Seeing as I'll be out of town tomorrow, I'll probably post both this chapter and the final chapter today. Just have to finish editing it, so the story will be finished tonight... Depending on your time zone I guess.
I love the kind reviews I've been receiving from you all. Hope this chapter is as fun to read as it was to write.
He returned to the outskirts of Ellesmera and waited there for the next day, lost in a fog of self-pity, until Saphira found him.
Oh, Little One, she murmured, her joy at reuniting with Firnen lessening in the face of Eragon's pain.
No, he replied gently, be happy. I am happy that you have enjoyed this time. But, when you are ready, let us leave quickly. I do not wish to tarry here.
While she spent several hours hunting, Eragon requested a pack of food from some of the elven cooks. The other celebrants of the Agaeti Blodhren were beginning to wake, emerging lightly from their tree homes into the afternoon air. Drinking in the sight of so many faces one final time, he turned from the city and set off across the clearing to where Saphira waited, hidden a league away in the trees.
A murmur rose up suddenly behind him. Half-turning, he beheld in shock a sight he never thought he'd see again. Arya, arrayed in the same style of black clothing in which she'd fought at Eragon's side one hundred years before, was moving rapidly through the massed elven population, which quickly parted to allow her through. She met Eragon's eyes.
"There is a custom," she proclaimed in a ringing tone that, while not loud, carried clearly through the air, "amongst the people of Alagaesia—whether dwarf, man, or elf—to bid farewell to their friends upon their departure to far-away lands." She strode across the field, one hand upon her hip and dangerously close to her sword and her eyes flashing, "Or have you forgotten so quickly?" she demanded.
Every elf in the vicinity froze, their faces like marble statues and their eyes wide as they stared at the two figures, one in blue, one in black.
Eragon's breath caught in his throat at the sight of Arya's avenging fury and his own hand inched reflexively nearer Brisingr. He stifled the urge to gulp. "I am neither dwarf nor man nor elf," he respondedly quietly, "And if I have not yet greeted anyone as myself, what use can there be to say farewell?" He was rather proud of that cool statement.
She was standing quite close to him by now, expressionless, but made no answer. As the seconds dragged on, Eragon felt compelled to speak.
"I just…" He hesitated.
She still waited for his answer.
"I didn't want to bother you," he finished lamely.
"Bother me?" she asked quietly, but fiercely. "Fool."
The comment stung, and he knew, suddenly and intuitively, that she was about to walk away.
"Wait!"
"I haven't moved," she said flatly.
"You were about to." She didn't respond. "Look, I…" he sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair, "I didn't… know if you even wanted to see me. If you cared. I mean, it's been a long time," he smiled faintly, a little crookedly.
She stared at him, then pivoted on her heel and walked away.
"Called that," he couldn't help but mutter.
She heard him. Her back stiffened sharply and her hands clenched into fists. Turning back around, she marched over towards him.
Before she could say anything, however, he began to speak, "Well, I never thought I'd come back and it's been so long that… What I mean is that I didn't expect…" with each phrase, he floundered more deeply. All he'd sought was the opportunity to see her again. How had everything spun so far out of control? "I just thought you wouldn't care," he said finally.
As he finished his last few words, something in her eyes snapped. Her hand twitched and his followed, actions faster than thought.
The next moment, their crossed blades appeared in the air between them.
Her blade was blocked, he realized as the sound of muted metal upon his own sword rang dully.
The irrational part of his mind that had feared she would kill him breathed a sigh of relief.
He murmured quickly the spell to shield the edge of his own weapon. The instant he finished doing so, Arya placed a bare hand on the flat of her blade, and using both hands, slapped both Eragon and his sword backwards.
He wheeled to the right, throwing up his sword to block hers as it sheared at his head. Straightening up, he parried another blow and took a quick step back to create space. She was right there with him, though, moving her feet forward even as he shifted his own weight back.
The next several strikes moved too quickly to remember, a numbing series of blurring metal and the bell-like clanging of metal upon metal. They did not react to each other's blows but rather predicted the other's next several moves, a swordfight elevated intellectually to the level of a chess game.
Eragon became increasingly more nervous as the fight continued. Just because she would not kill him did not mean that she was averse to inflict a significant amount of pain.
Sweat dripped slowly down his forehead and into his left eye. In the partial second that it took to blink, she struck him sharply on his hip.
He froze. Her eyes locked onto his own, and she took a half step back, raising her sword again.
"How could you think that?" she snapped before their swords met once again.
Think what? It took Eragon the better part of the next five minutes to realize that she was responding to his earlier comment, and even longer to come up with an answer in between dodging blows and returning parries.
"I don't know," he managed to say at one point, as their blades locked and each strained to push the other back, "I just felt that way."
"That's ridiculous!" she hissed as they separated.
"It's been years."
"And whose fault is that?" She swung her sword down in a sweeping motion that, if unchecked, would have split him in half.
He frantically blocked the blow and whipped his blade at her neck. She stopped it with a steely clang. "What makes it mine?" he demanded
"You left." He stared at her, lowering his sword for a fraction of a second. Did she mean…?
"You didn't want me to?" he asked. Her eyes narrowed and she responded with a vicious attack that resulted in Eragon receving a smart rap on the back of the head.
"I didn't say that!" she hissed.
"Then what?" he asked as his head rang.
"No contact in over nine decades. Then you return and ignore us? Hide? As if we're nothing to you?" She lowered her the tip of her sword into the ground and leaned on the crosspieces.
"I didn't mean intend to offend you," he attempted to pacify her. Somehow, he got the feeling that a lot more than his lack of saying goodbye was making her furious.
"No? Then what was your goal?" The question hung in the air.
"I just—" wanted to see you again, his mind screamed. He searched frantically for a more acceptable answer, but those words seemed suddenly to be the only thing he could think of.
Arya's sword was lowered, but her eyes still burned into his. A flicker of movement to the left caught his eye, and he was astonished to see the amount of elves who had silently watched their combat. They ringed him and Arya in an vast circle.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, sincerely.
"You're sorry?" repeated Arya, almost in amusement.
"I didn't think."
"You didn't?" she replied in the same tone as before.
Eragon was starting to become angry as well. "Fine!" he snapped recklessly, now speaking in a voice too soft to be heard by even the nearest elves, "You know why I didn't say anything! Because nothing's changed. Because I don't think I could handle you looking at me like a long-lost friend when," he hesitated, "I'm still in love with you." By the end, his tone was more matter-of-fact than anything else. Perhaps he should not have said the truth, but he was no longer a child. He could handle rejection, and he would no longer tiptoe around reality, making vague comments behind which he could pretend he hadn't meant if she didn't feel the same way.
And she didn't feel the same way. Clearly, she never had and never would. The realization was a sudden slap in the face, but brought with it a sense of lucidity. He had spoken truer than he had known at the time. Now his actions had a clear instigator. He had been acting to protect his pride. Pride now thoroughly ground into the dirt, foolish hopes now thoroughly dashed, he could return to Mor'ranr without any regrets or what-ifs. He had played all his cards.
Arya stood before him, still as a statue. Her face was still flushed from their combat, and her dark hair was flung over her shoulders. Her expression was as impassive as he had ever seen, but the fight seemed to have left her.
Still feeling the acute bitterness of disappointment, he realized he wanted nothing more than to leave and never return. "I'm sorry, Arya. I was a fool then. I am still one now. Some things never change." He shrugged half-heartedly. "I understand that now." Bowing and twisting his hand over his heart, he spoke the goodbye that she had so violently requested, "Atra esterni ono thelduin."
She stared piercingly into his eyes. It seemed for a long moment as though she would not return his farewell. "Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr," she murmured finally.
"Un du evarinya ono varda," he said softly, meeting her gaze. This final glance would have to last him a lifetime. Ritual formality complete, he turned to leave. A not-so-small part of his mind wished that she would call out to him. Stop him. Attack him by sword again. A larger part knew just how unrealistic that hope was. He slipped quietly across the grassy clearing, hearing nothing more than his own muted footfalls.
Eragon did not break his stride or turn for even an instant. If he had, he might have seen the curious combination of despair and sheer astonishment upon Arya's face that described more eloquently than any words the mix of emotions she felt. If he had turned, he might have seen the elves staring wide-eyed and silent at their queen as she watched the retreating figure slowly disappear into the trees. If he had turned, he might have seen the half-step forward that she took in his direction, and the helpless expression on her face as she realized she could not finish that step.
But he did not turn. He found Saphira where she waited, and they took to the skies without a word.