Wyrda
Ch. 13
(Ellesmera)
It was days before the wedding and the Agaeti Blodhren and Phoenix was getting anxious. Saphira and Aiedail did their best to calm their Rider down. But no reassurances could ease the butterflies that fluttered around in her stomach.
"I just wish our families were here to see the wedding," Eragon said, giving her a goblet of wine. "Instead we'll be married in front of members of the Varden and a couple thousand strangers."
"Me too," Phoenix sighed, taking a sip of wine and looking out of the window.
Night was approaching. The setting sun had begun to turn the sky a blood red. A gentle breeze ruffled their hair as they watched another day pass. Phoenix leaned against the edge of the window, watching Saphira and Aiedail flying around in the sky.
"I wonder way they haven't told us yet?" Phoenix wondered out loud.
"What?" Eragon asked, puzzled. "Who haven't told us what yet?"
Phoenix snorted into her wine, laughing. Men! she thought to herself.
"That Saphira and Aiedail have started a romantic relationship," she told him with a giggle. "It's been obvious for weeks now."
"Well, I didn't notice," he huffed. Leaning against the other side of the window.
"That's because you're male," she teased. "All males, no matter what species, are clueless when it comes to things like this."
Eragon swiftly changed the subject, "Will you meditate again tonight?"
"I should try," she said. "I hope I don't get more of the vision that Angela gave me."
"Are you seeing anything different?" he asked.
"Not since the last time I had the vision. It keeps showing me the same damn thing over and over again," she told him, irritably.
Eragon put down his goblet and looked over at her.
"Shall we go down for evening meal, then?" he asked, extending a hand.
Phoenix nodded, put down her wine and took his hand.
With Aiedail sleeping soundly on his bed, Phoenix made another attempt to meditate before bed. She sat, crossed her legs on the bed and closed her eyes. Breathing slowly, and focusing on her breaths, Phoenix began her meditation.
(Carvahall)
Phoenix stood in the middle of the common room of the house that she grew up in. She looked around. The fireplace had a roaring fire in it. The dishes from the evening meal had already been washed and put away. She reached for the front door and swung it open.
And there he was, sitting on the porch, smoking his pipe, looking up at the stars.
"But, you're dead," Phoenix said.
Brom turned to face her.
"Hello to you too," he said. "Perhaps I should have taught you manners to go along with our sparring lessons."
"Are you dead?" she asked.
"Of course, I am," he answered calmly.
"Am I dreaming?"
"You are in a deep state of meditation,"
"And all of this is . . . ?" Phoenix trailed off.
"In your mind, I do believe," Brom told her. He patted the seat next to him. "Come and join me."
She shut the door behind her and sat down slowly.
"Don't try to understand it, my dear. It'll only give you a headache," he told her calmly. "I just wanted to come and congratulate you on the wedding."
"Thanks," she said.
"And to tell you how proud of you I am," he told her, now putting down his pipe and turning to face her directly.
"That's nice," she said.
"'That's nice'?" Brom repeated. "That's all I get?"
"You waited to tell me this after you died. What kind of reaction did you expect?" Phoenix asked.
"I'm not one for hugs, but I would have excepted one in this case . . . " he drifted, picking up his pipe and gave it a small puff.
She looked at him sternly. He grinned at her from behind his pipe. Phoenix rolled her eyes.
(Ellesmera)
When Phoenix snapped out of her meditation, she gave a soft snort of laughter and put her head in her hands.
Eragon and Phoenix stood in front of the Menoa Tree, facing one another, and holding hands. Phoenix wore her hair down for this special night. Her white dress was plain, with long sleeves, the back of the dress came up to her shoulder blades, and the front of the dress came up to her neck. Her veil was artfully made with lace and gold thread was woven in it. And Eragon wore a clean white tunic with blue and silver thread embroidered at the neckline.
Once the vows were made, Queen Islanzadi stood, faced the two newlyweds and spoke loudly for the other elves to hear.
"My gift to you," she motioned her hand and revealed a pair of identical twins.
"The Caretakers, Iduna and Neya," Oromis whispered in their ears from the side of the them.
Moving in unison, the two elves raised their hands to the brooches at their throats, unclasped them, and allowed their white robes to fall. Though they wore no garments, the women were clad with in an iridescent tattoo of a dragon. The tattoo began with the dragon's tail wrapped around the left ankle of Iduna, continued up her leg and thigh, over her torso, and then across Neya's back, ending with the dragon's head on Neya's chest. Every scale on the dragon was inked a different color; the vibrant hues gave the tattoo the appearance of a rainbow.
The elf-maids twined their hands and arms together so that the dragon appeared to be a continuous whole, rippling from one body to the next without interruption. Then they each lifted a bare foot and brought it down on the packed ground with a soft thump.
And again: thump.
On the third thump, the musicians struck their drums in rhythm. Gradually, the harpists plucked the strings and the elves with flutes joined in.
Slowly, at first, Iduna and Neya began to dance. Glaedr, Saphira, and Aiedail began to hum the tune in through there mental link. Faster and faster spun Iduna and Neya until their feet were a dusty blur and their hair fanned about them and they glistened with a film of sweat. The elf-maids accelerated to an inhuman speed and the music climaxed in a frenzy.
Then a flare of light ran the length of the dragon tattoo, from head to tail, and the dragon stirred. At first the two young Dragon Riders thought that their eyes were deceiving them, until the creature blinked, raised his wings, and clenched his talons.
A burst of flame erupted from the dragon's maw and he lunged forward and pulled himself free of the elves' skin, climbing into the air, where he hovered, flapping his wings. The tip of his tail remained connected to the twins below, like a glowing umbilical card. The giant beast strained toward the black moon and loosed an untamed roar of ages past, then turned and surveyed the assembled elves.
The dragon's baleful eye fell upon Eragon and Phoenix. Bidden by some instinct, Eragon and Phoenix raised his right hand, their palms tingling.
In their mind echoed a voice of fire: Our gift so you may do what you must.
The dragon bent his neck and, with his snout, touched the heart of both Rider's gedwey ignasia. A spark jumped between them, and Eragon and Phoenix went rigid as incandescent heat poured through their body, consuming their insides. Their vision flashed red and black; the scar on the back of Eragon's back burned as if branded and Phoenix's head pounded against her skull. Fleeing to safety, they fell deep within himself, where darkness grasped them and they had not the strength to resist.
Last, they again heard the voice of fire say, Our gift to you.
To be continued . . .
(A/N: I know I know. I'm totally updating not fast enough. I'm so, so, so, so sorry for that. I feel really bad about leaving you guys hanging at the end of every chapter. (okay, maybe a feel a little bad).)
Disclaimer: From when Oromis speaks till the end of this chapter, is mostly from Eldest. SO those are mostly Christopher Paolini's words. Except for the few bits to where I had to change for them instead of him, etc . . . So, please don't sue. I have no money anyways.
(A/N2: I tried to write my own version of the Blood-oath Celebration, but the one that Christopher wrote in Eldest, as just so awesomely written that I couldn't help but put his description of the celebration.)