A week passed, but Eragon's mood did not. Most of the time he remained confined to his tent, unless occasion demanded his presence elsewhere; Saphira tried to lure him from his tent with magical words like 'waterfalls' and 'sunsets', and Nasuada- although she understood nothing of his current predicament- enticed him with invitations to parties and dinner for two. He answered questions that were asked of him, and commented on subjects that demanded his attention, but never spoke independently unless circumstance forced him to. Roran visited him occasionally, but for all his courage it terrified him to see his cousin this way. He soon ceased his visits. Eragon did not care.
The only person who did not visit him was Arya.
When Eragon thought of her, it was with confusion and pain; confusion because whenever her name did rise the surface of his mind, his heart still soared when at the same time a hard lump rose in his throat and misery ,twisted uncomfortably in his gut. Pain, because after all they had been through together she still felt the need to reject him so harshly. He thought of her as little as he could, and although he never mentioned the events on the mountain that day to anyone, they seemed to know not to talk of Arya. They spoke to him only when absolutely necessary, and in the quiet, gentle voice that one might use with the sick or dying, never expecting an answer. Again, Eragon did not care.
The only one who did not spare him any sympathies was, oddly, Saphira.
At first, she was gentle and understanding with her Rider, but as time wore on and Eragon's state of mind began to affect her through the mental link they shared she became increasingly frustrated and severed their mental link as often as convenience allowed; it saddened Eragon to see her so upset, for he had never felt so alone, but try as he might he could not summon the effort to really care.
One night, after Nasuada had asked the pair to go scouting- a desperate attempt by the leader of the Varden to bond the dragon and her Rider once more- Eragon took off Saphira's saddle without speaking. She made no effort to speak with him, either. However, when he was walking to his tent, nearly at the door, a large sapphire blue foreleg landed heavily in front of him. He looked up at his glorious dragon, his face a picture of surprise, annoyance, and fear. She spoke sadly. We must talk, Little one.
A thrill of surprise shot through Eragon's veins at the affectionate term, and he almost smiled- she had not used it for so long. What of?
You know that it pains me to see you like this, and I understand perfectly, of course. However, for the good of all our races, and the sake of the Varden, this cannot continue. You must be strong! You are the last free Rider! She put her head close to his and gazed at him, trying to speak with her eyes. Without you, the people are nothing.
Eragon tore his brown eyes from her deep blue ones as they filled with tears. She was right, of course. Ducking around Saphira's leg, he headed into his tent, dropped the saddle unceremoniously on the earth floor and flung himself onto his bed without even bothering to undress. It was as if he had been relieved of a great weight; Eragon rejoiced of his freedom, yet a part of him knew that he still loved Arya. But tonight was not the time to dwell on it- he was tired, the result of a week's restless sleeping.
Thank you, he murmured to his dragon.
Sleep now, Little one, came the satisfied reply.
His problems could wait until morning. For now, Eragon would sleep.
Across the camp that was the Varden's current home, Arya stared up at the canvas roof of her tent from where she lay in her bed as tears filled her glistening emerald eyes. It had been seven days.
Seven days since she had rejected Eragon for her mother; seven days since she had last laughed, sung or spoken freely; seven days since she had started crying herself to sleep each night.
Seven days since she had broken her own heart.
It wasn't my fault, Arya thought, rolling onto her side as hot tear rolled down her honey coloured cheek. If my mother had not… but she could not finish that sentence. She knew her mother had been right. Emotion- love- was weakness. She had done the right thing.
Hadn't she?
With a groan, Arya pummeled her pillow. She couldn't start that debate again… not at this time of night. She was shirking her duties as it was… she was meant to be the ambassador, for goodness' sake! No, this… this moodiness must stop now, no matter how she felt. This is pathetic. I did the right thing!
But, strangely, that knowledge did not make her fell any better.
With a sigh, Arya pushed her face into her pillow and wished for nothing more than for sleep to take away her pain.
They dream.
They dream of sunshine, of happiness. They dream of laughter and song.
They dream of a wedding.
A man- or is it an elf?- waits at an altar, garlanded with sweet smelling roses and other such beautiful flowers. Many people approach the waiting man- presumably the groom- and they talk and laugh. Soon, music begins to play, and for the first time, the man's happy face turns towards where the dreamers watch.
It is Eragon.
Eragon.
Eragon.
ERAGON!
With a yelp, Eragon tumbled out of his bed and onto the floor. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and saw Saphira's head a few feet from him, pushed through his open tent door. Why did you wake me? He thought, pushing himself off the floor.
That was the most peaceful I've seen you in an age, she commented happily. I did not wish to wake you, but I thought you should know.
Know what? Eragon reached for Brisingr out of habit, fastening the sapphire sword onto his leather belt. Saphira withdrew from his tent awkwardly.
A new elf is soon to arrive! She will be here in little more than an hour.
Really? Exiting the tent, Eragon closed his eyes and let the fresh air wash away his worries. It was as if he had awoken from a deep sleep- everything seemed new and exciting, now. He smiled; Saphira's pleasure filled his mind as she looked upon his happy face. He placed a hand on her scaled shoulder and opened his eyes, gazing into hers. He did not know the words to say, so he told her with his eyes and his emotions.
I know, little one. I know.
An hour later, a crowd gathered at the Eastern gate to welcome the new arrival. Excitement and gossip spread like wildfire, and for the first time in a week, Eragon joined the people as they laughed and talked. They greeted him with wonder and happiness. Saphira looked on happily.
After a few minutes of searching, Eragon sought out his cousin. Roran was surrounded by villagers from Carvahall, and they laughed and watched as he spoke animatedly. Katrina stood proudly by his side. Try as he might, Eragon could not force his way through the crowd. Instead, he hovered at the edge of the throng and tried to catch his cousin's eye. When he did, Roran stared into his eyes with unspeakable brotherly love and joy; noticing their entertainer's distraction, the villagers turned to see what occupied him. Gasps and whispers filled the air. Without thinking, Eragon pushed through the crowd and hugged his cousin as tightly as he could. Roran returned the embrace just as fiercely. Emotions and unspeakable words filled the pair. For the first time since Garrow had died, Eragon felt that he really and truly belonged.
"It's stupid, really," commented Eragon on the villager's reaction to his sudden reappearance when he and his cousin broke apart. "I've only been… away for a few days, yet they all react as if I had died and come back to life!"
Roran shook his head. "Aye, but you are a Rider now. We common folk are under the belief that you are immune to everything." Eragon laughed, but Roran watched his cousin closely. "Even heartache."
Eragon stopped laughing, uneasily meeting his cousin's eyes. Roran opened his mouth to speak, but Eragon burst out, "Don't."
Roran closed his mouth and nodded. Eragon would have like to continue their conversation, but at that moment Saphira informed him that the elf was in sight. He grinned apologetically at Roran, who nodded. They hugged again and Eragon darted off to find Saphira.
When he did, he saw that next to her was Nasuada. Going to stand in between the two, he said, "Lady Nightstalker."
Nasuada started- intent on watching the elf on the horizon. "Eragon!" she burst out, and threw her arms around his neck. Eragon returned the embrace awkwardly, a little shocked, and Saphira snickered. He deftly stepped out of the hug. "Hello to you, too." Nasuada smiled, her blush hidden by the dark colour of her skin.
"I missed you," she murmured. Eragon frowned.
"You speak as if I had gone away."
"Well-"
Nasuada stopped speaking as the crowd behind them fell into utter silence. The elf, with incredible speed, was now no more than a minute away. The crowd, hushed with wonder, watched with rounded eyes.
She's very beautiful, Eragon noted with a slight shock. Of course, elves were always pleasing to the eye, but the young Rider had never expected to meet a woman- elf or not- as attractive or even more so than Arya. She had long, raven hair which she wore loose around her shoulders. Her brown eyes were the same shade as Eragon's, and were framed with thick lashes. A light flush tainted her honey-coloured cheeks, and her full red lips were curled into a small smile. The men in the crowd had eyes for none but her as she reached the open Gate. Upon catching Eragon's eye, a flash of recognition appeared on her face and she approached him. She wore, as Arya sometimes did, a leaf green tunic and leggings. Upon reaching him, she touched her first two fingers to her lips and said; "Atra esterni ono thelduin."
To which Eragon replied with a small smile, "Atra du evarinya ono varda."
The elf held out her hand in a surprisingly human gesture. Whispers and gasps filled the crowd and Nasuada fumed as Eragon kissed it. The elf smiled and spoke in her native tongue.
"I am Nienna."
AN" Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! A huge thank you to all my reviewers, especially Draumr Kodthr (my one hundredth reviewer!) and xLilypadsx for her amazing advice. I love you guys!!
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