allowing Murtagh to sit.
"What . . .?" Murtagh asked, dazed.
"I miscounted the days; I did not want to be anywhere near a city during Dagshelgr. We sing in the ancient language, and the lyrics weave spells of passion and longing that are even difficult for us to resist. For mortals, they are perilous."
Yet despite the explanation, as Murtagh sat closer to the fire, he glanced towards Arya, another one of his dratted questions bursting forth. "What is the point of Dagshelgr?"
"To keep the forest healthy and fertile. Every year we sing for the life of Du Weldenvarden and the more elves that sing, the more powerful the song. And the greater the forest becomes." She motioned towards the animals that ran past or through the clearing in a wild frenzy. "They are in search of mates."
Orik came around the fire, raising his voice. "By my beard and axe, I shall not have my will be controlled by your magic. If it happens again, Arya, I swear I shall return to Farthen Dûr and you will have the wrath of mine clan upon you."
"Calm down, Orik." Eragon said, sitting away from the fire as he resumed his position against the tree trunk. "It is their custom. Even if Arya's shielding us, you cannot escape the magic of Du Weldenvarden; the entire forest emanates it."
"You seem to be fending rather well by yourself." The dwarf grumbled. Eragon shrugged.
"I have no need to let feelings of passion and lusts control me. My desire for such is not enough to overwhelm my every thought," he responded. Letting out a yawn, he nodded tiredly to the sky. "Wake me when we leave, I don't feel the need to stay awake all night."
From where she sat at the fire, Arya nodded, her eyes drawn towards Sílthrim with a hungry expression. He was, however rudely awakened by a loud thud, as two large beings hit the ground. Feeling a panic overwhelm his mind, he peeled his eyes open to find Thorn and Saphira snapping at one another. The spell! Jumping to his feet, he rushed forward as the red dragon attempted to lung for Saphira who snapped at him. He could see the horror on Arya's face as she realised they had forgotten the dragons.
From what he already saw, Saphira had a large gash on her tail that was dripping blood. At the sight of the dark red liquid that splattered the ground, his anger overwhelmed him and he rushed forward, bringing himself between Thorn and Saphira. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Lifaen, Narí, and Orik struggling to restrain Arya's dragon. Murtagh on the other hand was having a problem from where he hung on Thorn's neck, if the red dragon were to toss him recklessly; it could end up killing him.
"Stop!" Eragon yelled as Saphira snapped her jaws again. She must be better at resisting the urge of the magic, maybe more so than Thorn as she was older than him. He dodged a furious swipe of talons. Arya, hurry. . .
"Calm yourself, Thorn!" but his statement was met with a loud roar. He made another swipe and this time a talon managed to rip open the skin on Eragon's right arm. Damn! His luck was getting worse and worse as he traveled to Ellesméra. Being shot with an arrow, and now he might even be shred to pieces by a dragon.
At the sight of blood, Saphira let out an enraged roar and made to leap at Thorn but when Eragon sent her his frantic emotions, pleading with her to stay calm, she resisted. It seemed that both dragons were calming down and Eragon was glad as Arya stepped forward, weaving the protective spell around them.
"That was reckless," said Arya, as she pulled his bloodstained arm towards her. Speaking in the ancient language, she held her hand tightly over the wound, which was soon drenched in the red liquid. He watched as the wound closed up, the skin coming together. "You may be strong, but not a match for a dragon."
"Well, I wasn't going to stand there and let Thorn keep snapping at her." he sighed. "To be the only female dragon." Walking over to her wounded tail, he quickly healed it. "It is a good thing your dragon is not fully matured."
The possibilities, Eragon thought. How are you feeling?
Alive! My blood boils just being a mile away from the singing. It is as if everything is alive! Saphira exclaimed, her talons digging into the ground as she kept herself motionless. The thought of sleep was wiped from his mind as he stood next to her. His hand rubbed soothingly at the scales in the juncture between her neck and shoulder.
When dawn approached Lifaen and Narí went to fetch horses for them to ride to Ellesméra. They returned three hours later with seven white stallions, six to ride and one for their provisions. They were proud and noble, Eragon observed, like the elves. Powerful and only just taller than ponies. "They respond to the ancient language," Arya explained. "But do not mistreat them with blows or harsh words, for they are not our slaves."
Mounting the saddled horse, Folkvír, Eragon turned to Saphira. One more day.
I shall join you then, little one. He nodded, glancing back at Thorn with creased brows.
Eragon . . . he frowned as a deep voice rumbled in his mind. He did not particularly want to speak to Thorn at the moment. I will keep Saphira company.
His eyes turned meeting emerald ones. Arya's dragon talked! The dragon seemed to laugh at his reaction. My name is Eridor.
He frowned glancing at Arya, Have you spoken to your Rider yet?
Yes, Eridor replied, his deep voice, still shocking. Last night.
I see. He glanced from Eridor to Saphira. Till night falls, then.
Gently spurring Folkvír forward, he followed after Arya. "Eridor, did you come up with it yourself?" he asked as they rode side by side.
"I did. A fitting name, is it not?" He nodded, agreeing with her.
The next few days were spent traveling with a hurried pace through the forest. Eragon did not mind how it would become pitch black at times. The myriad branches above would weave together to form a thick blanket that blocked the sun. Nor did he mind the pouring rain, which drenched them to the bone, with chilling water. As they rode deeper into the heart of Du Weldenvarden, the trees grew thicker at the trunks and taller, as well as farther apart which accommodated the dragons.
When noon came, a strange glow was set before them, and Arya signaled for them to pull to a halt. An elf stood before them, garbed in flowing robes, with a silver circlet upon his brow. His face was old, noble, and serene.
"Eragon, Murtagh," said Arya. "Show him your palms."
Baring his right hand of its leather glove, he raised it so that his gedwëy ignasia was visible. Murtagh did the same on the other side of Arya. The elf smiled, though his eyes lingered on them for a fraction longer, and spread his arms in a welcoming gesture.
"The way is clear." Arya affirmed. At a soft command, her steed moved forward. They rode around the elf, and when they had all passed, he vanished as the light bathing him ceased to exist.
Who is he? Asked Saphira.
Arya said, "He is Gilderien the Wise, Prince of House Miolandra, wielder of the White Flame of Vándil and guardian of Ellesméra since the days of Du Fyrn Skulblaka. None may enter the city unless he permits it." Eragon nodded. A quarter of a mile beyond, the forest thin and they passed two trees, and as he studied them, he found that they were elegant houses formed from the tree itself. As they rode further, more houses began to present themselves, each unique and elegant in its own way.
Eventually the inhabitants of Ellesméra revealed themselves. One by one the wary elves stepped into view, their almond eyes fixed upon the dragons, Arya, Eragon and Murtagh. They were like Arya, Lifaen and Narí — fair with angular features, and a beauty that belay their strength. He touched his lips in greeting.
As one, the elves bowed from the waist. Then they smiled and laughed with unrestrained happiness. He glanced towards Arya; she must be a large part of their joy. Someone in the midst of the elves, a woman, began to sing. Arya dismounted her horse. "Gánga." The stallion nickered and trotted away. "Release your steeds as well; we do not need them from here on. They deserve to rest in our stables."
Proceeding along a cobblestone path, Eragon felt slightly annoyed as the crowd of elves followed their party, dancing and weaving through the forest. Some were running above their heads, on branches, laughing with merry delight. They praised the dragons the most, seemingly not running out of compliments to give.
The path ended at a network of roots that formed steps, they climbed to a door embedded within a wall of saplings. The moment was coming to present himself to Queen Islanzadí. He was slightly worried of the outcome of his presence in Ellesméra. The door swung open, revealing a hall of trees, twelve chairs were arranged along each wall.
Seated in them were four-and-twenty elf lords and ladies. Unlike the elves outside, they bore circlets atop their heads and swords at their hips.
At the end of the hall, there stood a white pavilion that sheltered a knotted throne. Queen Islanzadí sat upon it. She was beautiful, proud and imperious, with two dark brows slanted like upraised wings, lips as bright as red holly berries and midnight hair bound under a diamond diadem. Her tunic was crimson. Around her hips was a girdle braided out of gold. Clasped at the base of her neck was a velvet cloak. Still, despite that, she looked fragile, as if she concealed a great pain. At her left hand was a rod and atop it stood a white raven, shuffling impatiently.
The door closed behind them as they entered the hall and approached the queen. Arya knelt on the moss-covered ground first, then Eragon and Murtagh in unison, then Orik, Lifaen, and Narí. Even the dragons lowered the heads in respect.
Islanzadí stood and the movement struck a chord in Eragon. The way she did it so fluidly and regally reminded him distinctively of Arya. She stopped before Arya and with trembling hands, placed them on her shoulders, saying in a rich vibrato, "Rise," Arya did. Eragon watched, studying the scene. The way she stared at Arya was different to how queen would look on her ambassador.
At last Islanzadí cried out and embraced Arya, saying, "O my daughter, I have wronged you!"
Alright, I apologize for not getting the scene with Islanzadí in but this chapter was too long and I want to described that scene perfectly so you're all going to have to wait for a little bit until I upload the next chapter everyone! But besides that, what did you think? See you at the next chapter my avid readers.