I dedicate this chapter to The Meepsta for being awesome in his/her review. Hope you will post some longer ones when you have enough time.
Also, if you are a reader, please, post a comment/review/anything. I'd like to hear what you have to say, and if your review is good, I will PM you and clear some of your questions.
Arya walked besides Eragon as they made their way back from the glen. Angela was waiting for them at the makeshift camp which Eragon organized, and she was probably growing restless by now.
Her feet moved with a lethargic trudge that lacked elegance and poise. Her mother's death deeply affected her, enhancing the suffering produced by Oromis' departure. Every death of a loved one acted like a blow delivered by a mighty hammer, slowly squeezing her, flattening her, burying her under a layer of sorrow from under which she would no longer be able to emerge.
She's only a part of the many others who perished in this accursed war, Arya thought, kicking a fallen branch. I must not be vulnerable, lest the same stupor induced by the very emotions that almost crippled me will emerge. For now, this simple thought was the only thing that kept her from crashing, but on a long term, Arya knew far too well that such ignorance will come back in full force.
That was a sacrifice she could afford as long as her new, unusual philosophy kept her strong. Finding the Rock of Kuthian, the key to their desperate plea of help against Galbatorix, was the most important task, one that she could not afford to fail. When the whole Alagaesia found itself in need of her logic and clarity of thought, Arya could not allow sorrow to overwhelm her. She needed to be strong.
Eragon bent his body and picked something off the forest floor, smiling. Arya liked his smile; it remembered her of the times when she could do it freely, without lying to herself or using happiness as a shield against sadness. Maybe that's why she was so fond of it.
"Foloin nuts," Eragon said, smelling the white striped oval fruit. "We should gather some of them."
"They're very hard to crack and mildly nutritional," Arya said, observing the tough shelled nut. "Beor offers a variety of fruits, berries and nuts similar to Du Weldenvarden."
"That would be a good substitute as long as the edible parts are worth the trouble," Eragon said lightly, tossing the nut aside. "Having someone with such extensive knowledge about fruits accompanying me in this journey is more important than I thought."
Arya smiled and glanced at Eragon uncertainly before she focused her attention to a branch which she avoided by sidestepping. She was not sure what to make of her relationship with Eragon as of yet. The Rider has always been kind to her, and recently, fulfilled the role of a paragon that showed her the way out of her misery. His caring attitude and positive views in spite of the suffering the war caused to him revealed to Arya something new, something that did not dwell within pain or gnaw at her mind by digging up past memories. Eragon thought that no matter the pain once was forced to face, it was no excuse to seclude oneself from the world and live an unworthy life of regrets.
He was her friend. The only one the war hadn't taken away. Even if he had been rude, persistent and not chiseled when he pursued her, Arya still considered him her savior. And now, he saved her a second time from a different sort of danger, where she was her own enemy. He was by no means a perfect man—after all, no man could be, but was she to judge someone who proved stronger than her?
Arya got accustomed to pain at an early age. After Evandar died, she had sought comfort in her mother's love, but a Queen had only so much time for a daughter that eventually grew up. Arya had quickly understood her relationship with her mother and fulfilled her role as an ambassador with pride, knowing that each moment spent apart from her pleased her mother and the elven people. She had been the tool that reinforced the contacts between elves, humans and dwarves and never had she pondered her role. Love meant understanding the others and being useful, that's all what she needed to know at that time.
Later in life, when being an ambassador had become a lifestyle, Arya met Faolin, and with him, a new meaning for love. It was different from what her mother or her role for the elves provided, more intense and passionate than ever before. Arya had wished the exhilarating feeling to last as long as her life and maintain its intensity that sent chills through her and made her stomach churn when she caught a glimpse of Faolin after a long journey. But it was torn from her, as all good things are.
She was no longer an ambassador. That much, was certain. She could not bask in the love provided by Faolin, for he was dead. She would never seek comfort from her mother, for she too joined Faolin. There was nothing left for her. The previous life she had lived was empty. Her new life had begun after the battle at Feinster, and Eragon was still with her.
"Why, I always thought they're named forlorn nuts," Angela laughed. "As an herbalist, I never learned the names of nuts. Why bother with something so similar to pebbles?" Her brow wrinkled, eyebrows met into a frown, and she tossed away the oval shaped nut.
Pacing around, she began mumbling different phrases extracted from books with nuts serving as the main point of interest. One particular sentence seemed to be sharper than her mind, however, for she kept repeating it with only slight differences between the words she used.
"That book had such messy writing! It is no wonder why I got the name wrong. Do they look forlorn to you?"
Eragon smiled wider than usual, feeling the increasing urge to laugh. Even the werecat, who had always traveled alongside Angela, seemed to be bothered by her endless pacing and nervous mumbling. Burying his head in the dense fur on the side of his body, Solembum expressed a complete lack of interest.
For a moment, Eragon wondered if the werecat had understood all of Angela's nonsense. The werecat always struck Eragon as a mysterious and eerie being, even if it did not look out of the ordinary. There was much he didn't know about the werecats.
He was almost certain that Solembum was a shaggy cat with ruby eyes that made him look unlike any other cat he had seen. However, the werecat that was licking its left paw while Angela kept gesturing, explaining why books are confusing and that they are meant to make people stupid, Eragon realized that the werecat had honey colored eyes and white tufts tipped his ears. Two distinctive patches of white fur of moderate length stretching right above his nose vertically until they dissipated at the top of his head. His fur was not quite pitch black, but more of a dark gray. Could werecats change their appearance? What else could they do?
Eragon almost jumped in surprise when Angela's high pitched voice came from a much closer location than the previous one. "You want to pet Solembum."
"W—what?" Eragon asked, dumbfounded. Only now did he realize that he had been staring at the werecat intently. Apparently, his actions hadn't gone unnoticed. Angela was but a few steps away from him, her posture convincing as her voice.
"You want to run your hand through his silky fur," Angela said with conviction. "I can see it in your eyes."
"I wasn't—I mean, no," Eragon stuttered, distraught by her serious tone. "It's just that… that…"
I can't possibly tell her about Solembum's change of appearance, Eragon suddenly realized, glancing away from Angela's persistent and somewhat terrifying gaze.
"Of course you can," Angela smiled, her eyes acquiring a playful look. "Why do you look so appalled? It's not because you think his fur is dirty, right?"
Eragon in turn sketched a wan smile. "No… it doesn't look like it is," he said, trying to sound as mirthful and convincing as possible. It was just Angela, after all.
"Come then, come," she beckoned enthusiastically, making sure to sneak a glance at the werecat as she did so. "Don't be afraid, he's very gentle with friends. Speaking of which, I do hope he considers you a friend. I find you downright irritating."
Eragon continued to walk, ignoring Angela's comments. For her, everything was a game. After Galbatorix's attack, Angela was the only cheerful and excited Varden, if only because she had finally had the opportunity to leave Feinster and discover a new kind of mushroom, one that lived on the cave walls. For the better part of this journey, that was the only information Eragon had made out of her mumblings.
"Come on, quickly now, you're slower than Tenga in the morning," she said, sitting on the ground besides Solembum. The werecat purred affectionately and dug his head in her hand.
"His fur is nowhere as rough as Saphira's scales, and his paw pads are so soft and pleasant to the touch," Angela chuckled, picking one of Solembum's front paws. The werecat seemed not to object as Angela caressed his smooth dark gray fur with her other hand.
Eragon carefully approached the werecat who turned his head to him, his honey colored eyes staring intently. When he was close enough, Eragon reached with one hand towards Solembum, but his intrusion seemed to obliterate the werecat's relaxation.
Solembum spat and hissed at the bulky arm, lashing out with its claws at fingers too dexterous and far away for him to grab onto. Angela frowned deeply and got up. She stood in front of the werecat whose bristled fur and menacing eyes displayed nothing but hostility.
Frowning, she said with a condemning tone. "I knew he didn't like the way you stared at him! With your ugly and big eyes…" She glared at him and turned around, trying to calm the hostile werecat.
"Weird, my beloved, weird and ugly. Not pretty like you," she mumbled, glancing with piercing eyes towards Eragon. He very well knew what that look meant, and Eragon felt relieved that he didn't have to insult Angela by turning down her request.
Eragon walked away, taking a turn through some underbrush to conceal his presence with the aid of the numerous tall trees. He felt a little sore and upset about yet another encounter with Angela that went wrong, but he dared not to ponder on it too much. The herbalist was a very peculiar person that hardly suffered human beings, and her negative traits seemed to surface as she spent more time among him. Eragon did not care much about her. She was their guide, and he was not in need of her friendship. Arya and Saphira were a much more pleasant company.
And certainly not deranged, Eragon thought as he skidded down a slope, running towards the glen where Arya was supposed to wait for him.
"We name it Calling," Arya said, her supple fingers moving along the necklace Eragon used to wear. It was a gift from a priest whose name he did not remember, and Eragon had almost forgotten its presence should it not suddenly start to burn and draw out his breath.
"It's the only procedure our race borrowed from the dwarves. As you already know, their race uses these necklaces to protect themselves from scriers. Since they cannot manipulate magic the way we do, their greatest fear was of elves and humans knowing what they do all the time, and use this information to assassinate them while asleep."
It was evening already. A soft breeze moved the lethargic leaves hanging on the boughs of trees, the rustle pleasant to Eragon's ears. With the sun concealed by the distant mountains, crickets started to emerge under the azure sky rippled with nuances of white. Eragon always wondered why clouds so thin could stand in the sky without dispersing.
They sat here for the better part of the day, listening to the sounds of the forest and sharing past experiences. Arya seemed quite comfortable with the idea of revealing the positive things she experienced in life, and Eragon was all ears. Her story fascinated him, both with its intricate content and the suave and melodious voice that said it. Intertwined, it was a sound more beautiful than any instrument could produce.
"Why does it have to be so painful?" Eragon asked, struggling not to grimace. Even the memory itself seemed painful to him.
"Dwarves developed means of protection against scrying, but they are crude and—as you already know—painful," Arya said, handing the necklace back to Eragon. He accepted it half-heartedly.
"Elves have talismans that they carry on lengthy missions. Their duty is to report to their Master, and the dwarven contraption helped our race greatly with the improvement they have brought."
Arya seemed to notice his reluctance to put back the necklace, for she said. "You should put it on. The second feedback is nowhere near as terrible as the first one, assuming that the one scrying you is a friend."
Eragon sighed and did as she said, more out of trust than preference. Arya's judgment was not to be ignored, especially when it was her intuition that saved his life in Feinster.
"What do you mean?" he asked, equipping the necklace.
"You may not know, but scrying relies on how much magical energy you allow to flow. Since we never use scrying on enemies that wear such talismans, most of the elves deemed such knowledge useless. However, utility and existence are two different things; someone such as Galbatorix could still try to scry you. If that happens, you will know it, but I doubt he will do it."
Eragon raised an eyebrow. "How can you be certain?"
"Scrying has rules, and even with a powerful magic flow, you cannot influence the result. A scrying such as the one I'm talking about will only produce pain to someone wearing a necklace," she said, her attention drawn by a squirrel that quickly climbed a tree.
"That makes sense," Eragon nodded, hiding the necklace beneath the fabric of his tunic. "However, you mentioned something about feedback, and I still don't know why a simple scrying caused me such irritation."
Arya looked at his chest, where the necklace was hidden, then at him "One of the reasons such necklaces are convenient is that they attune to your magic. The initial blast called feedback is the result of the necklace reacting to your magic," she said. "You see, since dwarves feared scrying more than dragons, they tried to invent an absolute protection against it. When you had been scried at the brook, the necklaces drained much of your energy and used it to create a very powerful shield. It is said that the shield created by such necklaces is powerful enough to stop even the most powerful spell, but the reason eludes us. That's why we never found a way to use them in battles. Quite mysterious tools, they are."
"It makes me wonder how the dwarves invented such necklace," Eragon mused.
Eragon felt a sudden presence entering his mind, one that he was most familiar with. Smiling, he got onto his feet. Arya did the same, even if she looked a little bemused.
We should leave, little one. The currents are favorable and the wind will carry us far, Saphira said.
Not until you rest, Eragon cut her.
I am rested, Saphira insisted. That's why I'm telling you and Angela to run so we can be off. Eragon merely complied without asking any other questions. It felt unusual to have Saphira willingly spend time apart from him. In was unnatural, something that never happened before.
"Saphira is back," Eragon said, breaking into a run. "She's well rested and ready for flight, but…" he trailed off.
"What?" Arya asked, jumping over a fallen log.
"Her hunt couldn't take that long," Eragon observed, looking at the sky as if seeking confirmation. "A hunt doesn't take half a day. That means she preferred to spend her time alone…"
"Her body is undergoing certain changes, and her feelings are addled by the desire to reproduce," Arya added bluntly. "You will come to realize that this Saphira can be quite different from the one you are accustomed with. It is something inherited from wild dragons, and their nature cannot be changed, even by the bond you share with her."
Eragon shook his head. "I can't," he said, looking at Arya pleadingly. "Unless I hear it from her, no information matters to me."
Arya's eyes met his, compassion present in the emerald jewels. Her nod alleviated a part of Eragon's rebellious thoughts, and for that, he was grateful.
Knowing where Saphira had landed, Eragon favored Arya one more glance of gratitude before they parted ways.
It wasn't long until Eragon found Saphira. The dragoness landed somewhere near the glen, where Angela would not disturb her. Her body was curled, the tip of her tail touching her snout.
Eragon gulped emptily when the sparkling sapphires made him squint. An alien sensation of doubt sprouted in his mind, the perverse product of his own worries and thoughts of loneliness.
She's in heat, but she is still Saphira, Eragon thought, approaching her with more confidence.
As soon as Eragon was close enough, Saphira trudged her body to reach him, her claws raking and pulling dirt behind.
Little one, she said softly, lifting her wing to allow Eragon entrance to his favorite spot. Deer are plentiful, and the rugged terrain makes them easy to catch.
Eragon hesitated, but Saphira did not seem to observe his reaction. Her wing was still lifted awkwardly.
That's good to hear, Eragon said, his stare sliding across her wan compared to the rest of the body but clean and beautiful underbelly. Quite hard to get a decent meal on the plains.
Eragon's mind churned with happiness as he inspected Saphira. She was as beautiful as always. Even if her body and mentality was going through a different stage of her life cycle, she still retained all of her feelings for him. Eragon admired her ivory claws, powerful and muscular haunches, and…
Eragon gulped emptily, his eyebrows raised curiously. His eyes encountered something that he had never seen before. The thought alone brought a smile on his lips, and blood rushed to his cheeks as he realized what he was looking at. It was the one thing that indicated the gender of an animal, or a dragon, in this case.
Eragon's cherry red face was hot by now, and when Saphira lowered her head to look into his eyes, Eragon almost fell on his back.
Little one? Saphira asked, growling softly. Aren't you going to curl besides me?
I—well, I mean, I think…well…, Eragon slurred his words. Driven by a peculiar sense of curiosity, Eragon glanced at her area once again and shuffled uncertainly towards her front feet.
Saphira craned her neck and nuzzled him lovingly, her snout digging in his chest. Have you caught a sickness? She asked, withdrawing her head slightly.
Eragon felt pierced by her sapphire eyes. He could not possibly lie to her, and although awkward for a human, such question would not sound uncomfortable for a dragon.
Saphira, Eragon said awkwardly. When you were a hatchling, I couldn't tell your gender by…umm…
Saphira snorted, but did not interrupt him. Eragon felt sweat ooze from every pore of his body, but pressed on.
Right now, however, I've seen your… he paused, moving his arms in patterns even he did not recognize, and I was wondering why I see it now, and not before.
Saphira arched her neck, reaching with his snout towards her private area. Eragon sighed in relief when she did not respond right away, but continued to watch her. After sniffing her underbelly, Saphira licked her reproduction area gently and then looked at Eragon as if nothing unusual happened.
Dragons are fierce and reckless in combat. Without a protective flap to guard our most sensitive areas, a battle could hinder a dragon's mating capabilities, and a dragon that cannot mate is useless.
There was harshness and longing in her voice, and unlike the last time she mentioned hatchlings, her feelings were more intense and rampant. Acting on instinct, Eragon crawled under her wing and curled under her belly as Saphira wanted. Humming with satisfaction, Saphira covered him protectively and brought her snout close to him.
You can always choose a mate, little one, she said, sadness present in her voice. You are my partner of mind and soul, but I crave for the company of my kin.
Eragon rubbed her jaw affectionately. You are going to have mate that will give you hatchlings. I will make sure of it. The other egg…
Saphira withdrew her head slowly, enough so that their eyes met. He may never hatch, and I don't want to wait.
Saphira growled harshly, expressing her pain. For a brief moment, she allowed her feelings to flow rampantly through their bond. Unprepared, Eragon's breath stuck in his throat when such depression, pain and sorrow invaded his mind. Only after Saphira restrained her feelings was he able to recover from the shock. By placing an arm on her side, Eragon tried to steady himself, but Saphira suddenly got up. Eragon fell on his back.
You can choose a mate any time you want, she said. I want the same.
Saphira, but—
Arya, Angela and Solembum can find their Rock of Kuthian without my help. Galbatorix couldn't have slain all the dragons. If we search, we will find them.
Saphira looked at him pleadingly, her eyes full of confusion and pain. She was aware of how unlikely her words sounded, yet Saphira tried desperately to escape pain and loneliness by any means necessary.
Depressed and totally lost, Eragon got up and hugged Saphira's neck, his hands caressing her scales sympathetically. As long as Galbatorix lives, dragons will not emerge from their hideouts.
You have grown wise, little one, Saphira nuzzled him lovingly.
There are many unexplored and safe regions in the Beors, Eragon said reassuringly. Maybe the Rock of Kuthian itself is the cave of a dragon.
For the first time since she was in heat, Eragon felt a spark of hope igniting in Saphira. Eragon almost fell on his back when her snout poked him in the chest, a hum of joy vibrating in her throat.
Let us fly then. The air currents shall whistle under our wings and carry us far this day.
What do you think? Unlike the last chapter, I really don't see this one as a filler. For one, the relationship between Arya and Eragon is ready to advance to a new level soon enough. I just need the necessary incentive to do it. Secondly, I liked the scene with Angela a lot, for more than the one obvious reason. Thirdly, Elves are Calling each other! No it's Calling with a capital 'C'! If you don't get it, then... I like that dialogue, and there's some interesting information in there too. Fourthly, the dialogue with Saphira... Oh my, I loved it.
New Paragraph for obvious reasons. If you are going to comment on why Eragon stared at her private area, then keep in mind that you do that every day if you have a dog or cat. It's nothing unusual because Saphira is a dragon, not a human, and last time I checked, dogs and cats don't walk around dressed in panties.