I said I might not be able to update tonight but I guess I was wrong :p. All morning my family was getting the big party ready for my parents and for New Years. Everyones been in and out in frantic attitudes. You can't imagine the chaos that happened. It was a very painful ordeal. Especially when my eldest sister insisted that we all go polish ourselves up in a beauty parlor. I hate oil rubdowns. They are just so icky. Anyways, this chapter is slightly canon as well and the next chapter shall fully explain the full effect to Arya I might hold back on that one since I've been updating none stop for the last week or since christmas to be exact.
Her nose scrunched up in disgust as she passed a group of dirt covered soldiers who held such a foul stench of sweat and filth that she had to slow her pace to ease her own discomfort. She frowned, she had been traveling for two days now in search for Murtagh. And as much as she relied on her own instincts and her knowledge of Murtagh, she had to predict in which route he would take back to the Varden. And her guess wasn't far off for it put her in forty miles west of a small village called Eastcroft. From there she had reached out with her mind to the plants and animals and true enough she gleaned through the minds the presence of a rider.
Keeping to the road, she berated herself for not just simply traveling off of it. Groups of travelers increased by the numbers and most often she caught herself in the presence of soldiers and patrols. Tugging her hood lower to cover her face, she wished she didn't have to wear the forest green dress that she did. But after a rather unfortunate event with a pair of ox herders, who had blatantly questioned her leather clothing, she was forced into the dress.
Eragon would no doubt laugh at me if he saw me now, she thought with a slight hint of amusement. As she walked, she felt the urge to touch her face every now and then for the muscle was not in its norm position. Instead she had used magic to shift and alter her appearance into that of a human's and she had also rounded the tip of her ears. And though she may look human her beauty was still too noticeable and she did not want to attract the stares of males. It irked her to no end. Soon night began to fall and though she would've preferred to find a quiet place to rest outside of the village, the fact that a patrol was behind her forced her into the village which seemed prepared for a siege.
Moving through the village, she located the wayfarer's house. Resting here will have to do and if fortune smiles upon me, Murtagh will no doubt be forced here. The common room had a low ceiling with tar-stained timbers. Yellow candles light the room with layers of smoke while sand and rushes covered the floor. Her eyes scanned the room, a good sixty people filled it, the smell of their sweat irritating her slightly.
Arya searched for the mistress of the cavern, succeeding when she picked out a sturdy middle aged woman with her tied back in a bun, some strands falling from the arrangement. She approached her silently and tapped her on the shoulder. The woman did not seem startled but turned to face her, "May I help you?"
"I would like to rent a room for the night," reaching under her cloak, she pulled out a bag of crowns that she had taken from a group of unknowing soldiers when they weren't paying attention. And though she didn't like to partake in thievery, it was necessary. The woman, as Arya predicted obliged and produced an iron key in which she handed to her. She left but not before explaining to Arya the location of her rented room. Taking it, she tucked it away in her sleeved before finding a secluded corner to sit and wait, Murtagh would likely enter Eastcroft and if so, he would be forced to the wayfarer's house. She took a seat at a table pushed against a wall, it was out of the way and hopefully no one would bother her.
Her hope was sorely dismissed when a group of four drunkards, famers by the looks of it, spotted her. They sauntered over and greeted her, the alcohol in their breaths evident. She spared them a glance before returning to staring at the table before her. Two of them leaned on the wall on either side of her, cornering her in, one sat in a chair turned backwards grinning while the other placed his foot on the edge of the table, bending forward over his knee.
"What do we have here?" the largest one said, his voice low. "A lone woman?"
"No more," said Arya dryly. Though she had managed to shift her appearance, she was unable to disguise her voice. And it came out as lilting as music, which seem to further their interest in her. If worst came to worst, she might have to kill them if they made any unwanted advances. And that would be another misfortune.
"Let us keep you company," the one to her right said with a laugh as if the idea was humorous to him. Her eyes narrowed but they didn't see her displeasure at being addressed so for her face was covered with a hood.
She had always disliked being the presence of drunkards, especially when they were males and humans, for they seem to forget the code of mannerism and say the rudest and most offending things to her. Though when she first joined the Varden, many had approached her with sighs of affection and tried to woo her, within time they'd began to learn not to do so anymore. If only the same could be said for these men. They were big, beefy farmers with leathery necks and cheeks flushed with the fever of alcohol.
None came close to the fair features that Eragon had. He had a slim but powerful build, and she knew that he would stand taller than the men before her, if not by a few inches. Their hair was dirty and hoarse and from experience, she knew that her mate possessed soft chestnut hair. And though Eragon was not perfect in elven terms, Arya was content being with him and being surrounded by these farmers just reinforced the fact even more.
"Now, now, Alfred, let's not get carried away," said the one with his foot propped up on the edge of the table. "We wouldn't want to frighten our female companion."
Alfred just merely laughed again, "You can't help it that a man is needy, Thresh."
Thresh turned back to her, "So tell me, what is it that you are doing here in the wayfarer's house? It's uncommon to see a woman traveling without the company of her father, brother, or husband, especially in dark times such as this. Are you lost?"
She refrained from ignoring the men for it would only cause to anger them in their drunken state, the only thing she could do was entertain them with conversation and send them on their way. "Lost? None so much, I'm just merely traveling and happen to stumble upon Eastcroft when night fell. And this was the only place in which I can rest without fear of the dangers of the dark."
Arya felt distaste color her thoughts at her answer. She did not fear resting in nature, for she found it much more comforting than being in the village at the moment. "Traveling? Where to?" The man on her left questioned.
That she did not answer which didn't seem to bother them, instead they moved onto different topics. They spoke to her, gesturing carelessly as if to make themselves appear strong and proud in her presence. "With the Varden's appearance and those wretched riders, us farmers have lost our crops to the king's men. Honest farmers like us have a hard time in making good harvest before the winter comes," the man to her left, Lars she'd learned, said.
"Honest farmers? I do not think that honest farmers will wallow in their sorrow with the use of drinks and spirits. If you're worried about your livelihood, than you are merely wasting your time in a place such as this," said Arya. Her response angered them, for they scowled and swelled their chests, puffing themselves up like roosters. One of them shook a finger at her.
She ignored them. It seemed that her patience had worn thin with them. She couldn't find it in herself to continue speaking to them politely anymore. The man to her left suddenly reached down and hooked a finger underneath the edge of her hood, as if to toss it back. Quicker than what was natural, she gripped his wrist with her right hand, but then after a moment, released it and returned to her previous position. If she threw him off of her, it would be unseemly and they would no doubt suspect her strength. Her hood collapsed around her neck, revealing her features to the men.
They were stunned for lack of a better word. None had expected her beauty and she could tell from the wanton desire on their face that they were entranced like most men she came across. Their expressions reminded her of another's, causing a pleasant heat to suffuse her body, unknowingly to them. Suddenly, she felt a familiar consciousness touch hers; dealing the person a mental blow, she easily destroyed his concentration, Murtagh!
Arya?
Their eyes met for a moment before the crowd thickened again and hid him from her view. She stayed where she was, trusting that Murtagh would come to her. He did. When he emerged from the press to where she sat, the farmers about her looked at him askance. "You're awful rude, barging in on us uninvited-like. Best make yourself scarce, eh?"
He was dressed as Arya observed in clothing that wouldn't be spotted in a crowd. "It seems to me, gentlemen, that the lady would rather be left alone. Now, you wouldn't ignore the wishes of an honest woman, would you?"
She felt like snorting when she heard the word honest, for had it not been her who criticized the farmers and their own honesty? "An honest woman?" laughed Alfred. "No honest woman travels alone."
"Then let me set your concerns to rest, for I am her brother, and we are going to live with our uncle in Dras-Leona."
The four men exchanged uneasy glances. Three of them began to edge away from Arya to her pleasure. But there must always be one dissenter, it seemed. The largest of them planted himself before Murtagh and said, "I'm not sure I believe you, friend. You're just trying to drive us away so you can be with her yourself."
After a few more words, some more forceful than others did they finally saunter away towards the bar, though not without shooting some longing glances back her which she pointed ignored. Murtagh slipped behind the table to sit next to her. "What are you doing here?" he asked, barely moving his lips.
"Searching for you." He was surprised for he turned to her. She raised one curved eyebrow in response.
"Are you alone?"
"No longer. . . . Did you rent a bed for the night?" he shook his head. "Good. I already have a room. We can talk there."
They rose in unison, and she led him to the stairs at the back of the common room. The worn treads creaked under their feet as they climbed the stairs into a second story in which a single candle illuminated. As per the mistress's explanation, she let the way to the last door on the right, and unlocked the door with the iron key that was given to her. Waiting for Murtagh to cross the threshold, she closed and secured the door again.
She heard Murtagh murmur, "Brisingr," lighting an oil lamp on a low table to their right. But it did little in providing light for the room was still dark. It was a small room and the only other furnishing in it beside the table was the narrow bed with a single blanket thrown over the ticking. She went to put her small bag of supplies on the mattress. She unfastened her brooch and placed her traveling cloak on the bed, before turning to Murtagh. "Thorn said that you stayed behind to kill the last Ra'zac and to explore the rest of Helgrind. Is that the truth?"
"It's part of the truth."
"And what is the whole truth?"
"Promise me that you won't share what I'm about to tell you with anyone unless I give you my permission." She stared at him before consenting knowing that it was the only way for him to reveal to her his true reasoning.
"I promise," she said in the ancient language.
Then he told her about Sloan, why he decided not to bring him back to the Varden, and the curse he had laid upon the butcher, and the chance he had given Sloan to redeem himself and to regain his sight. He finally finished by saying, "Whatever happens, Roran and Katrina can never learn the Sloan is alive. If they do, there'll be no end of troubles."
Arya sat on the edge of the bed as he concluded his explanation, her eyes moving to the lamp and its jumping flames. For a long while, she didn't speak but contemplated what he had told her. Eventually she said, "You should have killed him."
"Maybe, but I couldn't."
"Just because you find your task distasteful is no reason to shirk it. You were a coward."
Her accusation seemed to cause him offense. And they argued if slightly, their stances of justice and morality until Arya found it pointless to continue. After moment, Murtagh gestured to the forest green dress that she wore. "Have you finally decided to abandon your shirt and trousers?"
She permitted a small smile to appear on her face, "Only for the duration of this trip. I've lived among the Varden for more years than I care to recall, yet I still forget how humans insist upon separating their women from their men. I never could bring myself to adopt your customs, even if I did not conduct myself entirely as an elf. Who was to say yea or nay to me? My mother? She was on the other side of Alagaesia." At the mention of her mother, she caught herself. The pain of their recent argument resurfacing in her mind. After a moment, she continued, "In any event, I had an unfortunate encounter with a pair of ox herders soon after I left the Varden, and I stole this dress directly afterward."
"It fits well."
"One advantage of being a spellcaster is that you never have to wait for a tailor."
He laughed, then asked, "What now?"
"Now we rest. Tomorrow, before the sun rises, we shall slip out of Eastcroft, and no one shall be the wiser."
After a short rest and the stars began to fade, it was time for her and Murtagh to leave Eastcroft. Together, they opened the window and jumped from the sill to the ground twelve feet below. As she fell, Arya grasped the skirt of her dress to keep it from billowing around her. Another reason why she detested dresses: they limited her actions. They landed inches apart and they set off running between the houses towards the palisade.
"People will wonder where were went," said Murtagh between strides. "Maybe we should have waited and left like normal travelers."
"It's riskier to stay. I paid for my room. That's all the innkeeper really cares about, not whether we snuck out early." They parted for a moment as they circumvented a decrepit wagon, and then she added, "The most important thing is to keep moving. If we linger, the king will surely find us." And she did not want to be faced with that situation, not from what he'd done to Eragon.
When they arrived at the outer wall, she ranged along it until she found a post that protruded somewhat. She wrapped her hands around it and pulled, testing the wood with her weight. To her satisfaction, the post swayed and rattled but it held. "You first," said Arya to Murtagh.
"Please, after you."
Why must human men always insist upon courtesy when it came to women? She tapped her bodice with a sigh of impatience. "A dress is somewhat breezier than a pair of leggings, Murtagh."
Heat flooded his cheeks as he caught her meaning and without a word gripped the post and began to climb with his hands and feet until he reached the top, stopping to balance himself on the tips of the sharp posts.
"Go on," whispered Arya.
"Not until you join me."
"Don't be so—"
"Watchman!" said Murtagh and pointed. She cursed inwardly and gripped the post, using only the strength of her arms to pull herself up. It would look ridiculous if she used her feet as she wore a dress. When she was close enough, Murtagh seized her right forearm and lifted her above the remained of the posts, setting her down next to him. There they remained until the watchmen continued on his rounds.
Without a word, the two of them dropped to the other side of the palisade and dashed away from Eastcroft, skirting the farms that surrounded the village. Five miles from the village when it became apparent that they were utterly alone, the two of them drew to a halt by a charred stump. Kneeling Arya scooped several handfuls of dirt from the ground in front of her, "Adurna risa," she said. She waited until water filled the cavity before she ended the spell before intoning the spell of scrying. Nasuada's face appeared upon the surface of the skill water. Arya greeted her as did Murtagh, but his held a hint of warmth and longing that hers lacked.
"Murtagh," she replied with the same warmth, bringing to mind Eragon's words. I believe Murtagh and Nasuada may fancy one another. It certainly seems so, do you not agree? She did as she watched them gaze upon one another. "You are safe, thank Gokukara. We were so worried."
"I'm sorry I upset you, but I had my reasons."
"You must explain them to me when you arrive."
"As you wish," he gestured to her bandages his face showing a frown, "How were you hurt? Did someone attack you? Why hasn't Eragon healed you?"
"I ordered him to leave me alone. And that I will explain to you when you arrive. Consider it trade secrets," To Arya, Nasuada said, "I'm impressed; you found him. I wasn't sure you could."
"Fortune smiled upon me."
"Perhaps but I tend to believe your skill was just as important as Fortune's generosity. How long until you rejoin us?"
"Two, three days, unless we encounter unforeseen difficulties."
They discussed communication practices until Murtagh had asked for Thorn which made Arya's heart ache for Eridor. She'd left him on a depressing note. In the back of her mind, she heard the anguished roar that he released as she sped away from the Varden. It had but her in a foul mood the first day of her trip but she had soon cast the thought aside. It wouldn't due to linger on the past. And when she returned to the Varden, she would ride with him for as long as he wanted. After Murtagh had spoke with Thorn indirectly did Arya speak.
"How is Eridor?" she asked the dark skinned leader.
Nasuada sighed, "Upset at your departure, but Saphira has handled that end rather well. Once he hears tide of your return, he shall no doubt be heartened."
Arya nodded, she'd guessed as much. Then Murtagh asked the question that was on her mind but she didn't voice, "Where is Eragon? Is he not with you?"
At his question, she seemed to grow more tired, "It is late and though he wished to stay with me to discuss further actions on the Varden's behalf, I ordered him to rest." Her eyes locked with Arya's. "He's been ill as of late."
"Ill?" Arya repeated, trying to retain her worry.
"Yes, it's been getting rather serious since you'd left, Arya. It pains him to wake in the morning and though he doesn't speak of it, his servants are more concerned for his welfare than he is. And from what I hear, he doesn't eat and sleep is hard for him to come by." Nasuada caught herself as if she'd said too much but it was enough for worry to flood through Arya. He was ill…can that mean his soul…It sounded like he had the same symptoms as he did when he was ill in Ellesmera. They had to hurry back to the Varden.
After Arya and Murtagh took their leave of Nasuada, Arya terminated the spell and stood, anxious to leave immediately for the Varden. With the back of her hand, she knocked the dirt from her dress.
"Let us be off," she said already moving. Her heart set on journeying swiftly back to the Varden.
They traveled for the greater part of early morning and well enough into the day until she allowed for a moment's respite. Murtagh didn't speak of his aches but she knew him well enough to know that his bones ached and his feet were like lead. He never ran like he did when he was with her. It was midafternoon the day after they had left Eastcroft when Arya sensed the patrol of fifteen soldiers ahead of them. They were nearing the border of Surda and it did not surprise her to find soldiers patrolling it; to prevent desertion she thought.
The land around them was flat and open, devoid of any cover. They would have to travel with their heads down and hope that the soldiers would disregard them. But when it came to being ignored or dismissed, both she and Murtagh had the bad misfortune of always being halted. When they were faced by the patrol, Murtagh had gripped the pommel of Zar'roc which was disguised as a traveling staff, wrapped in cloth. The two of them hurriedly smeared dirt on their palms to cover their gedwey ignasia. While Arya wrapped the skirt of her dress over her leggings.
The soldier who had ordered the patrol to a halt before Arya and Murtagh spoke again, "Let me see your faces." They both raised their heads, Arya's beauty and Murtagh's fair features startling them for a moment. She hid her distaste as she took in the sight of a man on a roan charger. He sported a rather enormous curly mustache that extended a good nine inches in either direction.
The other soldiers held spears pointed at Arya and Murtagh. So much dirt covered them, it was impossible to see the flames stitched on their tunics.
"Now then," said the man, is mustached wobbling, "Who are you? Where are you going? And what is your business in the king's lands?" Then he waved a hand, "No, don't bother answering. It doesn't matter. Nothing matter nowadays. The world is coming to an end, and we waste our days interrogating peasants." Peasants? How rude.
The man turned to Murtagh poking and prodding until they searched his bag in which they found his armor which was bestowed upon him by King Hrothgar. It was fine and beautiful but it lacked the grace that Eragon's held. After a few more bashing on Murtagh's behalf, did the man turn to her, "As for your lovely companion, there are other ways she can be of use to the Empire, eh? Now tie them up!"
As always, she felt irritation rise up within her at the suggestive tone he had implied. Why must she always come across the misfortune of being sneered at and desired after? Catching Murtagh's eyes, she blinked. He blinked in return, his grip on Zar'roc tightening. A second later, he pulled the ruby blade free, swinging it through the air severing the head of the man with the mustache from his body. Without waiting for a reaction, he jumped back, bringing his sword into an upward arch slicing the spears in half as they flew towards him. The instant he had brought forth Zar'roc, Arya bounded up the side of the horse nearest her, jumping from stirrup to saddle and with her supernatural strength killed the soldier by kicking him in the head, sending him flying thirty feet away. Then she jumped from saddle to saddle, killing them with her knees, her feet, and her hands with the ease that she was born with.
When the horses had scattered and only three remained, Arya grappled with two of them, who proved a bother as their fear of them put them into a reckless state. The third fled and was pursued by Murtagh. Sidestepping a jab to her side, she reached up with her hand to twist the neck of one of the soldiers she fought until she heard his spine snap. The one left standing let out a cry or terror as he watched his comrade fall. Turning to him, she stepped forward as he retreated, and as quick as can be, darted up to him and with a twist, kicked him in the gut, breaking his ribs. He flew ten yards away before he landed, motionless.
Glancing over the fallen soldiers, she found a tin of water on one of the soldiers and uncorked it, washing her hands and arms with the cool liquid. Murtagh came up beside her, Zar'roc sheathed, and he unharmed.
"How is it," asked Arya, "you could kill that man, but you could not bring yourself to lay a finger on Sloan?" She stood and faced him, her gaze frank.
He answered without feeling, "He was a threat. Sloan wasn't. Isn't it obvious?"
So obvious that she had overlooked the thought, "It ought to be, but it isn't…I am ashamed to be instructed in morality by one with so much less experience. Perhaps I have been too certain, too confident in my own choices."
"I feel like a murderer," said Murtagh as he gazed at the corpses. How different they were, Eragon and Murtagh. She was sure that if Eragon had been by her side as she fought, he would mercilessly dispose of the men without blinking. Killing did not seem to bother him.
"I understand how difficult it is," said Arya. She too did not enjoy killing. But it was a necessity in war, something that neither of them could avoid. They were Riders and it was either to kill or be killed. "Eventually, this war will end, and you will see that our duties encompass more than violence. The Riders were not just warriors; they were teachers, healers, and scholars."
His jaw muscles knotted for a moment, "Why are we fighting these men, Arya?"
"Because they stand between us and Galbatorix." It was that simple. Leaving Murtagh to consider the consequences, Arya stood and moved forward to pick up a spear. Though Murtagh had used Zar'roc to kill a few of them, the others she'd dispatched with just her hands, feet, and knees. It would not doubt draw nearby attention to how easily the soldiers were killed. She placed the tip under the chin of a slain soldier and thrust it into his skill. Murtagh sprang forward and pushed her away from the body.
"What are you doing?" he shouted.
Anger flashed across Arya's face as she beheld him, "I will forgive that only because you are distraught and not of your right mind. Think, Murtagh! It is too late in the day for anyone to be coddling you. Why is this necessary?"
"If we don't, the Empire will notice that most of the men were killed by hand."
At last, he was seeing reason. There was a wet squelch as she pulled the spear out of the body, tapping one end against Zar'roc. "I find this as repulsive as you do, so you might as well make yourself useful and help."
Murtagh nodded and unsheathed his ruby bladed sword and together they set out to make it appear as if a troop of ordinary warriors had killed the soldiers. It was grisly work, Arya admitted but it was necessary. Once done, she threw her spear aside without a second thought. "We should be off." She said as Murtagh repacked his armor. "The shadows lengthen, and someone else if bound to appear and raise a hue and cry when they discover this crow's feast."
That night, Arya sat staring the meager fire she had created while Murtagh ate to regain his energy. It was late and they would have to get an early start the next morning but neither of them made a move to retire. Arya sat at right angles to Murtagh, her legs pulled up, with her arms wrapped around them and her chin resting on her knees. The skirt of her dress spread outward, like the wind-battered petals of a flower. She was too worried thinking about Eragon's welfare to sleep. He was having trouble eating and sleeping…and she knew that it was serious for Eragon valued sleep more than gold and it usually came to her naturally without fail. It had been nearly two days since they'd left Eastcroft and she was sure that by midafternoon the next day they would reach the Varden.
That was right; he was pale when she'd left his nearly four days ago, as if he couldn't sleep. Her worry increased. There must be a way to save Eragon before he sunk into the madness of the spirit within him. But how? Where did she start? Who did she have to speak to? She refused to accept it as a futile mission. There was a way; she just had to look harder.
Murtagh shifted uneasily as howls filled the night silence.
"What's wrong?" asked Arya. "Is it the wolves? They shall not bother us, you know. They are teaching their pups how to hunt and they won't allow their younglings bear creatures who smell as strangely as we do."
"It's not the wolves out there," said Murtagh. "It's the wolves in here." He tapped the middle of his forehead.
She nodded understanding where it was that he was coming from. "It is always thus. The monsters of the mind are far worse than those that actually exist. Fear, doubt, and hate have hamstrung more people than beasts ever have."
"And love," Murtagh added.
"And love," she admitted, thinking of Eragon. "Also greed and jealousy and every other obsessive urge the sentient races are susceptible to."
"Does it bother you when you kill?"
His question offended her. Had he not learned anything during his stay in Ellesmera? Though it may have been a brief handful of months, it should have been enough for him to comprehend the nature of her people. Arya's eyes narrowed. "Neither I nor my people eat the flesh of animals because we cannot bear to hurt another creature to satisfy our hunger, and you have the effrontery to ask if killing disturbs us? Do you really understand so little of us that you believe we are coldhearted killers?"
"No, of course not. Do not take offense for that was not what I meant," he protested.
"Then say what you mean and do not give insult unless it is your intention."
"What I want to know is, how do you feel when you kill? How are you supposed to feel? Do you see the warriors you've slain staring back at you, as real as you are before me?"
She stared at the fire, before opting to tell Murtagh the time when she had first taken a life. It was nine months after she'd taken up her position as her mother's ambassador. And the Varden under Weldon during their march to Surda had encountered a band of Urgal. They were content on merely passing but the Urgals being overly fond of war decided otherwise. And that day was the first day in which she'd taken a life. Though her blade was stained with black blood and the body that laid at her feet was that of an Urgal, she felt the sadness of the loss of life. It had haunted her for weeks on end, knowing that she'd committed nature's greatest violations and killed another.
"How did you come to terms with what you had done?"
"I examined my reasons for killing to determine if they were just. Satisfied they were, I asked myself if our cause was important enough to continue supporting it, even though it would probably require me to kill again. Then I decided that whenever I think of the dead, I would picture myself in the gardens of Tialdari Hall."
"Did it work?"
"It did. The only antidote for the corrosive poison of violence is finding peace within yourself. It's a difficult cure to obtain, but well worth the effort." She paused then added, "Breathing helps too."
"Breathing?"
She nodded. Murtagh had soon followed her advice and calming himself and his mind. Eventually he gave her his thanks. Then he spoke again, "I'm weak compared to Eragon, aren't I? Even if I'm his elder brother." She didn't speak but wait for him to continue. "Killing has never seemed to bother him. I've seen him snapped a man's neck with his feet or slice another into quarters. But he'd never so much as blink."
"It's because he's had more time to acquaint himself with the practice," said Arya softly as she too had thought of Eragon's demeanor in battle. He changed from one of stoicism to a ruthless warrior. "Or rather, he had to learn to kill without mercy."
Murtagh nodded again, then like Eragon had back in Ellesmera, Murtagh had stumbled across her shadows as he asked about her tortures at Gil'ead. "You never talk about it. You can recount the facts of your imprisonment readily enough, but you never mention what it was like for you. Not how you feel about it now."
"Pain is pain," she said. "It needs no description."
"True, but ignoring it can cause more harm than the original injury, at least on the inside," said Murtagh.
"Why do you assume that I have not already confided in someone?"
"Who?"
"Does it matter? Ajihad, my mother, a friend in Ellesmera. . . Eragon."
Murtagh nodded and decided not to pursue the matter, before he addressed another topic. "It must be nice to have someone to share your burdens." She glanced at Murtagh, slightly confused at his statement.
"You have Thorn."
"No, I mean a mate or a betrothed or a wife. . ." Murtagh trailed off, seemingly embarrassed by his words. It was nice, she thought. Reaching down, she began to tear blades of grass from the ground as her hands itching to do something. "Though the bond of a rider and their dragon may be deep and eternal, there are some areas in which another has to fill. Whether it is a mate or a wife. I just wished. . ." He stopped again, embarrassed as his cheeks turned a deep shade of red.
Arya nodded, "I understand, only as a Rider, you must choose who it is that you wish to devote your heart to. It is not a simple task as picking a piece of jewelry and wearing it. No. It requires a bond of unbreakable trust and a deep friendship as well as strong affection," said Arya as she wove the pieces of grass into the object on her mind. "But you being a dragon rider as well as a part of the dwarves' clan must understand that whoever you choose will affect your relationship to those around you as well as your own reputation."
"You chose Eragon," Murtagh pointed out.
Arya nodded, "I did for I felt all of those feelings that I had described to you earlier. I understood the consequences in taking him for a mate. And I do not regret it in the slightest, for I understand him and where he comes from. And he for me. Know this Murtagh, always guard your heart from temptation and entrust it to one who you know will stand with you even if the world does not."
With a pleased expression she held out her palms showing a beautiful ship woven out of grass.
"It's beautiful," Murtagh said.
Leaning forward, she murmured, "Flauga." The ship rose from her hands and sailed around the fire before gathering speed and gilding off into the night sky.
"How far will it go?"
"Forever," she answered, "As long as there is a source of energy from it to draw from whether animal or plants, it will continue to stay aloft. Flying towards the ends of Alagaesia maybe."
There was a lapse in their conversation before Murtagh spoke again. "Why did you come for me? I'm capable of taking care of myself you know."
Arya turned to stare at him. She had known that he would eventually ask that question and she knew her own answer to it well enough. "If I hadn't come after you then Eragon would. And he's in no state to be wandering about the Empire. You are his brother and though elves do not marry when taking a mate, I've come to acknowledge you as family in that aspect."
"Eragon come after me?" he snorted. "I don't think that would ever happen. At best, he tolerates me
She regarded him for a moment, "I do not think so. You may be half brothers but you are still his family. It is difficult, I assume, for Eragon to interact with others for he has grown up in an environment in which self survival is key. While you grew up with the love of family and friends. Barriers such as those are hard to overcome, do you not agree?"
He nodded and they sat there in silence as the branches in the fire burned. Then she felt it in the sudden wind that had decided to buffet them. Immediately she went to put out the fire as Murtagh crouched alerted. "What is it?" he asked.
She stood in a half crouch alert, her eyes surveying the darkness about them. "We are being watched. Whatever happens, don't use magic or you may get us killed." She didn't fancy the thought of dying. Not yet.
"Who—"
"Shh."
In the distance a cluster of lights approached them, floating through the air not of this world. A crackling nimbus surrounded each orb, pulsing with energy. Her eyes counted two dozen spirits headed towards them. That was too great a number for her and Murtagh to overcome if the need arises. First a patrol and now spirits. They seemed to be a magnet for danger, Arya though wryly. She tasted metal as the spirit continued their approach and her hair stood on end to her slight annoyance. She did not flinch but instead lifted her arm and laid her hand upon the single orb that pulsed royal blue and verdant green. A radiant joy filled her like never before. It inquired to their use of magic and she explained it to them as well as Eragon, who had freed the spirits in Durza. Its reaction was one of immense gratitude which seem to fill her to the brim with happiness even more. Then it released her and drifted towards Murtagh. His expression was one of outright happiness when he touched it and when it rejoined its brethren, the spirits floated away in the direction of Surda.
She sat as Murtagh fell to his knees, blinking. "What were they?"
"Spirits."
He nodded, "What did you say to them?"
"It was curious as to why we had been using magic; that was what brought us to their attention. I explained, and I also explained that Eragon, your half-brother, was the one who freed the spirits trapped inside Durza. That seemed to please them a great deal," her hand came to rest on the ground, but instead she felt a cool metal. "Oh!" she said realizing what the spirit had left them. "They were indeed grateful. Naina!"
At her command a soft light illuminated the camp. The grass underneath them had turned into solid gold and to her surprise in the center of the camp where the fire used to be was a single white rose. The spirit must have seen how much the flower had meant to her and Eragon through her memories and decided to make one for her. Reaching forward to touch it, her eyes widened. Instead of the soft feathering touch of its petals, her fingers brushed the surface of platinum. Her eyes followed its stem which was of solid gold, and in the center sapphires and diamonds sparkled in the dim light.
"A golden rose!"
"And it is still alive," said Arya.
"No!" But the expression on his face soon became one of amazement as he felt the life of the flower. "Amazing!"
"It truly is," she smiled slightly as she caressed the flower. Maybe once the war was over or when the Varden marched into the Empire, she would take Eragon to see the gifts the spirits had bestowed upon them in his honor. If, that was, the rose was not dug up by a horde of greedy fortune hunters. After a few more moments of admiration, Arya snapped her fingers, casting them into darkness as her werelight faded into oblivion. "We have talked the night away. It is time we rested. Dawn is fast approaching, and we must depart soon thereafter."
Hopefully, the golden rose would remain hidden from the world's knowledge long enough for her to show it to Eragon. He would no doubt enjoy seeing it.
Painfully long chapter, I'm going to see if I can shorten them a little. But seeing as my story is going to diverge from CP's original soon, it probably won't happen anytime soon. Anyways, Happy New Years! In 3 more hours it will be 2012! Break our the wine bottles and light some fireworks people!