Well, here ya go! Read on!
The world had fallen apart. Murtagh was gone, kidnapped by the Twins, and Ajihad was dead, stabbed in the night—no doubt by their hand as well. And in their wake, they had left chaos and confusion.
Ophelia worried about Tania. She'd been ready—excited, even—to go to Ellesméra, but now they were staying behind even longer than they had originally intended to clean up this mess. Trapped underneath the mountains, dealing with grief and politics, two things both the dragoness and her Rider hated. Ophelia longed for open, cloudless skies, and knew Tania felt similarly, yearning for growing trees and grass beneath her feet. Their situation was depressing enough without gray rock and black shadow enclosing them on all sides—and the piercing brightness of Tronjheim did nothing to help.
Night had fallen. The moon was at its peak, shining briefly down into Farthen Dûr, its silver light spilling over Ophelia's scales. She sat at the edge of her cave, forelegs draped over the side and her tail hanging below. Her head was raised, eyes watching the stars overhead. Her scales were black, blacker than the darkness between the stars; blacker even than the far-off, unlit corners of Farthen Dûr. She felt it fit the dark mood that was currently hovering over the Varden, stifling all hope and happiness.
She sighed. Oh, if this hadn't all happened, if they had continued with their plans to be moving on at first light, then perhaps this darkness would be distant and small, like a far-off raven that was flying far away to distant shores. Ophelia lowered her head until her snout was resting on the edge of her ledge, closing her brilliant golden eyes.
Almost instantly, she fell to dreams.
They were dark, confusing. She could see horned figures standing around her, taller than she was, which in itself was one of the more puzzling things… and then the Twins, grinning down at her. "Don't worry, you'll be home soon," one of them said, leering.
And then it changed. She was floating in pure shadow, everything around her dark and hidden, before a great door opened, spilling cold white light onto a glossy black marble floor, illuminating a great black throne, an enormous black curtain hanging behind it.
A man in a dark cape strode to the throne, seating himself upon it as he flicked his hand, braziers spaced around the room and hanging from the ceiling erupting in sudden white flame. The man smiled and leaned back, one hand curling around the hilt of a bone-white longsword at his hip. "And so," he said, "does the will of traitors fail."
The curtain shifted, rustling like dry scales. A deep rumble, as if the earth was growling, reverberated throughout the room.
And then the curtain lifted.
Tania knew she was awake.
She just didn't want the world to know yet.
Ophelia's wing was painted in a hundred shades of black and blue above her, swirling like midnight thunderclouds. Gloomy colors. They fit my mood, she thought sadly. They shouldn't, but they do.
Tania sighed and crept out from underneath Ophelia's wing. The sun had not truly risen over Farthen Dûr, but the people Tania could see below her through the hole left by Arya's destruction of the Isidar Mithrim didn't appear to care. They bustled about, appearing from this height to be tiny black ants crawling throughout Tronjheim's center, ascending and descending the enormous spiral staircase, as they usually did.
But, while it was completely the same, it was entirely different. Everyone was muted, few people stopping to gossip, few children running, laughing, through the halls.
They were grieving. Even as they prepared to announce Ajihad's successor, they grieved for a grand and mighty leader, fallen in a treacherous turn of tides.
She heard Ophelia shift behind her. Good morning, little one.
No, it's a terrible morning, Tania replied flatly, still gazing down through Tronjheim.
Ophelia sighed. Well, then, let's make it a good morning. No sense in having a completely terrible day, even when times are hard. We didn't mourn that long for Brom, if you remember.
That's because we didn't have time. We needed to keep all of our focus on getting to the Varden, especially after we rescued Arya. Now we're just sitting here, getting nowhere at all, waiting for the next leader of the Varden to order us about as if we were their pets!
I don't think Nasuada would do that, Ophelia commented. She has a good soul.
It might not be Nasuada who is elected, reminded Tania. She sighed, turning around and collecting her bow and quiver from where they lay in the corner. At any rate, let's go and meet Eragon and Saphira at breakfast. The two had been unable to stay in the dragonhold after Arya had shattered the Isidar Mithrim. While it was hard for Ophelia and Tania as well, it was easier for Ophelia, who had thicker, stronger claws and better balance made for stealth amongst mountains and cliffs, while Saphira was built lighter, made for speed.
Part of Eragon and Saphira's problem was that their cliff was on the opposite side of the dragonhold as the stairs were. Ophelia and Tania were closer, but not right above it, and so Ophelia had to claw her way sideways across the stoney wall, and then drop lightly onto the stairs, all while keeping her head high and her wings folded uncomfortably over her back to hide Tania and the saddle. They could have flown, but didn't want to risk a shadow falling to the bottom of Tronjheim.
They met Saphira and Eragon outside the nearest kitchen, and sat down to eat. Eragon looked strained, and Tania could see grief weighing down on his shoulders—just as it weighed down on everyone in Tronjheim. People were dressed in black and gray, and although several bowed respectfully to Eragon, and sometimes Tania, murmuring thanks and titles, there was an air of sadness that was impossible to ignore or escape.
The Riders chose a table in the corner, Saphira sprawling around them and scaring off those who tried to approach. Ophelia lay camouflaged next to her, quietly discussing with Tania who the next leader of the Varden may be.
There is someone to see you, Saphira suddenly interrupted. I can't scare him off.
Eh? Eragon mumbled. He'd had his eyes closed and was leaning back, apparently content to stay there for a while. Tania gave him a dry look. She'd noticed the pale-looking youth approaching the table, watching Saphira warily as if she might try to eat him—and completely unknowing of the second dragoness beside her. "What is it?" Eragon asked, not unkindly.
The boy started, flustered, then bowed hurriedly. "You have been summoned to the Council of Elders."
"Who are they?"
Eragon's question confused the boy even more. "They… er… well, the Council—they were Ajihad's advisors, the mouthpieces of the people's voices to deliver them to his ears. They were his trusted advisors, and now they wish to see you. It is a great honor!" He finished with a quick smile.
"Are you to lead us to them?" Tania asked.
"Yes, I am."
Saphira looked at the Riders questioningly. Tania lifted one shoulder and then let it fall, signaling that she didn't care one way or another. Eragon thought a moment, then shrugged and left his uneaten food, following the boy into the hallway. Tania noticed him gaze at Zar'roc with wide, admiring eyes, and then looking down shyly.
"What's your name?" asked Eragon.
"Jarsha, sir."
"That's a good name. You carried your message well; you should be proud." Jarsha beamed and bounced forward.
They reached a convex stone door, which Jarsha pushed open. The room inside was circular, with a sky blue dome decorated with constellations. A round marble table, inlaid with the crest of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum—an upright hammer ringed by twelve stars—stood in the center of the chamber. Seated there were Jörmundur and two other men, one tall and one broad; a woman with pinched lips, close-set eyes and elaborately painted cheeks; and a second woman with an immense pile of gray hair above a matronly face, belied by a dagger hilt peeking out of the vast hills of her bodice.
"You may go," said Jörmundur to Jarsha, who quickly bowed and left.
Tania ignored the stares and sat in the middle of the swath of empty chairs, forcing the Council to have to turn to see her. Eragon took a seat beside her, Saphira and Ophelia hunkering down behind them. Tania could feel her dragon's soft, hot breath against her back.
Jörmundur got halfway up to make a slight bow, then reseated himself. "Thank you for coming, Eragon, Tania, though you have suffered your own loss. This is Umérth," the tall man; "Falberd," the broad one; "and Sabrae and Elessari," the two women.
Tania wondered if she was supposed to be impressed. She mostly wasn't. Beside her, Eragon inclined his head and asked, "What of the Twins? Were they a part of this council?"
Sabrae shook her head sharply and tapped a long fingernail on the table. "The Twins had naught to do with us. They were slime—worse than slime—leeches that worked only for their own benefit. They had no desire to serve the Varden. Thus, they had no place on this council." Tania had to resist the urge to grimace as the woman's perfume floated towards her. It was thick, oily, and pungent, not unlike a patch of rotting flowers.
"Enough. We're not here to discuss the Twins," said Jörmundur. "We face a crisis that must be dealt with quickly and effectively. If we don't choose Ajihad's successor, someone else will. Hrothgar has already contacted us to convey his condolences. While he was more than courteous, he is sure to be forming his own plans even as we speak. We must also consider Du Vrangr Gata, the magic users. Most of them are loyal to the Varden, but it's difficult to predict their actions even in the best of times. They might decide to oppose our authority for their own advantage. That is why we need your assistance, Tania and Eragon, to provide the legitimacy required by whoever is to take Ajihad's place."
Sabrae stood indignantly. "Now wait just a moment," she said forcefully, "what good is the girl? Eragon is the Rider here; she is barely anything more than his shieldmaiden. Even if she does have some secret importance, I do not know it, and the rest of the Varden certainly doesn't."
Eragon stood, outraged, nearly knocking over his chair, but Tania quickly put a hand on his elbow. Say nothing, she told him calmly. Let me handle this. Eragon hesitated, looking as if he had swallowed something sour, before finally sitting down. Tania stood, staring Sabrae straight in the eye until she looked away and sat back down. "I understand where your misgivings lay, Lady Sabrae," she said. Her voice was soft, but it carried across the table. "And to you, and the rest of the Varden, I am no more than a girl. However, while I do not wish for that to change with the majority of the people here, I at least want you, and the rest of this Council, to understand that I am an ally you cannot underestimate. I do not wish to be an official part of the coronation, but I do wish you to allow those you judge so quickly a chance to speak their minds—and you as well, Jörmundur. Ajihad did tell you, of course, my wishes to remain unlionized?" she asked cooly.
Jörmundur nodded. "Of course. My apologies, Tania," he said brusquely.
Tania nodded and took her seat. As she did, Falberd heaved himself up, planting his meaty hands on the table. "The five of us have already decided whom to support. There is no doubt among us that it is the right person. But," he raised a thick finger, "before we reveal who it is, you must both give us your word of honor that whether you agree or disagree with us, nothing of our discussion will leave this room."
Why would they want that? Eragon asked.
I don't know, Saphira answered, snorting. It might be a trap… it's a gamble you'll both have to take. Remember, though, they haven't asked myself or Ophelia to pledge anything. We can always tell Arya what they say, if need be. Silly of them, forgetting that dragons are just as intelligent as any humans.
Tania dipped her head in acceptance as Eragon said, "Very well, you have our word. Now, who do you want to lead the Varden?"
"Nasuada."
This is well over two thousand words, so I'm going to stop here. :)
Fate