I am beyond sorry! And this time I have no excuses whatsoever. Although I love to write fanfictions, I like to read new books every once in a blue moon. Have any of you heard or read the Hunger Games trilogy? Let me tell, they are addicting! I spend almost all of my free time these past weeks reading them. Hence the slow update. Don't worry though, it doesn't happen often that I find a GOOD book. Besides, this chapter was hard to write. I had it planned out but when I typed it, it didn't read right sometimes. Anyways, since you've all waited so long go ahead and read!
Relacing her boots over the still sensitive but healed skin, Arya tried not to let the incident that morning bother her. But it did. Fear. That was what she felt. It was pointless not to deny it. But she didn't fear for herself as much as she had feared for Eragon. Something was changing him. And whatever it was estranged him from herself and the world beyond from all except Saphira. But why hadn't the sapphire blue dragon stepped in to help her Rider? Why? She jumped somewhat when Eridor's snout gently rubbed her upper arm.
You're worried.
Of course, I am. Arya replied, standing. Not only did Eragon attack a fellow rider, his standings had been dropped within Du Weldenvarden. Her mother would not be pleased to hear of such tidings. No doubt she had already heard it. And the knowledge evaded her of whether or not Gilderien the Wise had decided to punish him. Why is life so complicated?
I didn't know that you like to bemoan your fate, said Eridor.
He was right. She was an elf. A princess. And a Rider. There was no time to act petty and wish for a better fortune. Just the idea of it made her slightly embarrassed. It was no doubt that she was spending too much time with Eragon and Murtagh. Checking her recently healed shoulder, she sighed. They had dulled their blades before the battle, but he had attacked with such ferocity that it had managed to break the skin. Her green eyes wandered over to Eridor's large bulk. It's surprising that you would just sit by and enjoy the unfolding of events.
He shifted on the ground of the field, uncomfortably. Saphira spoke to me.
But when he refused to say anymore, she abandoned the thought of prying. Whatever it was, Saphira or Eragon would tell her in due time. "How are you, Arya?"
"Fine," she replied, as she lifted her head to take in the image of Murtagh standing before her. The way he looked at her made a slight trickle of anger run through her. Arya was not weak, and she didn't need him to worry over her. But such thoughts shouldn't be voiced. Her eyes drifted to his hand in which he had swung at his brother with such force the skin looked somewhat bruised. Fighting the instinct to purse her lips, she finished with the tie on her left boot and stood.
Her ankle supported her weight. Good. "It's nothing that magic can't heal," she said when she caught Murtagh's eyes traveling to her leg to her shoulder and finally to the side of her head. Arya glanced upwards; the sun was already high in the sky. "Master Oromis should be waiting for us."
Murtagh nodded. Arya glanced towards Eridor, he was still somewhat a fresh learner at flying and she didn't want to weigh him down with her weight. With all the grace she had possessed since birth, she slid onto the saddle behind Murtagh. But instead, before her with a mess of brown hair and broad shoulders, too broad to be elven was Eragon. She blinked. Today was not her day. I would say so.
That made her slightly more irritated.
Just slightly.
"Eragon…" she turned to focus her attention on Murtagh, her irritation at Eridor pushed to the back of her mind. "Do you think he's sick?" It was the same question he had asked her earlier.
"I wouldn't know."
Murtagh nodded as if deep in thought and unlike his younger brother, she could easily see the conflicting emotions in his eyes. At least he was easier to decipher. Predictable like most humans she'd met within her seventy years outside of Du Weldenvarden. The rest of the flight was quiet with both of them deep in thought.
Air came rushing at her face as Thorn descended to the ground, and she wasn't surprised that Oromis and Glaedr were waiting from them outside of the hut. The solemn expression on Oromis's aged face was not a pleasant sign. There was no doubt of that. Sliding onto the ground, she greeted her teacher, waiting as Murtagh did the same.
It didn't elude her how Oromis's eyes were searching her body for any form of injuries. "I've heard about Eragon," he said quietly. Instead of revulsion, his eyes were clouded with concern. A kindness. She could imagine Eragon's reaction to such an act.
"Has Gilderien the Wise—?"
"No, I've ask for him to refrain on my behalf."
Arya nodded. One worry out of the way. "And Queen Islanzadí?"
"She has been informed and will not act for the meantime. I've asked for jurisdiction seeing as this involves my students." Another worry out of the way for the mean time. "But I need your help, Arya."
She nodded, indicating for him to continue. "I need you to bring Eragon back to Ellesméra."
Surprised coursed through her body. Her? Under what reason? Why not Murtagh? He had more rights than her to bringing back Eragon. They were blood related. But for some reason, if Oromis wanted her to do it she would. Murtagh, however, had refused.
"Thorn and I should go—"
"And miss your training?" Oromis said with a raised eyebrow. "I've thought this out thoroughly. Only Arya can go, she has every capability of doing so. With your back, Murtagh, there is no chance that you can bring Eragon back here."
"I can do it!" he insisted.
Oromis rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefingers. "Your rash behavior will not do us any good Murtagh. Let Arya handle this."
"He is my younger brother!"
"And if you claim to care for him in any sort of way, do not let your emotions hinder what little time we have left!" Arya blinked slightly surprised at the small edge in Oromis's voice. She watched as he left for his hut before returning with a saddle for Eridor. "Do you remember how to properly adjust a saddle, Arya?"
"I do." As if she would ever forget. With nimble fingers the two of them slipped the brown leather over Eridor's shoulders before tightening the knots and slips.
"You should gather provision. Saphira is an agile flyer; it'll take a while for Eridor to catch up to her." Oromis instructed. She nodded. "And Arya." She waited for her teacher to continue. "Don't give up hope."
I know, she thought, but she didn't voice it. Sliding into the saddle, she slipped her leg through the straps. This would be the first time that she and Eridor would fly together. Excitement had bubbled in her despite their current situation. And she could tell that he was feeling the same as well. This is—
The first flight of many to come, Eridor finished. She nodded. Pushing off on his hind legs, she watched as velvet emerald wing unfurled bringing air underneath them, pushing them into the sky. Despite her weight, Eridor's smooth flying didn't seem affected. His training with Glaedr must have been building up towards this moment.
We need to go to Tialdari Hall.
Of course. Eridor slightly turned to the west and angling his body towards the ground, he sailed into a smooth landing into the gardens of her ancestral home.
Wait here. Turning to find her chambers, she halted for a second to see a white rose. Ignoring it, Arya left for her chambers. Grabbing her bow and arrows that she had stored away, her next stop was the kitchens. There she had the elves bring her fresh fruits and vegetables. Adjusting the pack on her shoulder as she walked back to the gardens, her brows slanted when she caught sight of her mother standing by Eridor and waiting for her.
When Islanzadí caught sight of Arya, she turned and the resemblance between mother and daughter could be seen. Her expression was in that of a frown. "Mother," Arya said stiffly.
"Arya." She replied. Her eyes flickered to the pack on her back. "And where is it that you are going?"
"To find Eragon."
Her brows slanted into a dangerous V and Arya could see that she was not pleased at the sight of her daughter running after Eragon. "You will not. I will not—"
"Allow it?" Arya supplied. "If you remembered Mother, I did not need your consent for the Yawë tattoo seventy years ago and I will not need it now to tell me whom I should associate myself with."
"You are making a mistake," Islanzadí whispered. She stopped as she strapped the pack onto Eridor's saddle. Arya was glad that Eridor had decided to stay put during this heated argument.
"You are making a mistake in letting Eragon go. We need him as an ally, Mother."
"And if he betrays us?" questioned Islanzadí. It was a thought that Arya had pondered on countless occasions. The fragile alliance they had with Eragon bordered only on trust. And it was proven time and time again that trusting in him was enough. Even if it is only for the meantime.
"I trust him. As should you, Mother," said Arya. Finally done with trying the pack onto the saddle she was about to slip onto Eridor's shoulders before her mother grabbed her by the wrist.
"Do not be a fool! You could be flying to your deaths. Do not think I do not know about what has happened this morning!" said Islanzadí. "If he has the audacity to attack you within your own homeland, he cannot be trusted."
"He is sick," Arya defended, feeling slightly angered at her Mother.
"He is dangerous."
"We all are," said Arya. "And I can defend myself."
"You are not going." She frowned at her mother. Her determination at keeping Arya from leaving Ellesméra was understandable. But she had to, if she wanted any chance in keeping Eragon within Du Weldenvarden. A chance at trying to save him from the illness that seemed to poisoning his person.
"I'm sorry." Avoiding the thunderous and somewhat hurt expression on her mother's face, she tugged her arm away from her mother's grip and jumped onto Eridor's shoulders. Without hesitation, he rose to the air, pushing into the sky with his powerful wings.
That was rather eventful.
She nodded. It was. After a moments silence, she spoke again this time focusing on the topic at hand. Fly to Eragon's tree.
For what?
Answers. He consented and within moments they were landing in Eragon's bedroom. She wasn't surprised to find it void of any living thing. It was still in the mess that he had left it when she had last visited him. Crumbled parchment lay strewn across the floor, scrolls not rolled shut, books laid open, and others were stacked to a precarious height.
He has no sense of order. She thought as she bent down to pick up a piece of parchment. Trying to straighten it out, her eyes were met with a text of the ancient language. A spell? There was no explanation for the strange word choice that varied from parchment to parchment. But there was one word that caught her eyes repeatedly. Soul. Abandoning the parchment, Arya let her eyes skim over an open scroll.
A picture of a fully drawn body and an explanation of the nerves and organs. The next one was the documentations of an ancient seal. But there was a scroll that seemed to belong to Eragon entirely. His handwriting was inked onto it. A sketch of the body and besides it was points and details of some of the nerves. Further down was a symbol of sorts, and repeatedly written next to it was soul.
Could it be something important? Eridor asked, seeing what she was through their connection. She nodded. There was so much research written on the scroll, how many sleepless nights had he spent on it? "The heart is the source . . ." And that was the last that was written on the scroll.
What are you trying to do, Eragon? Moving about his chambers, she stumbled slightly when her foot hit something. It was a bag of some sorts. Opening it, she was met with a black helm. Arya pulled it out and studied Eragon's armor. She could remember clearly the first time that she had seen him in it. In her mind, she had thought she had seen a monster, more vicious and sadistic than Durza. Instead, she was proven wrong when he had untied her and treated her in his quarters.
As she stared at the horns of his helm something seemed to click in her mind. You think so?
I'm sure of it. Arya replied placing the helm back in the bag. Returning to Eridor's side, she slipped back onto his shoulders. Head west, after Eragon and Saphira. With that, he flew from the opening of the tree and veered in the direction she had instructed. The sky was clear and devoid of any figure; it hadn't been long since Eragon had left. But evening was starting to descend. The two of them began to get ready to rest for the day.
Keeping her mind open, it was near impossible to try and see through the thick forest. He couldn't have gone far, Arya thought. As they flew, she tried not to think of what might come about when they came face to face again. The friendship they had would be strained by whatever had transpired that morning. When the sky had darkened to a pitch black she was about to tell Eridor to land before a familiar mind reached out to touch hers.
Saphira.
Letting the dragon access her mind, she was surprised as worry flooded through their connection. Arya, you and Eridor need to land.
Has something gone amiss? Arya asked.
Eragon is sick. Sick? It had confirmed her worst free, he was sick and must have been for a while for it to take its toll on him.
Where are you?
An image of a clear stream in a small clearing appeared and she felt Eridor dip forward as he took in the image projected in their minds. Trying not to shut her eyes as the wind rushed pass, she felt her eyes sting. Letting his wings flare out from his sides, Eridor came to a steady landing. Vaulting off of him, she went to find Eragon to see him bent over the stream, retching furiously. He began to sick when we were traveling. I wanted to take him to Oromis but he refused.
Walking over to him, she knelt beside him and rubbed his back soothingly. But when her hand touched him, he jerked away from her, barely gasping. "Don't."
She frowned and came close, very close to glaring at him. Was it pride or something of a much sensitive nature? "We can discuss what happened later on. Are you hungry?" asked Arya. After a minute or so, he nodded.
Moving to untie her pack from the saddle, she pulled out a wineskin for him to wash his mouth with and gave him an arrangement of various fruits. He took only a few bites of a pear before setting it down. And that was when she knew how sick he truly was. If he was unable to eat probably, he must not be feeling well enough to do anything. Arya watched as he leant against a tree trunk tiredly.
Without hesitation she went to feel his forehead. Ice cold. "Are you feeling well?"
He cracked an eye open. "Are you asking me whether I'm on the verge of dying from a disastrous cold?"
Sarcasm. Another reason why Eragon had intrigued her so much. Usually the response that she would receive from humans was nervousness and respect. He obviously lacked those. "If you can make jokes then you're not as sick as I thought you were," she said, somewhat crossly. One reason why she didn't like to be around Eragon at times was that he could easily draw out her anger with a few choices of words.
But he didn't seem to be listening to her; instead he seemed to be trying to draw warmth from her hand that lay across his forehead. His pale exterior seemed to grow even more prominent. "Eragon, at least drink some water."
"I can't keep anything down," he murmured. A sharp intake of breath made her focus on him. Was he injured? But as she searched his frame, he was clear of anything serious except for some questionable bruises.
"What is it?" asked Arya, concerned. But he just shook his head. "Eragon, what's wrong?"
"Why did you come?" he asked ignoring her question.
"To bring you back to Ellesméra." This one time, she could afford to be truthful to him. He nodded, closing his eyes again. Noticing the slight shivers that seemed to course through his body, she moved him closer to Saphira, hoping that the heat from her would be enough to warm him.
But it wasn't. Even when she had lit a fire, it wasn't enough to warm him still. In the end, she had to resort to body heat. Moving him so he sat next to her against Saphira's foreleg, she gingerly moved his head to rest against her shoulder. Seemingly feeling warmth, he inched closer to her.
The night was quiet. Everything was peaceful except for the shallow breaths that Eragon seem to take during his sleep. He looked so peaceful and sickly that it was hard to imagine him and Gabranth being one and the same. Trying not to worry over his clammy hands, Arya thought that the only way to get him cured was to bring him back to Oromis.
But as she was considering how to bring Eragon back to Ellesméra, a strangled whisper broke through her train of thought. She had thought he was asleep since he was silent for over thirty minutes, but she was wrong as his quiet voice pierced through the night and through her mind. "I'm sorry."
Good chapter? Don't forget to review! And seeing as we're close to the 400 mark range, I'm going to have to think of other things to put up and I'm sure I can come up with something. But besides, I just wanted to say some more sorries here and there because I know how it feels to wait for a good book to come out or a chapter to be uploaded and I usually try to stick to a fast, uploading speed. Hopefully this won't happen again. Review everyone and see you around the next chapter!
UPDATED: 08/27/2014