Being friendzoned by your guy best friend hurts. As a girl, you can't do anything much about it. Oh well. I haven't update for ages, is anybody out for blood yet? *sounds of a groaning zombie girl* My laptop basically died. I had to scrounge up all of my hidden IT skills (I took up Information Technology, majoring in multimedia tech) to save this old chap. My two desktops are great life savers too! Phew.
Sooooo...
Chapter 5: Embers of a Flickering Flame
"Knurlheim, you can't sleep right now! We're needed at the gate. They won't start without us. Ajihad's procession is waiting for us!"
Eragon woke up with a groan. Around him, the other Riders were in different states of disarray from the night of debauchery. He could barely recall some events from the previous night, but his cheeks flushed as his mind strayed to his dazed dancing with Arya. The dragons' bleary eyes were fixed on the dwarf. "What did you call me?"
"Knurlheim. Stonehead. I've been trying to wake all of you for almost an hour," muttered Orik.
Eragon slid off the table he was lying on, his head aching and his body sore. There was a sick taste on his tongue and knew that the other Riders felt no better. He stumbled towards Saphira. How are you faring?
Saphira grunted. She ran her red tongue in and out, over her teeth. I think I'm whole, but my left wing feels strange since I landed on it. Ugh. My head feels like it's on fire.
"Did anyone get hurt when she fell?" Katrina asked from one corner of the room, smoothening her tunic in a hurried way.
Orik laughed heartily. "Only those that fell of their seats in laughter," he said. "A drunk dragon that bows? Oh, songs will be sung about it in the decades to come." Saphira shuffled uncomfortably. "The others passed out soon after, and we thought it best to leave you here. We couldn't move a dragon – much less six. The cook was terribly upset. He was afraid of your ability to drink more of his best stock."
Consuming four barrels would kill me! Eragon grinned.
Saphira shot him a withering look. That's why you're not a dragon.
Orik set down bundles of clothes on the table. "Get these sorted out, find a place to throw them on. They're more suitable for a funeral than those clothes of yours."
Eragon dashed into a nearby empty apartment and threw on a billowy white shirt with ties at the cuffs, a deep blue vest with silvery decorations, dark pants, black boots and a swirling black cape which was fastened by a silver-studded brooch designed like the gedwey ignasia. He wore an ornate belt where Kylskada was fastened. He stepped out of the room to find the other Riders waiting, wearing similar clothing. Their vests also matched the color of their dragons.
"Looking good," Arya said, smoothing his hair quickly.
Eragon felt the warm flush of his cheeks. "You didn't have to do that, you!"
Arya smirked. "We can't let one of us look ridiculous during the funeral of an esteemed leader, my friend."
She's right, Saphira added. Your hair was sticking up. You looked like a tasty chicken.
Eragon was still grumbling about women – and recalling the way Arya touched his hair – when they followed Orik to the south gate. The dragons were right behind them, swaying and bumping against each other. Having too much to drink, whether one was human, dragon, dwarf or elf, took its toll the next day.
Arya rubbed her forehead in frustration as they walked through the eerily quiet halls of Tronjheim. She felt ridiculous, acting like a mother hen who wants her chick to look good at all times. She knew that Eragon was irritated because of that, but she did want him to look good. Not that he wasn't handsome. Oh, he was. With his open, carefree face that was subtly different from Murtagh's sharp, brooding features, human girls must have clamored for his attention in Carvahall.
That's the problem, isn't it? Firnen asked, his pace steady if a little wobbly. You have some… interest in the little two-legs. It's more than friendship, else you would have fussed over the smudge on Murtagh's nose.
Arya crossed her arms. He's a human. A Rider, but still human, and a very good friend at that. Why would I be interested in becoming more than his friend?
Exactly that. He is one of your good friends. You've seen his good and bad side, and it's driving you mental. I've shared a lot of your dreams, including those that involved kissing the poor boy.
And I've had a fair share of dreams that feature mating – yes, mating! – with Saphira, so it makes us even. And just so you know, mine will pass eventually but yours won't, so I'll be stuck with those kinds of dreams at night for my entire life.
Firnen gave her a wounded look – or at least as wounded as a dragon could attempt. Oh, Arya. At least Eragon may also be interested in you. I'm sure Saphira won't even give me a second look once we can freely look for mates.
Arya shook her head. I don't want to discuss this.
As you wish. Firnen withdrew from her mind, his own consciousness getting fuzzier due to his dazed, previously drunk state.
"We will have to start here," Orik said as they reached the gates. "The procession stopped here three days ago. We can't interrupt it, else his spirit will find no rest."
Arya nudged Katrina. That's a strange custom, she noted.
Many human settlements have their own odd customs too, and not just for funerals, agreed Katrina. Back in Carvahall, we simply buried the dead beside their farms and marked their graves. We recited a few lines from certain ballads and held death feasts for relatives and friends.
Nasuada let out a choked sob and tried to wipe off her tears. In a show of solidarity and true concern for her grieving friend, Arya put an encouraging hand on her shoulder. It was going to be a long, long day.
"Where will Ajihad be buried?" Eragon asked at the head of the group.
"Ah, that caused much debate among the clans," Orik said. "When dwarves die, it is our belief that he needs to be sealed in stone else he will not be able to join his ancestors. It's honestly more complex than that but I can't say more to outsiders, though. We wil ldo everything to assure a burial such as that. There will be shame on a family or even a clan if they allow anybody among them to lie in something lesser. For that reason, there is a hall here, under Farthen Dur, where all knurlan – dwarves – who have died are buried. We can't entomb Ajihad there since he's not a dwarf, of course, but we set a hallowed place for him to rest in. That way, people may visit him without disturbing our halls for the dead, and he will receive the respect he should have."
"Your king has done a lot for us and for the Varden," Nasuada mused sadly.
"Aye," agreed Orik. "Some say that it's too much."
The thick gates were drawn up, revealing the small amount of sunlight drifting through Farthen Dur. There was a carefully arranged column of people behind those. Ajihad lay before them, cold and pale, on a bier made of marble. Six men clad in black bore it with grim faces. Nasuada and Katrina began to sob together. Arya knew that it was only a matter of time before she and the boys did too. Grief chose no gender, no race.
The precious stones on Ajihad's helm glinted dully, as if sharing their sadness. His hands were clasped over his chest, over the ivory hilt that belonged to his sword, which was bared, extending underneath the triangular shield that covered most of his chest and legs. The mail he wore could barely be seen, except on the places where it flowed over the bier.
Close behind it stood Melikir, dressed in dismal gray clothing from his shirt, vest, trousers and down to his boots. His black cape flowed behind him limply. A steely determination emanated from him. Behind him stood Brom, tall and proud, wearing clothing similar to the Riders, with a pale blue vest and a matching cape. Hrothgar was to the side, wearing dark robes that fitted the occasion. Faolin stood nearby, arms crossed, dressed in his regular black tunic and breeches. The Council of Elders were nearby, wearing suitably remorseful expressions – though Jormundur did seem genuinely grief-stricken.
The rest of the mourners extended a mile from Tronjheim. It felt somehow grander than the funeral that was held when Arya's father died – and he was an important man.
Nasuada was about to move towards her brother when people began to sigh and whisper. Jormundur shook his head and beckoned for them to join him. Trying their best not to disturb the formation, the Riders made their way through the crowd to stand beside him, with Sabrae glaring at them. Orik left to stand with his king. The dragons soared above them dizzily, Thorn and Askanir crashing against each other twice.
The wait was gut-wrenching.
Arya decided to look around. The lanterns were dimmed to make it look like twilight was setting in, making the area appear ethereal. Nobody moved or made a sound. The only movement came from the lone plume of incense smoke dancing from the bier.
The booming bass note of a drum vibrated and echoed throughout Tronjheim, shaking the people to their core. The procession stepped forward, and the sound of another drum joined the first. The majestic sound of the drums called to them in the bittersweet procession that led them on, one foot in front of the other. If such a ritual was all because of the belief in the afterlife, then Arya hoped that the elves were wrong, and a final resting place existed for souls of the fallen, instead of them just ceasing to exist.
Hand in hand, the six Riders marched with the procession, following the tunnel until it ended. The bearers of Ajihad's body stopped solemnly for a moment between the pillars of onyx. A solemn hush fell upon everyone, and the reverence of the dwarves grew as they haded inside and beheld the remains of Isidar Mithrim.
The guilt and remorse clenched in Arya's gut, and the tears threatened to spill – both for the sorrow of Ajihad's passing, and the terrible deed that had been done in order to save Eragon and Murtagh.
The massive pieces of the Isidar Mithrim circled the center of the chamber, surrounding the hammer and star symbol. The biggest pieces are larger than even the dragons. The rays of the star sapphire gleamed, a spark of life within the fragments. Some petals of the rose were even left intact.
I do wish that we could have done something else instead of destroying it, Katrina said.
Arya nodded. I know. She followed the procession once more, past the countless shards of the Isidar Mithrim.
They walked down the flights that led to the tunnels below. They passed through caverns inhabited by dwarves who lived in stone hunts. Dwarf children clutched their mothers, staring at the procession with wide, solemn eyes. The final boom of the drums stopped as the group halted. Above them were ribbed stalactites covering a massive catacomb.
The silence that befell them was eerie. The alcoves lying the tomb bore a name and a clan crest. Hundreds of thousands of dwarves were buried there, and Arya bowed her head in respect. She felt Eragon's hand tighten, and she tightened her grip too. It feels like losing my father all over again.
Eragon's face remained blank. All that could be felt from him was a sense of sadness.
The bearers entered a small room that was extending from the main chamber. A raised platform on the center bore the open crypt with an epitaph. The mourners gathered around it, and the bearers lowered Ajihad into the crypt. After a while, the people who knew him personally were allowed to approach. Arya was the eigth in line, right behind Nasuada. They ascended the marble steps to view the body.
Arya gazed at the man who was about to be buried, the man who – though she knew briefly – reminded her so much of her father. He was the man who represented freedom, who fought so hard for it. Even the elves acknowledged his efforts, for they were effectively trapped in their forest until the tyrant king was vanquished.
"We will avenge you. Your efforts will not be wasted. Your son – we will help him lead Alagaesia into freedom, so you may be remembered for all time." Arya closed her eyes and turned her back on Ajihad, letting Eragon take her place.
Once everyone paid their respects, Nasuada joined Melikir by the crypt and they held each other's hands. She let out a choked sob before they sang in the strange, haunting language of the Wandering Tribes of Alagaesia.
As they finished, a dozen dwarves slid a stone slab over Ajihad, covering him for all eternity.
The sense of hollow sadness inside Nasuada began to ebb, and she slowly allowed Solaris to see more into her mind once more. She hated to subject her dragon to the same misery that she felt. She followed her friends as they filed into the underground ampitheater, ignoring the voices which talked about the funeral that transpired. She sat on the lowest tier, level with the podium, between Roran and Murtagh, with the other Riders sitting nearby. Melikir, Faolin, Hrothgar, Orik, Brom and the Council of Elders joined them. The dragons curled up on the stairs, watchful eyes open.
"Since Korgan, this is where we elect our kings," Orik explained. "It is only fitting for the Varden to do so too."
"I just hope it goes peacefully," grunted Brom.
We're going to make a lot of fierce enemies right after this, Solaris noted.
Not more than before, as I am Ajihad's daughter, replied Nasuada. This means that Roran and Askanir will be sharing our enemies, though.
Several minutes passed before the ampitheater could be filled. Nasuada simply tuned out most of the speech that Jormundur made, detailing her father's feats and talked about the last time they convened, after another former leader, Deynor, died fifteen years ago. She noted that he spoke of a new leader that will win the Varden more glory.
Was that all that some people in the Varden were all about?
"Shadeslayers! Argetlam!" someone yelled above them.
Jormundur remained unfazed. "Nay, they have so much duties and responsibilities. It may perhaps be possible someday. The decision took a long time among the Council of Elders, especially as Brom does not wish to take the position. We need someone who knows are needs and wants, who has lived with us for the past years, living and suffering together with everyone. We need someone who knows everything about Ajihad's work, everything he wished to remain a secret, everything that he wished to be done."
A hush befell the crowd, and their whispers joined Jormundur's voice. "Melikir."
Jormundur bowed and stepped aside, and Faolin took his place. The elf lord smiled glumly. "The elves of Du Weldenvarden honor Ajihad tonight. On behalf of Queen Islanzadi, I, Ambassador Faolin, recognize Melikir's ascension. I extend the same support and friendship that I have given his father. May the stars watch over my good friend."
Hrothgar, then each of the Riders, gave their pledges of support to satisfy the council too. Once all of that was over, the Council of Elders lined up on either side of the podium, Jormundur at the head. Melikir gave Nasuada a long look as he rose to his feet – a mixture of fear and determination. He approached and knelt before Jormundur, a muted dark figure of sadness, hope, and freedom.
The council leader bowed in acknowledgement. "By right of inheritance and succession, Melikir has been chosen among numerous candidates. By merit of his father's feats and the blessings of his peers, Melikir has been chosen by us. I now ask you: Did we choose the right man?"
The resounding cheers of "yes" was enough, it seemed.
Jormundur nodded, pleased. "Then by the power granted to this council, we shall pass all of Ajihad's privileges and responsibilities to his eldest child and heir, Melikir." He put a silver band above Melikir's brow. The young man stood up, face grim. "I give you our new leader."
The resounding cheers of the crowd – both men and dwarves – rang throughout the place. Nasuada caught Murtagh staring at her. She stared back, noting that his hair was still sticking up the wrong way. Thorn licked it the day before, and no matter how much the red Rider did his best to flatten it, it was still strange-looking. No wonder Murtagh was irritated with his dragon.
"You're staring at me," he said with a cheeky smile. "Found something you like?"
"Your hair," Nasuada said. She felt herself flush. She should have thought better before talking out loud.
Murtagh blinked. "You're making fun of me now."
Nasuada smiled. She put a hand to his hair and fixed it up, so that it still remained quite dishevelled and yet did not look so odd anymore. "No, it's endearing. See? It's all better now. You look better that way."
Spots of pink began to color Murtagh's cheeks. Before he could reply though, Sabrae's voice cut him off. "Now is the time to fulfill your promise," she said.
Hearing her, Melikir cleared his throat. Silence fell upon the room as the slight young man straightened up, emanating a sudden aura of power and authority. "The Order of the Dragon Riders existed for so long, that it has watched kings rise and fall. They are loyal to all races, and yet must not prefer one over all others. Times change, and yet it would still be improper for all six of the free Riders to be loyal to only one faction." Hushed murmurs began to fill the room, and Sabrae's face soured. "The Varden must not trap all of them in binding, trapping oaths."
"Melikir," Sabrae said, her sharp eyes narrowing. "They made a promise before the Council."
"It does not matter, for I have ordered them to break this promise," Melikir said. "It would be improper, and I have made an agreement with King Hrothgar and Ambassador Faolin. Balance must be kept between our factions – and between the Riders. Nasuada, Solaris, Roran and Askanir, come hither."
Murtagh put a hand on Nasuada's shoulder. "Go on. We may not swear fealty, but we are of the Varden too. Your enemies are ours."
Nasuada nodded and rose to her feet. She followed Roran to the stage, where Melikir was waiting. Her brother smiled warmly. "I would also like Brom to join us," he said, as Solaris and Askanir padded to the stage to join their Riders.
Brom grunted and strode towards the group. His status as a former Rider made people whisper and point. "Go ahead," he said in his usual grumpy tone. He took out Undbitr from its sheath.
Nasuada and Roran drew their own weapons too. Placing the sword flat on their palms, the three knelt before Melikir. Without any pretense, they offered the blades to the young leader. Silence reigned for a while, and Nasuada was aware of the Council's triumphant gloating.
Brom cleared his throat. "Out of deep respect and appreciation of the future difficulties that you might have, I, Brom, former Rider and oldest surviving member of the Varden, together with Riders Nasuada and Roran, Argetlamar, give you our blade and fealty… Melikir."
Dumbstruck, the crowd before them could only stare. The other Riders – and Faolin – were grinning mischievously, though. The Council seated nearby were outraged. Jormundur blinked and nodded in acceptance, though.
One by one, Melikir accepted the three Riders' swords and repeated his words from two days ago. It felt like so many lifetimes have passed since then.
The crowd rose, shouting in approval. Dwarves stamped their feet rhythmically while men pounded their swords on their shields. Melikir grinned as he moved towards the podium, leaning over it. "People of the Varden!" The cheers died out, replaced by silent anticipation. "As my father did before me, I give my life to you and our cause…"
Murtagh barely understood what was happening as Melikir began to speak, and the crowd began to cheer once more. His mind began to wander to the gold Rider. Though it was something normal for a friend to do, it didn't stop the warm feeling from building up inside him. Something stirred in his stomach as he glanced at Nasuada.
You do fancy her. It's not that different from a dragon seeking a potential mate. Thorn's voice cut through his thoughts.
Quiet, growled Murtagh. I still haven't forgiven you for licking my hair.
And letting her touch it, fix it in a way that appeals more to her? Fine, then. A hint of amusement colored Thorn's guilty thoughts as he left his partner's mind.
Lost in his thoughts, Murtagh watched other important people make their speeches. When the crowd began to thin, Orik grabbed Murtagh's arm since he was the nearest. "Did you and your friends plan that beforehand?"
Murtagh nodded. "We had a bit of help from Brom."
"Besides," Eragon said as he joined them, "Melikir talked it out with your king and with Faolin."
"It was a smart move, but dangerous. The Council of Elders was most displeased. You earned some powerful enemies, even if you had no part in the oath-taking – defying the Council in your own way." Orik slapped the brothers on their sides and walked off.
"They'll be thirsty for revenge," Eragon groaned. "We have to leave Farthen Dur."
"Aye. The sooner, the better." Murtagh sighed.
No more dragon parent? Whyyyyyyyyyyyy?
Well, Saphira's mom was featured in Chapter 1, Solaris, Luneria and Firnen's dad in Chapter 2, Askanir's mom in Chapter 3 and Thorn's dad in Chapter 4 :3 hope I cleared that up! They'll all be very important in the plot (directly and indirectly) so look out for future references!
Is anybody eager for some RxK action, which I haven't put much in the recent chapters? I'm leaving that for Chapter 6...
And don't worry about being late to the party, there's still enough ale and mead to go around... unless Saphira managed to deplete my stocks again. XD
Read and review! :3