Werecats cannot enter Crolis-Vaden—the Vault of Souls— on their own. I needed a certain part of a True Name, one that you possessed.
Angela lay next to Solembum, purring in delight at the tongue strokes against her face. She told Eragon that Solembum was her mate, that she would help him no longer. Her part in the war ended when Eragon touched that strange pebble, returning Angela to her original form.
That crystal you have seen, Angela said, getting up, is the attempt of a certain Grey Folk to contain all that devastating magic. Every True Name—the Ancient Language itself—resides within it, among the names of Grey Folk alike. Fate made it that you and Galbatorix held a fragment of the name of a Grey Folk in your own True Names. And only they could enter this city by speaking their names.
Pensive, Eragon rested his head on his fist, elbow propped against the higher part of the column he sat on. Moonlight revealed the two werecats, its light powerful enough to unveil the lithe grace in their dash, the agility displayed when playing and leaping over the scattered obstacles. Eragon could not tell which one was Angela. He did not particularly care.
The foreign words still plagued his mind, forced his lips open, tempted him to utter and unleash their power. Angela barely spoke to him about them. Instead of helping him understand, she told him to force his lips shut at night by uttering a spell she taught him. What good would that do?
While Angela and Solembum played with each other, Eragon was tormented by the words. The strain it took to suppress them fatigued Eragon. He was a resilient pillar against the surging waters of a river. Its might defied the flow for now, but it could not last forever.
After playing, Solembum and Angela mated. Seeing them huddled, hearing their melodic purr and low growls brought shivers to Eragon. His skin prickled with a strange, almost forgotten nostalgia.
She betrayed you, the Void whispered. She will not come back.
"Eragon?"
He didn't sway the head to look behind.
"How did I get here?"
Arya sat on his left, frowning slightly.
"Everything differed."
Eragon stood straight, placing his hands on his lap. Did the outcome really matter? The words would still plague his mind.
"Not only the journey, but Angela," Arya said. "She needed us. More than we exploited her abilities."
She paused for a moment, adopting a pensive look.
"How did she even transform?" Arya inquired, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The sun barely moved in the sky before you returned with a werecat instead of her."
Eragon regarded Arya for a moment. She knew so little. Confiding in her meant trading words for nothingness.
He shrugged off that burden on his shoulder before, most of the time without thinking. Arya might have lost her beauty, yet her daunting persistence showed him something. Despite her uselessness, she cared.
Even if she does, the Void intervened. That cannot help you. Only her information can.
Eragon did not remove her hand.
"She was a werecat," he said, fighting his own instincts, not only the Void. "Somehow, I helped her trade that form for this one."
"You helped her?" Arya asked, looking into the distance. Both Angela and Solembum vanished into the night. They had each other's company. Eragon had no lasting bond. It flew away because of enemies.
"I don't know how," Eragon said curtly. Telling her about the words was a mistake. The Void warned him of this moment, when companions asked and pondered without offering relief in return.
"We touched something and it happened."
Eragon frowned, turning around to avoid Arya's doubtful gaze. The words started after he touched that faint glowing pebble. Angela had merely pointed at it. She never touched it. Yet she changed. Angela told him that he needed him to teleport into the Vault of Souls, but it was she who insisted to the point where he blatantly obeyed in that last room.
Eragon shrugged. Pondering the past was useless.
"Ellesmera holds no scrolls related to the Grey Folk or this city," Arya said, scrambling on her feet.
Eragon let her walk into the night without interfering.
The Void was right.
Eragon squinted at the morning sky. Light irritated him after a cold night without sleep, no matter how much the clouds reduced its intensity.
Controlling his trembling lips turned to be a demanding task, one that had to turn into a habit. Angela's spell bestowed tranquility upon him over the night at the cost of physical fatigue, yet the words bashed at his mind with renewed vigor. Protection meant no peace. Eragon had the whole night at his disposal to realize it.
This journey had taken Saphira away from him and stole Arya's comforting touch. His life switched from the hopeful one of a Rider to the loneliness of a taciturn peasant. He was not a Rider anymore. He had relinquished everything for a surge of bothersome, useless words that could kill him during sleep.
Your journey has not ended.
Angela brushed her body against his legs, rubbing her cheek on his leggings. Solembum used to do that to her, though the reason always evaded Eragon.
There are certain wishes that had not been fulfilled.
Angela jumped from one fragment of a spire to the other, settling on the ground when stone provided no comfort. It was the first time since her transformation when Eragon saw her without Solembum. As mates, they barely parted ways.
Eragon pondered her words for a moment. One wish was more prominent.
Saphira, Eragon said. She betrayed me, yet…
Eragon paused. Saphira's stubbornness brought this misery upon him. She did this to him willingly. She almost killed him. Why was he sorely missing her? What was this desperation that gnawed at his being when he remembered her name?
I don't even know where she is, he said, feeling a strong urge to shed tears. Were it not for the words, he would have done so already.
The green egg remained in Galbatorix's possession, Angela said, leaping on a rock closer to him. The dragon within has its influence on your life.
Eragon frowned. Angela mentioned the king's name before, referring to him as the last of the old Riders. He somehow learned to control the words. He was Eragon's enemy.
To steal the egg, Eragon had to enter Uru'baen undisturbed. To learn suppress the words, he needed to scout through Galbatorix's palace.
Eragon's eyes widened. The Vault of Souls had not been a waste. It had provided exactly what he needed.
Abandoning her perch, Angela dashed past Eragon, greeting Arya in her own peculiar way. Eragon couldn't know if her words were prophetic, destined to birth a ploy in his mind. Solembum interfered with his destiny already. Maybe fate wanted him to follow an exact path.
Our ways part, Angela said, glancing at them both. I do not belong among the Varden, but I can return you to them.
Arya nodded curtly, taking no time to ponder Angela's words.
Before Angela used the spell, Eragon cut in.
I cannot return to them as a Rider without a dragon, he said resolutely. I go to Uru'baen.