A/N: Here it is, as promised. Next one will be Eragon POV.
Out of curiosity, could someone tell me the difference between a hit and a visitor? I think I know, but I want to make sure. (I found all of the cool graph things in my login)
I'm kinda iffy about this chapter; I felt I might have overdone some of the stuff and made Garrow come of as an idiot and a perv. I really just wanted to show that he is a teenage boy and has a lot to learn. Oh well, whats done is done.
Big thanks to everyone who reviewed,special shout out to the anonymous dude who verbally raped Eragon's character; good to see you have your opinion and are willing to share. I have to agree; Eragon can be a douche sometimes. Referring responsibility for his actions on to others is something he did very well in the books. :)
Garrow held his unadorned sword in both hands, sweating profusely as he stood across from Arya at the sparring grounds in Ellesmera. The elf stood completely composed, Tamerlein held in her left hand on an angle pointing towards the soft grass of the forest floor. She wore her black leather outfit, as she always did while training, and had a black headband which held her ebony tresses from her face. Her eyes were closed.
In contrast to her calm, composed demeanour, Garrow was breathing heavily, feeling as though he had run mile after mile, his body flushed with exertion despite the cool morning air. He had discarded his white linen shirt and stood bare to the waist, muscular chest heaving. He had never been so frustrated in his entire life.
Since his eighth birthday, when his father had decided he was old enough to hold a sword, he had trained for hours every day. Swordplay had quickly become his passion, and none within Palancar could claim to be his equal on the field. Ten long years of training had earned him the right to be considered near enough a blademaster among his own kind, yet despite all of his effort, all of his formidable technique, despite every trick he could muster, he could not so much as make Arya sweat, let alone mark her in any way. Garrow had always felt as though a duel was similar to a dance, with the skill of the combatants serving to either create a humiliating, fumble-footed routine or a graceful display of agility and strength. At the moment, Garrow felt as though he was a drunkard stumbling through the steps of a tavern jig, while Arya was effortlessly gliding her way through a courtly waltz. He was completely outclassed by her, and being made to look a fool to boot.
This was not their first bout of the morning. Several times Garrow had been beaten effortlessly, the elf dismantling his attacks in an almost absentminded fashion before overwhelming him with a series of blows so fast he almost could not react, and so strong his knees felt they would buckle beneath him. It was impossible to win; Arya's natural strength and speed made her so far above him that no matter what he came up with, he would never be able to conquer her. Thus his frustration.
If Garrow did not have the strength or stamina to defeat any elf alive in combat, how would he be able to serve the Riders? In matters of physical strength, Humans were the weakest race in Alagaesia. Garrow was going to be the most useless of the Riders. He had thought himself so worthy of the elegant hand-and-a-half sword given to him by his family as a parting gift, but now he knew how weak he truly was.
Adding to his hurt was the fact that the golden dragon, who he had taken to calling 'Brother' because he still refused to choose a name for himself, was excelling in his own training. Firnen had claimed that Garrow's Brother had the most natural flying ability of all the dragons he had trained. Now three months old, he was large enough for Garrow to sit astride as he flew above the forests of Du Weldenvarden. Their training in aerial combat had started only a week before.
Garrow's mind was brought to the present when Arya opened her eyes, the emerald green flashing dangerously as she leapt towards him, covering the not inconsiderable distance between them with a single bound. Garrow's break was over. Arya feinted towards Garrow's right shoulder with Tamerlein, before abruptly changing directions and whipping the green blade towards his exposed left flank. With both hands holding his sword, Garrow barely brought up his blade in time to parry the attack. The power behind Arya's attack made both of his arms go jarringly numb.
Garrow's frustration boiled over into unadulterated rage. How dare these elves all act as though they were so superior to him, looking down their noses at him with their thrice damned elvish courtesies and their ridiculous pointy ears? He would not be treated in such a fashion; the son of Roran Stronghammer would not be humiliated in this way. Garrow harnessed his anger, using it to wash away the aches and pains of his neglected body, ignoring the numerous welts that covered his torso and back, and forming a cold, implacable determination deep within him, flooding his body like ice-water, searing his veins with a cold fire. As Arya disengaged from him, Garrow followed, methodically attacking with every technique he could think of, recklessly pushing his endurance to its limit.
What followed was glorious. Garrow's sword moved like lightning, striking with the speed of a desert snake, the strength of a dragon. Garrow danced a wondrous dance, and everywhere he stepped, each time his blade lanced out to strike at her, Arya matched him. The elf was beautiful in combat, coming alive like she did at no other time; emerald eyes glowing fiercely with the joy of battle, feet shifting across the grassy surface of the forest with feline grace, Tamerlein twirling through the air to meet with its opposite, stopping Garrow's attacks at every juncture.
On and on they danced, and it was magnificent, but in the end Garrow knew that no matter how determined he was, no matter the strength of his will, Arya would not be denied. Garrow's sword was knocked from his weary hands, and his legs cut out from under him by Arya's spinning kick. Her left knee on his chest forced his back into the ground, and Tamerlein's tip was at his throat as she kept herself stable with her right hand on the ground.
"Yield!' gasped Garrow, his lungs straining to fill with air.
Arya rose and sheathed Tamerlein before offering her right hand to pull Garrow to his feet. His abused muscles shook with spasms of pain and he bent over, hands on his knees as he took in great gulps of cold morning air.
"You should not push yourself so hard, Garrow", Arya chided him, her brow furrowed in concern. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Garrow felt a stream of energy being siphoned into him, allowing him to relax in relief.
"I am not good enough, Ebrithil. I must be better", he said, "Or I will shame my family."
Arya sighed. "Garrow, these things come in time. There is a reason that I am the teacher, and you the student. If you were able to defeat me in combat, you would not truly be my apprentice."
"It isn't just you; every single elf living in this city, including the five year old child, could easily overpower me. I am too weak, too slow... too human." Garrow stood up to his full height, and retrieved his shirt from where he had discarded it.
"Yes. You are human, and you share the impatience that characterises the members of your race. Wait a few years, Garrow, and your bond will make you strong and fast as any elf. Then, I have no doubt you will soon become the equal of our greatest warriors. There is nothing wrong with your swordplay; indeed your technique is exemplary. All you need is a little patience." Her soft, musical voice was soothing, and Garrow found his anger melting away as he considered the truth of her words.
"That is enough for today", she continued. "You have pushed yourself too hard. Come; since we have spare time, I will show you some more of Ellesmera." With that, she strode away, not bothering to look to see that he was following her.
Garrow hurriedly sheathed his sword on his after removing the blocking spell on it, glad that he had learned enough magic to save himself hours of sharpening the blade. He jogged to catch up to Arya and walked beside her as they left the training grounds and entered the city. Garrow was still amazed every time he saw the way that trees had been twisted and shaped to make the elves homes; the beauty and tranquillity of Ellesmera left him feeling completely at peace.
As they made their way down the leafy streets of the pinewood city, Arya pointed out various interesting buildings and landmarks, quietly explaining to him how they had been made and what they were named. Garrow only half listened; he was far more interested in admiring the Queen's form. It was not that he was particularly attracted to her, but he would have to not be human to be able to ignore her beauty. If she was going to wear an outfit which left so little to the imagination, reasoned Garrow, she could hardly blame him for looking.
The first time she had caught him, a week after he began his training, she had sternly and bluntly told him that there would be no romantic involvement between him. After a series of fumbling and embarrassing apologies, he had made her understand that he did not desire her in that way, only found her form pleasing to look at. She had laughed, the musical sound sending tingles up and down his spine, and told him that she had forgotten who he was for a moment. Garrow had been thoroughly confused.
From that point onward, Garrow's relationship with his teacher had been ideal. When not mired in the seriousness of his tutelage, Arya treated him fondly, almost as though he was a favoured nephew. She was inscrutable most of the time, and did not show much emotion in public, but Garrow had been glad to discover that she was not the cold, indifferent warrior described by his father. After a while, Garrow had thought back on his conversation with his father and realised that part of Arya's fondness towards him must have come because he reminded her of Eragon. Her odd looks and comments had suddenly made an infinite amount more sense.
Garrow belatedly noticed that Arya had stopped speaking and was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He felt a flush of heat rise in his face and diverted his eyes from her.
"I wonder", she mused, "Have I spilled something on my chest...? Well?"
"No, Ebrithil." If it was possible, Garrow suspected his face was even redder than it had been. He chanced a glance at her, and saw that Arya did not seem particularly pleased.
She sighed. "I know you are young, Garrow, and have only recently come into your... physical maturity, but it would be prudent for you to exercise some self control. You are almost as bad as your uncle was during his stay in Ellesmera."
"I am sorry, Ebrithil. It won't happen again, I promise."
"Really? I suspect it might, despite your promises. It is good to aspire to be like Eragon, Garrow; he certainly has many admirable qualities, but you should not want to be like him in every way."
"I... yes, Ebrithil." Garrow was sincere in his apology, really he was, but Nolfavrell had once told him it was a crime not to admire a beautiful woman, and Arya was definitely the loveliest creature he had yet seen in his short life.
Arya said no more on the matter, obviously deciding she had made him uncomfortable enough. They walked in silence for a while, before Arya turned from the main street and lead Garrow down a narrow path to a large, overgrown clearing.
An abandoned elvish abode had been grown into a nearby tree, and in the centre of the clearing was a structure which Garrow quickly identified as a forge. It was so overtaken by the forest that he suspected it had lain unused for decades.
Garrow opened his mouth to speak, and then hesitated, unsure of whether Arya was still annoyed with him. He decided it was best to hold his tongue.
Arya's lip curled upward as she sat on a bench outside the abandoned house. "I can see the question which is ready to explode out of you, Garrow. It may not be good for your health if you do not ask it."
"... Where are we, Ebrithil?"
Arya made a tsk sound and wagged a finger at him. "You should be more specific about what you are asking, Garrow. The better question would have been 'who lived at this place?' or 'why have you brought me here?'"
"What does the vagueness of my question have to do with anything?"
She made an approving noise. "That was slightly better, but still a very sloppy question. To answer it; when you are interrogating a suspect or simply seeking information, it is better to be specific. I could have answered your first question with a dozen different half truths, all of which would have told you nothing. This is especially important when speaking in the ancient language; how can you learn the truth when the question was so vague that I could say almost anything at all in response?"
"Why teach me such a trivial thing?"
"Trivial? Garrow, this is crucial, especially when dealing with my kind. The lesson is about more than simply asking questions, it is about every interaction you will ever have. You must learn that how you interpret what is said is almost more important than the words themselves. Subtle meaning can be inferred from the way that people talk; elves especially are adept at the art of saying one thing and meaning something entirely different."
"I am confused. How did our conversation arrive here?" Garrow was scratching the back of his head.
"Yet another pointless question! You are exactly like your uncle in this; so many useless questions it could drive someone insane." Arya threw her hands in the air in exasperation. She took a long breath before continuing. "I see I am not making my point clear enough to you. We will continue this later, but suffice to say that you need to learn the art of conversation; growing up amongst illiterate farmers has not done you well."
Her last comment annoyed him. "I speak my own language well enough, thank you."
"Indeed?" said Arya sourly. "You do seem to know plenty of words, of that I have no doubt."
Garrow had a sneaking suspicion that she was mocking him. He narrowed his eyes at her, and then remembered his original reason for breaking the silence between them.
"Right... So who lived here, then?"
A wry smile touched Arya's lips. "This was the home of Rhunon, the Riders smith. She forged every Rider sword there ever was."
"Where did she go?"
"Eragon discovered several deposits of a special metal called Brightsteel in a series of craters to the south of the Roost. He asked her to take up her former position within the Order and forge Brightsteel armour for the new Riders."
A part of Arya's explanation stuck out to Garrow. Every Riders sword, he thought. Rhunon must be ancient. Will I live that long?
Garrow sighed in defeat before asking, "Why did you bring me here?"
Arya's smile grew wider, and she gave him a pointed look before speaking. "I often come here to be by myself. It is a peaceful place. I thought it would be the perfect clearing to begin your meditation in."
"Meditation?"
"Yes. Now that you have learned to reach out to others with your mind, it is important that you learn how to use this ability. You will sit in this clearing each day and watch over the denizens of the forest. Then you will tell me all you have learned."
"How long will I stay?"
Arya pursed her lips as she considered his question. "Until you have decided that there is nothing more of worth to learn", she said. "But you can start tomorrow. We must break our fast; today we will be practicing magic." With that, she stood and began leading Garrow back towards Ellesmera.
They walked in a silence which was much more companionable and far less awkward than it had been on their trip to the forge. Eventually, Garrow decided to strike up conversation.
"Ebrithil, I wanted to ask you about your role as Queen. It seems much different from the way my father rules in Palancar. Your cousin, Niduen, seems to tend to most matters of state. Why is that?"
Arya idly tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her pointed ear. "Why, indeed? It seems to me that you could answer that for yourself, if you took the time to think about it. I have a duty to train you, and that duty clashes with my obligations as Queen. So, while I train you, Niduen is kind enough to lighten my burden by acting as Regnant."
"She seems to be very used to it, as though she has been doing it longer than I have been here", commented Garrow.
Arya gave him a sharp, calculating look, followed by a nod of approval. "You noticed, did you? I am impressed. Niduen has been one of my foremost advisors and friends since I first took the crown. She performed a similar role while I trained the other Riders."
Garrow considered his words carefully; sure he had discovered something of Arya's personality. "It is almost as though, should you wish to step down, she could be Queen in your place."
Arya narrowed her eyes at him, and gave Garrow a look of sharp rebuke. "Best to keep comments like that to yourself; elves do not take kindly to outsiders interfering in our politics, and your statement could be seen as such."
Her message could not have been clearer: stay out of my business.
Having realised his mistake, Garrow quickly tried to steer the conversation towards safer waters.
"I have also been wondering", he said, "If you would tell me about Eragon and Saphira. I have heard all of the stories about them, and my father told me about how Eragon was as a child, but I know little of who they are now."
"Eragon was... When I first met him, he was younger than you are now. He had an inquisitive nature, similar to yours, and was often rash and headstrong in his decisions. Having said that, there has always been an innate goodness in him; he will do what he believes is right, regardless of what others might tell him. He was determined; a quality which, while I admired it, served to frustrate me endlessly while he stayed here in Ellesmera.
"For all his childish behaviour in those first few months, though, he matured very quickly into a capable and wise leader. Even when Galbatorix was overthrown, he was younger than you, yet to compare the two of you would have made him seem ancient in his years. No offense." Arya's expression was wistful, as though she longed for a different time, a different place.
"None taken", replied Garrow. "You were close to him, then. You knew each other well?"
Arya smiled. "I would hazard a guess that, apart from Saphira, I know him better than anyone, including your father." She said this in a matter-of-fact tone, without a hint of boasting, which made Garrow suspect that it was almost an understatement.
"Did you... Were the two of you...?"
"Lovers? No, we were not lovers, just friends." Her voice sounded odd, and Garrow could not tell whether she was amused or regretful.
"Ah... And Saphira? What can you tell me about her?"
"What do you know already?" quizzed Arya.
"Nothing", confessed Garrow.
Arya nodded, and then proceeded to speak at length about the blue scaled dragon. Garrow learned of her fierce personality, her beauty, and her role within the war against Galbatorix. Arya also told him of Saphira's heritage as the daughter of a wild dragon and a bonded one. This gave Garrow an idea, and he determined to try one last time to get his Brother to choose a name.
Eventually, they stopped outside Tialdari Hall.
"Here we are", said Arya. "Come, we have a busy day ahead."
Later, Garrow lay exhausted on the soft bed within the treehouse which housed the Riders who stayed in Ellesmera. He exchanged memories of his lessons with his Brother, as they always did at the end of the day. The golden scaled dragon was lying in the open space upstairs of Garrow's rooms.
'I heard a name you might like today, Brother', said Garrow.
'Indeed', replied the dragon. 'What is it?'
'It is Iormungr.'
'Iormungr... It has a nice sound to it; fierce, as a dragon's name should be. Tell me, Brother, who was this Iormungr?'
Garrow considered his words carefully; this was the first name the dragon had shown even a slight interest in. 'Iormungr was a bonded dragon. He mated with the wild dragon Vervada, and sired Saphira Bjartskular on her.' Garrow crossed his fingers.
'Saphira... This Iormungr must have been a great dragon indeed, to sire the mother of our race', mused the dragon.
'Do you like it?'
There was a pause for a moment, before his Brother replied. 'Yes', he said.
Garrow sat up straight on his bed. 'You will take it?' he asked hopefully.
'...Yes. I am Iormungr.' The sound of the dragon's roar shook the entire tree house, and Garrow fell back, his laughter rolling forth at Iormungr's theatrical display.
Now, he thought, we truly are dragon and Rider.
Reviews are appreciated.
Next chap will take longer than this one, seeing as this was already written when I posted chapter 3.
Cya laters, then.