_Diamond Cut Diamond_

Chapter 11: In the Forest of the Elves

They reached Ellesmera before dark the next day. As Murtagh dismounted the dragon, he realized Arya has not exaggerated the beauty that was Du Weldan Varden. The great trees exuded a sense of majesty and peace. The leaves seemed to shimmer, infused with magic as they were.

The quiet, which at first disoriented Murtagh, settled on his shoulder comfortably.

Until Arya broke it.

"Gilderien will allow us passage. Do as I tell you to do."

Murtagh nodded, not even remembering to be offended.

They reached the elven caretaker after about a five minutes walk, Thorn carefully worming his way through the trees behind them.

"Show him your palm," said Arya.

Murtagh raised his hand, and the silent, hooded, elf spent an uncomfortably long time gazing at the gedway ignasia. Eventually, he raised his hands, allowing them passage.

"Why is he silent?" asked Murtagh, when they were out of earshot.

Arya shrugged. "He has been here since the first war. His ways are a mystery to most of us, but his dedication to protecting out city is known to us all."

"How could one man protect an entire city?" asked Murtagh.

"He keeps many wards around Ellesmera, and none enter without him knowing about it. But could he stop an army? Doubtful."

Murtagh nodded.

They walked in silence, and then Arya began talking, hardly seeming to realize she knew she was doing it.

"My mother isn't going to want me to be the elven representative. She doesn't want me to leave home, but more than that, she doesn't want me to have any power."

"You are in a very good place to usurp her," said Murtagh.

"And would I?" asked Arya, whipping her head around to face him. "Have I ever given the slightest indication—"

"No!" said Murtagh. "No, I never said that, nor did I ever say half the things I apparently say inside your head!"

Arya drew back and opened her mouth, ready to retort, but she paused for a moment.

"No," she said slowly. "No, I don't suppose you do. But isn't it a bit arrogant to assume you're in my head at all?"

"But I am. Don't talk to me in riddles, Arya. Is laughing when I can't understand you such a great pleasure?" Arya drew back at this, bearing an expression of indifference.

"It is not the fault of the riddler when you cannot understand the riddle."

"So I'm an idiot?" asked Murtagh. "A human idiot beneath the grand scope of your wisdom?"

"No!" said Arya with vehemence that surprised them both. "No, but think as if you were someone else for once. Perhaps the riddler is simply making it up as she goes along—asking questions to which there is no answer, and only hoping others will supply it."

Murtagh was silent for a moment, and then they were out of the woods, on a pathway, and Tiadari Hall was ahead of them.

Arya slowed her walk, and looked over her shoulder, as if seeing what options she had in terms of retreat. All at once, Murtagh's anger died of natural causes, and despite himself, his heart filled with pity for the elf.

"It'll be all right," he said, his voice echoed in his ears gruffly, making him wince. "It might not be easy, but it'll be all right."

Arya looked up at him, surprise registering in her green eyes.

"It will," said Murtagh, feeling a great drive to see relief in her eyes. "The sooner you get it over with, the better."

Arya nodded. Her face became unreadable again. "Sound advice, shurtugal."

The city was breathtaking. It had none of the bustle and noise of a human city. It had none of the dirt and smoke, none of the smells, none of the garbage. Murtagh, who had lived most of his life deep within the pulsating heart of a city found it both strange and wonderful.

He had never heard a place as quiet as this.

Arya stepped lightly, blending in perfectly to the scene.

Not quite. She's not quite at home here. Which is odd, seeing as she's a princess.

Murtagh was mesmerized by the buildings, or trees, or tree buildings, or building trees. There was no garish line between the construction and the natural, because they were one. It felt as if the entire place was in equilibrium with nature.

Except…

Arya, who Murtagh had expected to be at ease here, walked more stiffly than she had down the streets of Uru'baen.

"Family. Why is it always family?"

Thorn seemed to feel alive here. Murtagh could feel his excitement through their mental link, and whatever magic permeated the place was affecting the dragon strongly. Murtagh wondered briefly if he was acting any different than normal and ran a mental scan.

I'm not talking more than I do normally.

I'm still distrustful of the elves.

I've got my wards up.

Thorn's still here.

"Murtagh. There's nothing different about you."

"How can I trust your word?" asked Murtagh, sardonically. "Your behavior is what made me begin to wonder."

"I'm only—"

"Are you ready?"

Murtagh looked over at Arya. "Yes, I suppose. As I'll ever be." And then, against his better judgment, "Are you?"

Arya looked him in the eye, with a burning glare. "Do not presume to taunt me, human. I do not need your pity."

Murtagh found himself recoiling as if he'd been physically hit. The anger in her voice was nearly tangible, hot enough to freeze. Akin to boiling water—cold enough to burn; like snow.

Before he had a chance to shoot back a cutting response, to prove he wasn't hurt, to prove what she said didn't matter to him, she had pulled open the great doors of the hall and he was following her inside.

Murtagh barely noticed the hall.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course."
"You don't sound it."

"Why wouldn't I be fine?"
"What
she said." Thorn then projected a series of images into Murtagh's mind.

"Why would I care what some idiot elf says?"

Concerned emanated from Thorn. "What should I do?"

Murtagh realized belatedly that Thorn couldn't have followed him through the doors, massive as they were.

"What would have you Thorn do?" he asked.

Arya looked over. "If it pleases him, tell him to wait outside."

"Shall I wait with him?" asked Murtagh.

"Do my mother the courtesy of making an appearance," said Arya.

They turned out of the rich hall, which Murtagh realized he had no memory of, through a door and into a room with a desk at which sat an elf who looked as beautiful as Arya, only older. Colder. Deadlier. Murtagh realized they had not been granted a throne room audience. They were in Izlanzadi's private office. What that meant, he could not tell, but it seemed uncharacteristic.

Beside him, Arya drew in a quick breath, and twisted her wrist to her chest.

"May the stars watch over you."

Murtagh attempted to copy her motions.

"Why didn't she teach me this? Why didn't Eragon teach me this?" thought Murtagh, nettled.

Izlanzadi's voice was much more elven, much more alien, for a reason Murtagh could not identify.

"My daughter," she said, after they had finished the exchange. "You have finally returned. And you, shurtugal."

She cast a piercing gaze on Murtagh.

He returned it for a few, rebellious seconds. Then he remembered his purpose here and replied, "Your majesty," while still meeting her eyes.

"I never thought I would see you in this, the home of our royalty," said Izlanzadi. "Forgive me that you were not met with fanfare…but you will know why."

"I understand that I am hated among your people," said Murtagh.

"Do not take offense, rider," replied the queen. "It is the actions of the king, and Nasuada's meddling we despise, not you. But come! You must be weary from your journey. Arya will show you to the dragonhold, and we will discuss your reasons for being here tomorrow."

She twisted her hand at her chest once more, and sat back down at her desk.

Murtagh urge to be out of the room grew almost unbearably strong. He managed to wait for Arya before turning on his heel and walking out.

They walked in silence until they reached a path that turned away from the fantastic gardens outside Tialdari Hall.

"Congratulations," said Arya, icily. "You have created the hatred you feared so much."
"I created?" spluttered Murtagh. "I created! I wasn't the one who—she was as rude to me as a street urchin!"

"She was testing you!" said Arya, in a voice that ought to have acutely expressed frustration at his stupidity.

"Well then you should have mentioned she would do that!" shouted Murtagh.

"Lower your voice," hissed Arya.

"Why the hell should I?" asked Murtagh, refusing to whisper. "Your people are above our language, aren't you?" He heard his voice carry farther than he wanted it to. He wanted desperately to lower his voice, but that would be giving in.

"Do not be childish!" said Arya. She drew a deep breath. "She was testing you, Murtagh. I had no idea she was going to do it, but was it not obvious?"

"I'm an idiot, don't you remember?" he shot back.

"Damn it, Murtagh!" said Arya, surprising him with her use of profanity. "You're not unintelligent, please don't act like it."

Murtagh stopped in his tracks. "By the demons above and below, Arya, what do you want? What do you want from me?" He realized his voice sounded tortured.

Arya sighed. "For once, don't respond from an emotional standpoint. You're being watched to see how you behave. And seeing what you did—"

"I DIDN'T KILL HIM!" shouted Murtagh. "Do you have any idea what it's like to watch your hands kill someone? Do you have any idea?"

"I know that!" cried Arya, abandoning her forced calm. "I know! But he died and it was by your hand."

"So that's reason to treat me like dirt?"

"Murtagh, I never said it was right."

"Then why," said Murtagh, "are you antagonizing me?"

Arya drew in a breath, as if to offer a biting response. She seemed to change her mind, exhaled and looked at the ground.

"I suppose," she began carefully. "I expect you to rise to the occasion because I think you are above my mother. But it remains your choice whether or not you do."

And Murtagh had no idea how to respond to this.

"Murtagh?"

"I don't know, Thorn, so don't ask me to explain."

"Here," said Arya, "is where you will be staying. The highest room, which used to belong to Vrael, is yours, and you will be brought food. Tomorrow, at sunrise, I will come for you, and we will meet with assorted officials."

She turned on her heel, and then added, in an icy tone, "Good night."
Murtagh stood as he watched her walk away, and then pulled the door open.

"What was that about?"

"I was going to ask the same thing, Thorn."

"How would I know?"

And on that note, he and Thorn made their way into the ancestral home of the dragon riders.

I actually updated, so you should all like bow before me.

Evanesence2189 edited, so bow before her too.