Chapter 14: Tliatera Grass

At first, there was just a small heat at the back of his mind. Caught up in his own confused thoughts, he paid it no heed.

But then, it slowly grew. Before he could feel alarm or fear, it became a blazing inferno, a torrent of emotions that stretched years past he was born into this world. It was a colorless whirlwind, containing only the total blackness of despair.

Bitterness. Resentment. Vehemence. Fury. Anguish. Desolation. Melancholy. Woe.

It was chaotic, lacking any sense of order. The rage and despair that roared within its depths went beyond the comprehension of humans, and it would stay that way. It was the torment of a divine race far above any other, the truest blood of Alagaesia.

He wanted to scream, but he had no mouth. He wanted to weep, but he had no eyes. He wanted to run, but the only thing he could do was to stay there in the midst of the shrieking maelstrom.

How much longer would his sanity hold? Or had it already long been ground away?

"Eragon…"

It was an endless spinning, spinning, spinning--

"Eragon…!"

The rider opened his eyes. The soothing color of tent fabric greeted him, and he stared upward wearily. It was strange how comforting the dull sight could be after he had been through such a hellish torment.

"Eragon!"

Arms encircled him and he managed to find the strength to gasp for air. It shocked him how amazingly weak he felt. Moving his fingers were the most he could do, and with effort he managed to look at the person who was holding him.

Nasuada?

At the side of his bed were several other high-ranking Varden generals, as well as all of the Varden's council members. Strangely, none of them seemed to be scandalized by their leader's actions; rather, they looked as if they themselves wanted to collapse in relief. Jormundur was smiling weakly, while Orrin was dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief despite the cold weather.

"What… happened?" His voice was small and hoarse.

"You nearly died, Eragon. Even Angela said it was up to you whether you survived the night."

Eragon turned his head towards the speaker, wincing as the muscles in his neck screamed in protest. Roran was leaning against a chair, his expression hidden by shadows.

"…Died?"

"Aye." Roran did not move from where he stood. "It shocked everyone. I've never seen Arya look so distressed. Speaking of which, you should thank her. If it weren't her that was by your side when it happened, we would all be attending a funeral now."

It made no sense. All he remembered was seeing red, and then… nothing. Nothing but the dream that seemed to go on for a lifetime.

"Awake now, eh?"

Everyone turned their heads to look at the person who had just entered the tent. It was Angela. Following closely behind her was Trianna, who had a worried look spread across her face.

Sitting down beside him with a tired smile, the witch leaned close and put a hand on Eragon's forehead.

"And how are you feeling, Eragon?"

The rider tried to laugh, but all that came out was a pitiful croak. It was somewhat amusing in a way; just a few days before he was a god upon the battlefield, laying low anyone who dared stand before him. Now he was unable to breathe too fast in fear of his veins bursting from the pressure. Or so his entire body felt.

"Awful." He mumbled.

"I would be surprised if you said anything else. You may recover faster than anyone that I've ever seen, but even you couldn't take such punishment without feeling like you've been shoved up a toad's ass. Frog, I mean." Her hands moved to his wrist, and felt for his pulse. "Ah. Weak, but steady. That means that you have more than a good chance to get out of this affair uncrippled."

"Angela, wha—"

"Hush, hush. Questions can come later, and come later they will." Fumbling in her pouch, the witch produced a small roll of herbs about the size of a bean. It had the smell of fresh wildflowers.

"Here. Open up."

Eragon did so hesitantly, and nearly gagged as the bundle was forcibly thrust into his mouth. It took all his remaining will power not to spit it out.

"The gods, Angela? What is this? It tastes horrible!"

The witch waggled her finger at him and continued to search for things in her pouch.

"Oh, do not be so hasty to judge things from first glance or taste, Shadeslayer. Wait and see, wait and see. And don't swallow it until I say so."

Holding his tongue, Eragon grimaced as the bitter juices from the herbs spread everywhere inside his mouth. It was disgusting in every aspect; the taste alone was enough, but added with the smell and the odd texture of the…

Then, it was all bliss.

A wave of pleasure. The scent of fine wine at his nose, nectar at his lips, a tint of haziness that spoke of faelnirv drinking beforehand. Flowers blooming in his heart, energy spreading like fire into his limbs. A confidence and arrogant pride that he could do anything and everything—

Then, it all faded.

Dazed, Eragon sat up and clutched his head as a bought of dizziness struck him. He felt completely emptied and hollow; after going through so many breathtaking sensations at once, having them evaporate like sun-dried dew was not something altogether enjoyable.

Still, he would never forget what he had experienced. Never.

"Now, swallow it." Came Angela's stern voice.

Eragon obliged, and felt the wet lump slide down his throat. With a shaking hand, he wiped the sweat off of his forehead and slowly sank back into his bed with a sigh.

"What… what was that?" whispered the rider weakly.

Angela looked over at him in surprise. "You've never heard of this herb before? I am sure that the elves must have included it in your studies. And after experiencing it first hand, it certainly can't be mistaken for anything else. "

"I can't agree with you more." Eragon coughed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "However… I can't think of anything that fits. Nothing."

"You really don't know?"

"I could probably remember if given enough time, but—"

"Then don't bother. You aren't in a well enough state to think yet." Angela smiled slightly, her crooked grin reflecting the candlelight. "It is called Tliatera grass, more commonly known as 'Love's Curse'. A name given to it by various human herbalists, and for a good reason indeed. Because--"

Eragon's eyes widened in rememberance. "Tliatera grass?" He cut in. "Isn't that--"

"A poison, a drug and also a hallucinogen." The witch finished for him. "But it is only deadly until the third wave of its effects, and only if one keeps it in his mouth until then. Until then, it's just an herb that restores vitality. But too many ignorant people have died tasting it, immersing themselves in the pleasure until it was too late."

"And you were sure that giving it to him was a good idea?" hissed Nasuada. Standing up, she smoothed down the creases in her dress and glared at the witch. "I think that you are growing too bold for your own good, Angela."

Angela waved off the comment with a chuckle. "No one is going to die under my watch, unless the gods want his soul personally."

Nasuada did not seem convinced, but she relented reluctantly. "Very well then. But I would ask you to refrain from doing such acts in the future." Clapping her hands, the lady of the Varden brought the men in her tent to her attention. "We shall leave now, as Shadeslayer clearly is in need of rest. May the spirits make his a speedy recovery."

The commanders grunted their agreements and filed silently out of the tent. Being the trained soldiers they were, they said nothing, but relief was written all over their faces.

Eragon stilled himself and fought back the urge to squirm in discomfort. Every expression told him of what he had done. Though not intentionally, he had shaken the roots of the entire Varden in a single night, though many of the commoners did not know it. He knew that Nasuada was competent enough to keep the secret of his near death well sealed.

The Varden were already a fragile entity. And he just had to get himself into this state, threatening to tear it all down.

Nasuada seemed to notice his distress and smiled tiredly at him. Before the rider could decipher what it had meant, his liege lady had already left the tent, her loyal soldiers in tow. Roran followed them out with silent steps, with a small gesture of farewell made in Eragon's direction.

Angela winked at him, and not bothering to conceal her weariness, yawned and wandered out the tent. "Call if you need me!" came her distant voice moments later. Though tired, it seemed that she had reclaimed her inner vigor and the rider smiled at that.

Eragon loosened his muscles and sagged down onto the mattress. Though he was now alone, there was still too much that he didn't know. Angela didn't seem to want to tell him why he had fainted, and Nasuada seemed to think that it was simply because all of his old wounds had caught up with him. Somehow, he doubted that. He knew his body well enough to over exert himself to this extent.

There was a rustle at the edges of the tent. It was barely noticeable, but even in the state he was now, he could hear it. Someone else was in here. Someone that had not left the tent with the others.

A sense of wariness coming over him, the rider sat up with effort and looked at his surroundings. Nothing was moving, except for the wavering candle that had been placed on a table.

Then without any warning at all, a hand reached out of the darkness and grasped his throat.

Eragon choked at the unexpected attack, and was immediately pressed back onto the bed by the frightening strength of his attacker. Gritting his teeth, he tried to pry the fingers off him, but there was utterly nothing he could do.

The two locked in a silent struggle, the rider realized that his life was truly in peril. He couldn't make a sound, his mind was too weary to contact any others and he himself was weaker in strength than a common footman. If he didn't think of something soon—

"Now do you understand why you must use your common sense and listen to us?" A harsh, female voice whispered.

Eragon blinked. The hand around his throat clenched tight for one last moment before removing itself.

"Ar… Arya?"

"If I were an assassin of the Empire, I would have had your life right there. Just because you misjudged your abilities. Just because you decided to play the hero and throw our concerns into the dirt!"

Still recovering, Eragon rasped, "Arya, calm down—"

"You wish me to calm down?" Eragon could finally make out the elf's outline as she moved closer to him. "I am afraid I cannot. Our only, measly hope to defeat Galbatorix had nearly entered the void tonight due to his own stupidity. And there is chance that it will happen many more times."

"Please, Ary—"

"Even if you do survive these troubles of yours, do you know how this will affect the Varden? How long will it take for you to recover, for one? Every second of your time is essential for our success. Every minute you lie here, resting, is a loss for the Varden."

"Arya, it is not as serious—"

"It is not as serious as I think? Not serious, you say?"

Eragon suddenly had the bizarre urge to light up the entire room with his remaining strength to see what expression the elf wore on her face at this very moment. There was a high possibility that he would be frightened out of his wits, but it was a meager price compared to seeing Arya almost completely without her normal composure.

"Those men outside." She breathed. "Are all gamblers. Every one and last of them, from the lowliest stable boy to the highest ranking generals, from the magicians to the aristocrats. They bet everything they have on the losing side of the board, not in hopes of winning but because they believe that they are doing what is right."

The candlelight flickered, and shadows danced upon the walls.

The rider shifted his gaze uneasily to the side. "I…"

"Yes, you know that. That is why you try so hard. And that is also what you are doing wrong." The elf started pacing around the tent with restless steps. "I can't seem to hammer into you the idea that one cannot fight wars with such impulsiveness… especially someone with your rank and importance. What if you were crippled once more? What if you lost a leg, or an arm? Imagine the impact it would bring upon the entire Alagaesian populace! Not to mention death…!"

"Arya, I don't even know what happened to me." Eragon spoke up, voice pained. "I doubt that this was caused by my… impulsiveness, as you put it. Have you ever known of any person that had died in the same way I nearly did?

"What other reason could have caused it?" Arya hissed back. "Through the ages, magicians had always their own symptoms of spellwork overuse. Yours just happened to be more unique than the rest."

"Unique? I nearly died, Arya. That's far from just being unique!"

"Quiet!"

The word had an astounding effect on Eragon. It was filled with an aura of superiority, a voice that was familiar to power and command; he had heard traces of the feeling in Ajihad or Hrothogar, but none this clearly before.

Immediately, he fell silent.

"I will leave you alone for now, for your mind and body are not in a state which we can conduct our talks. But remember that we will have to talk." Arya fixed him one last cool stare before walking slowly out of the tent.

The rider finally found his voice again.

"Wait."

Arya hesitated, and stopped her footsteps. "Yes?"

"I know the effect I would have on the Varden if I died, and in extension I have a picture of what would happen to Alagaesia if I did… but…"

"What?" Arya seemed wary, as if she knew what sort of question would be asked.

"Do you see me more as a friend? Or do you see me more as the hope of the Varden? Or just a foolish farm boy?" Eragon chuckled grimly. "What would you do if I died, princess?"

A multitude of emotions flashed across Arya's face, but they were all unreadable. Her features seemed to have been sculpted from ice.

She turned around, facing away from Eragon.

"I would mourn the death of an important friend, with added grief. Because… that would be another mark of my incompetence and inability to protect."

The sound of her fading footsteps was one of the loneliest sounds the rider had ever heard.

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I have no excuses. Curse me and insult me with all you have, for I know that I deserve it. This length of time is a record, even for me.

But before that… tell me what you thought about this chapter :).