Good job everyone, 200 reviews! Though I did considering posting the chapter for the servant's background, I thought that might get you all somewhat antsy since you are all waiting for this chapter. I hope I won't disappoint you all. But besides that tomorrow I shall hopefully post up the bonus chapter! And some questions to answer. Why didn't Saphira beat Thorn up for his snapping? Well, since he is a male dragon, his instincts to mate with her had overcome him during the song, but Saphira who was older and had much more experience and could control herself better and she knew that it wasn't Thorn's fault that he acted that way so she didn't want to attack him. And more questions. Why didn't Brom want to travel to Ellesméra? I've been thinking long and hard on this chapters back. Really hard actually. One I thought he might be a better help with the Varden (and this is probably laziness speaking but I didn't want to write three extra chapters because the dragons couldn't carry three.) Two, who thinks that Selena is too old to have a child? (Hehe. I've got something special planned for that.) Next question, the void that Eragon feels, I shall not reveal to you what it means. But it will show itself through the chapters and I will have Vanir to help explain that. So many questions! I hope that cleared some things up. And Murtagh's scar does hurt him but I never write it in. I will though when their training starts and Vanir comes into the story.
Eragon stared at the two; he was surprised yet at the same time he was not. There had always been inkling that there was more to Arya than she let on. He had first noticed while she was his captive at Gil'ead. She possessed an air of authority that was hard to miss, and she was also very regal in posture. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the surprise on Murtagh's face at the revelation. It would seem that he did not take notice to many of the clues that were exposed to him. The fact that Islanzadí had cut ties with ties with the Varden at Arya's supposed death meant that she was a person of great importance to the elves. He was sure that her position had risen even higher, now that she was a Dragon Rider.
Saphira's amusement washed over him. It appears we were traveling with royalty. Funny, is it not? You gave orders to the princess of the elves.
It is more amusing that she followed them oftentimes, Eragon thought. He watched as Arya seemed to take no heed to the words, saying formally, "Islanzadí Dröttning."
The queen withdrew as if she had been stung and then repeated in the ancient language, "O my daughter, I have wronged you." She covered her face. "Since you disappeared, I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made . . . can you forgive me?"
The gathered elves stirred in amazement. As he watched, he felt a kind of empathy overwhelm him. She had been banned from her mother's presence for seventy years. In a way they were alike. The difference was that his father did not know of his existence, but her mother willingly banned Arya from hers. He had no say in whether she forgave her mother but Eragon would not wish for any daughter to live without her mother. Arya's response came after a long while. "For seventy years, I have lived and loved, fought and killed without ever speaking to you, my mother. Our lives are long, but even so, that is no small span."
Islanzadí drew herself upright, lifting her chin. A tremor ran her length. "I cannot undo the past, Arya, no matter how much I might desire to."
"And I cannot forget what I endured."
"'Nor should you." Islanzadí clasped her hands, and Eragon could see that she was backing Arya into a corner as she spoke the next words. "Arya, I love you. You are my only family. Go if you must, but unless you want to renounce me, I would be reconciled with you."
Eragon saw her hesitate and glance at her audience and to his surprise, her green eyes flickered to his. He was not sure what expression he bore, but it seemed to harden her resolve. Though their eye contact was for a mere few seconds, Islanzadí did not miss it, and he could see in her own eyes what sort of relation Eragon bore to Arya. "No, Mother. I could not leave." Then Islanzadí smiled uncertainly and embraced her daughter again, this time Arya returning the gesture. Smiles broke out amongst the gathered elves. And Eragon found himself wishing…
He ignored the white raven as it sang a ridiculous riddle, and turned to Islanzadí, bringing his finger to his lips and twisting his right hand over his sternum. Now that the family crisis was out of the way, he was unsure of his own fate, when Islanzadí learned who he was and had been. Completing the traditional exchange, he listened as Saphira repeated the gesture.
"Dragon, what is your name?" Islanzadí asked when she finished.
Saphira.
A flash of recognition gleamed in her eyes and he knew that she had thought of Brom, his father, for his mother had once told him that his father's dragon was named Saphira. "Welcome to Ellesméra, Saphira. And yours Rider?"
"Eragon Shadeslayer, Your Majesty." This time a stir rippled amongst the elves and even Islanzadí seemed startled. Then she moved on to Murtagh, Thorn and finally greeted Eridor, who seemed to have the most respect for the queen, as she was the mother of his Rider. As he had hoped, she had asked for narrations from Murtagh of his journey. It was interesting, Eragon thought. Listening to how his half-brother had left Carvahall because of the Ra'zac, went traipsing across Alagaësia, was captured in Gil'ead and when it came to Eragon saving Murtagh, he stopped, his glance coming to rest on him. Seeing the pause, Eragon tensed and Arya did as well.
"And I was saved—" Islanzadí's dark brows slanted as she waited for him to continue.
"What is it?"
"Mother, I—" began Arya, but Eragon cleared his throat, gaining their attention. He could see their nervousness in their eyes, the fear that something unpleasant might told. He would not have anyone else explain his history; he would confess it himself.
"The truth is," Eragon began in the ancient language. "I have not always lived as Eragon. For four years, I lived my life as Galbatorix's rider, Gabranth."
Their reactions were simultaneous. The elf lords and ladies stood, their hands flying to their swords, and even Islanzadí stood, waving her hand. Two elf lords ran forward, gripping him by the arm, one of their narrow silver blades coming to rest on his neck. Eragon sighed, as Saphira roared fiercely. Calm down.You're only making it worse.
Arya walked forward to stand before him as if trying to shield him from her mother's heated stare. "How could you bring such a traitor into our forest?" Islanzadí said harshly.
"He is not a traitor, he has sworn fealty to Nasuada, the leader of the Varden," Arya replied. "This is not necessary, Mother."
"Has his mind been probed? You cannot place your trust in mere words." At this Arya glanced sideways and shook her head.
"Then we cannot trust him, at least, not for now." He watched as the queen moved forward and by a silent command Arya stepped aside. He did not back down when he met her stare; instead, he held his head high, not wincing when the sharp metal cut slightly through his skin. "It will be easier for you if you cooperate with us, Eragon Shadeslayer. Will you let one of my people probe your mind?"
"No." The word came out cold and resolute.
"I see," Queen Islanzadí replied resignedly. "If that is so, then you leave me with no other choice but to detain you for the time being."
And what of me? Saphira demanded.
"You are above our laws, Saphira." Islanzadí said. "We cannot detain you, nor place you under guard. We ask that you cooperate with us. Your Rider will not be detained for long."
Do what she says, Eragon said, trying to cheer her. It won't be long. This is the only way they can trust us.
They cannot trust you. Though they don't have an issue trusting me, even if you're my Rider.
That's because they know that a dragon doesn't have the choices their Riders do. If I wanted to return to Galbatorix, you would follow me, you know that Saphira, Eragon soothed, and felt satisfied when he coaxed her to concede. Her large sapphire head bobbed up and down in a nod. The queen seemed satisfied with the answer and gave another motion of her hand.
He frowned as the elves holding him moved him forward, none too gently. When he passed Arya, their eyes met and an emotion passed through the green orbs, too fleeting for him to understand what it had been. Eragon ignored Murtagh's gaze and Orik's frown as they pushed him forward and out of the hall.
The doors opened and he sighed as the hundreds of elves that had gathered gave way to their party. Nothing was said, but they stared at him as if he were a vulture within their precious forest. It irked him. Not moments ago, when they did not know of his identity, they praised him. Now they glared at him. He was starting to dislike the elves, capricious as they were. Letting them lead him off from the path, between the trees, they emerged in a small clearing where an isolated house stood. It was different from the other houses he had passed so far. "It is protected with wards that won't allow you to use magic," one elf holding him explained.
"We'll need your weapons," the other elf instructed, Eragon nodded and handed him both of his blades. With them in hand, the elves opened the door to the house for him and he walked in without another word. The first thing he noticed, when the door had closed shut behind him, was that there was not a light in the single-room house. He could not use magic to light a fire either. Still, there was enough light within the small house for him to see comfortably.
He made out a small cot in the corner but that was all there was in the room. It was void of any other furnishing. Sitting down, he let his back lean against the wall, sighing. At least no one had attacked him, though his throat was still bleeding. Bringing a hand up to it, he fingered the thin cut. He should have healed it before entering the house. Finally having some time to himself, it gave him an opportunity to think, something he had been doing a lot of recently. Arya was princess to the elves but for some odd reason, he felt disappointed. Doubtless, Islanzadí did not trust her daughter to be within close proximity of him for now. She might not even approve of their friendship continuing, if you could call it that. Having lost her daughter once to the Empire, why should she trust him? But why should Arya trust him either?
He sighed, throwing his head back against the wall. That was when it happened again. When he blinked, he found himself standing in the white void again.
It had become increasingly often that he found himself standing here. Another chain had disappeared and bound itself around his arm.
Eragon blinked again, loud noises from deep in Ellesméra reached his ears. It sounded as though they were having a celebration of some sort, no doubt for the return of their princess and new Riders. He could tell that Saphira was not having any sort of enjoyment with him locked up in this house. Tuning the noise out, he returned to contemplating the white void.
With his regular visions of the void, his time was running short. If he could not find a cure in Ellesméra, he was sure that it would be the end of him. But who should, or even could he ask for help? The teacher he was to meet? He pulled furiously at his hair. He hated being alone and he hated being in the dark. . .
The room blinked before him and he found himself staring at a brick wall. There were drops of blood on it, as if someone with bleeding fingers had tried to crawl up the slick concrete to the high window.
Eragon found himself staring at a young boy with brown hair and brown eyes. But the boy did not look young and innocent; he looked tormented and haunted. He wore a dirty tunic and breeches that were made of the finest cloth, which had been worn out by dirt and blood. The stone chamber was dark, except for the small rays of light that shone through the window. The little boy said, rather tearfully, "I'm scared. It's so dark. . ."
But he had long grown used to the darkness. He watched the little boy that was sitting crouched in on himself stand and walk towards the window, his head arching upwards as a mockingbird sat on the sill, trilling in its beautiful voice. "Those wings, I want them too!"
Saphira had given him the wings that he had wanted. She had given him freedom. Suddenly the mockingbird took flight, leaving the boy by himself. The chamber that had become rather light in the bird's presence had returned to an aching chill. Eragon watched as the boy fought the tears as a cold detachment flooded him. "I'm all alone."
"I'm all alone," murmured Eragon, gazing at the hard bark of the tree, refusing to let the darkness of the room overwhelm him. He did not know how long he waited in the room; there was nothing to measure the time by. It felt as if time held no power as he sat in the darkness. He hated it, just knowing that he was sitting isolated from the celebration, from Saphira. It made his temper burst through and then he was seething with anger. After a few moments, it was washed away with acceptance. This was how he was going to live his life outside of the Empire. Not as Gabranth, one of the people's trusted lords. Not as Galbatorix's loyal Rider either. He was an outcast to the Varden and every race fighting for freedom from the Black King's reign. He would forever be an outsider.
But you do not have to stay in Alagaësia, a small voice in his mind told him. That was right; Angela had foreseen that he would leave Alagaësia and never return. That was a welcome option to him. To start anew, live a new life. Free from old burdens. But then there was his mother…
But she will not live forever. Another fact, Eragon thought, sadly. He would outlive his mother by far, and even his father. When she died, there would be no need to stay in a land that did not welcome him warmly. He would live the life of an outcast. Just as he was brooding, the door opened and to his surprise, Arya walked in, with a candle in her hand.
"You do not seem very happy," mumbled Eragon at the sight of the dangerous slant in her brows. "I thought you were out there, celebrating with your people." He added as an afterthought, "They seem to be happy that their princess has returned."
That made her brows slant even more dangerously as she moved to sit before him, crossing her legs, setting the candle to the side so it could dimly illuminate the room. "They are happy." Arya agreed coolly. "Though you do not seem as surprised as Murtagh was, nor reproachful that I hid the truth of who I am, from you."
"I understand the situation better than my brother." Eragon replied, scorn lacing his tone. "Why should I be angry that you hid who you are? Knowing that you are a princess would not change the standing between us. The only person I see you as is Arya." He did not catch her surprised look, continuing. "Besides, it all stood out that you are a princess. Since I met you in Gil'ead I had my suspicions. Your posture, your aura; it was all regal and dignified. Not to mention that you do not take well to orders. And then there was Queen Islanzadí cutting off ties with the Varden when she learned of your disappearance. If you were a regular elf, I'm sure she would not have taken such actions."
They sat there for a long moment and he was surprised to hear a laugh coming from Arya. It sounded like the trilling of a bird. He raised a brow at her. "Did I say something amusing?"
"No, just the fact that you are much more observant than your brother."
"I won't tell Murtagh that you said that." Eragon replied with a smirk. "Besides, where is he?"
"Resting. His back seems to have tired him out along with the journey; I think the appeal of sleeping on a mattress has overwhelmed him slightly. Though," she glanced at his small cot, "I cannot say the same for you."
"I'm used to it." His gaze turned serious as he stared at her. "And you? How are you feeling? You have just forgiven your mother after seven decades of living outside Du Weldenvarden."
Her light mood suddenly disappeared, leaving the Arya that he had come to know. "My Mother," she said quietly after a long time, "Has been in pain since my disappearance and I am happy to see her uplifted. Though it is hard to forgive things so easily and with just mere words. How can you forgive someone for leaving your life for seventy years?"
"You did," he stated.
"I did." Arya nodded. "However, the relationship between us will not be as simple as it used to be. Still, I did think of something when my Mother asked for my forgiveness."
"What was it?"
"That bitterness is a choice." Arya explained. "That I did not have to live my life hating my Mother for a mistake that she had made. It would not serve any purpose at all, whether harmful or helpful."
He did not reply, contemplating her words. 'Bitterness was a choice.' If she was right, then it could mean that he could forgive his father. But sixteen years…he glanced at Arya; she had to endure seventy years compared to him. Eragon sighed; he did not want to think of this now. "So, what will happen to me now?"
"My Mother is going to bring you to our teacher and he shall decide if you are trustworthy."
"Do you trust me?" He could not stop himself as the question came out. Before this moment, he did not care for anyone else's trust. He only cared for his mother and Saphira, but the wall of iron around his heart was suddenly crumbling.
"I do." The statement pleased him, but he did not voice the feeling. Instead, the door opened again and Islanzadí stood in the doorway, imperiously. He watched as Arya rose and made her way for her mother, glancing back at him once more before shutting the door behind her. She trusted him. Eragon smiled faintly, returning to his thoughts, hoping for sleep to take him.
So, what did you all think? I didn't disappoint any of you did I? But I'm really glad that you guys like reading my story. Something I haven't told you yet, I think. At first I didn't think it would be such a hit, but I'm changing my mind a little. I'm so excited to get this story going to its climax! Please review and give me some suggestions. And I'm sure, Buddy shall not disappoint with his questions and conclusions that always help me think more on how to write this story.