Disclaimer: Hahaha. No. I own nothing.
Another late chapter, since I am sick again and a friend of mine passed away, so I was pretty emotionally distraught over the weekend.
But better late than never, right?
Chapter 18: To the Pinewood City
The days that followed their departure from Ceris felt like a dream – of lazy afternoons paddling up Eldor Lake, followed by the Gaena River. The splashing and gurgling of the water was hypnotic, shimmering with the vibrant colors of the dragons that swam alongside the boats. The scent of the pines in Du Weldenvarden was evident wherever they went, but it was never overwhelming.
Katrina's birthday came and passed with little talk, though Roran promised to get her something once they reached Ellesmera. She just laughed and told him not to mind it, but he seemed quite sincere and she liked that.
The elves were lovely and delightful people. They smiled and laughed a lot, and sang many songs to pass the time – and reveled in talking to and about the dragons. Still, it was very obvious to the Riders that even these lighthearted elves hid many things within. They were not humans and dwarves, after all, and were quite different from the more outspoken Arya and Faolin – who were as close to humans as possible.
They moved too quickly and fluidly, unlike the more restrained siblings. In addition, their expressions and phrases were sometimes said in a manner that confused the humans more. Though they were inclined to engage in merriment, Nari and Lifaen also spent a lot of time in silence, simply observing the area with peaceful joy in their faces. Whenever attempts to converse were done, the two elves only responded with a word or two.
By comparison, Faolin and Arya conversed naturally, and seemed more comfortable with Orik and the humans, rather than their fellow elves. From the head of the canoe, Lifaen – who switched places with Nari that day – glanced at Katrina and smiled. "Tell me, Katrina-firiana, do your people still sing in these dark days?" There was a thinly veiled wistful look in his eyes. "I remember the days when epics and lays were sung in the streets of Ilirea – songs of your proud kings and earls. It was so long ago, and the memories have withered like flowers in my mind. What new works have been created by your people?"
Katrina stared helplessly at Murtagh. Unlike the three boys, she didn't spend a lot of time listening to Brom's stories – things which her father called "useless scrap meat." She could only name a few of them. Luckily, Murtagh picked up where she left off.
The elf's face fell. He shook his head sorrowfully. "So much of your people's legacy has been lost. You have lost more than the court ballads. Your history and art has been buried by the fanciful tales that Galbatorix has allowed to thrive."
"Well… Brom did tell us about the fall of the Riders," Katrina said, wishing to protect their first mentor. "It was the night before Luneria hatched."
"He is a brave man," Lifaen said, before lapsing into silence. Then he shook his head with a smile. "Songs about the Fall are rarely sung among the elves. Many of us have been alive for a long time when Vrael passed into the void. We still grieve for our burned cities – the red lilies of Ewayena, the crystals of Luthivira – and for our slain families. My parents and grandparents both perished during the Fall. Time cannot dull the pain of wounds as dire as those. Even if a thousands upon thousands of years pass, and the sun itself dies, leaving the world to float in eternal night."
Katrina pondered upon living forever with that burden in her mind. Losing a loved one to illness or old age would cause pain, but it too shall pass for it is the way of the world, but brutal slaughter was something altogether different. She clasped her arms together. "I am truly sorry for your loss. We will do our best to make the king pay."
Orik grunted behind her. "The dwarves have suffered many losses too. An entire clan was wiped out by Galbatorix, elf."
"We lost two kings. Esrafiel was killed during the war. His son, Evandar, was murdered six years ago with his mother, Cralien."
"Oh? I haven't heard of that before," Murtagh noted.
Lifaen nodded glumly, his eyes fixed on the water. "Few have, Murtagh-finiarel. Brom was there when king Esrafiel was struck down by Kialandi. Before Vrael died, the elves faced Galbatorix on the plains of Ilirea in an attempt to defeat him."
"Ilirea? Where is that?"
"It is what Uru'baen was once called, boy," Orik told him. "It used to be an elf city."
Lifaen barely acknowledged the interruption. "That is true. Ilirea was one of our greatest cities, which we abandoned during our war with the dragons. Humans arrived centuries later and adopted is as their capital after the exile of King Palancar."
"King Palancar? Like in Palancar Valley?" Murtagh asked, eyes widening.
The elf smiled with mild amusement. "You have as many questions as leaves on a tree, Argetlam."
Katrina smirked and put a hand on Murtagh's shoulder. "Oh, Brom kept telling the same things to these twins. We spent many nights during our travels listening to him answering their numerous questions."
"But you ask some things too," Murtagh argued.
"Not as much as you and Eragon."
Lifaen nodded in acknowledgement and paused to gather is thoughts. "When your ancestors set foot in Alagaesia eight hundred years ago, they traveled far and wide to search for a suitable place to live. They eventually settled in Palancar Valley, which had a different name back then. It was one of the few defendable locations that have not been claimed by us or the dwarves. Your first king, Palancar, laid the foundations for a mighty state."
Katrina caught Luneria listening through her. This interests you?
It interests you, so it is also capturing my attention. Luneria was far from them, hunting with Askanir. Poor Askanir cannot seem to hunt today.
Katrina smiled. Have fun, you two.
The leaf-green-shade felt different to Luneria. She grew up in the icy-green-shade of the woods in Palancar Valley, during a particularly harsh winter, but Du Weldenvarden was different. Aside from being the home of the two-legs-pointy-ears-elves, the place smelled of more-than-normal magic. The spaces between the trees were barely big enough for her to spread her wings on, and hunting was difficult.
Nearby, Askanir folded his wings and plunged down to snap up a doe, but his bulky-male body made it difficult for him, and he ended up snapping many twigs and alerting his prey, which managed to run off before Askanir descended. After all, things were done slower on account of a lack of space.
Luneria managed to score an entire flock of noisy-funny-geese and was carrying a buck carcass just in case she felt hungry again. As the smallest dragon, she was a fast huntress, unlike the hulking males. And she did all of that while listening to the two-legs-pointy-ears and his history lesson.
Her silver-moon-bright eyes locked Askanir, who sparkled like… whatever sparkled in the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaf-green-shade.
And he was glorious.
Too bad he kept failing on his attempts to secure a kill. Luneria wished to return to the rushing-lazy-flowing river quickly and tell Katrina of the animals she saw throughout the forest. She also wanted to hear the two-leg-pointy-ears-elves tell her how her scales shone like moonlight. Dragons were vain, females especially so.
Askanir, she called out.
The violet dragon paused mid-flight, and his violet-as-sunset-storms-eyes locked onto hers. What is it?
Luneria landed on a meadow, ignoring the fact that she crushed entire bundles of thriving flowers. She set down the carcass she was carrying. You could have this instead. Hunting in this forest is difficult.
Askanir landed beside her and sniffed at her kill. It seems fresh enough. In three swift bites, the entire buck was devored – flesh, bones and all. Thank you.
You're welcome. Luneria bristled with pride – or would have, if she had silly fur like prey. But she was a dragon, and she would have none of it. These two-legs-pointy-ears, they are nothing like Arya and Faolin, are they not?
True. They are more… how do the little ones put it? Reserved. That's right. Reserved. They show one thing and hide another. They say something and mean another. Askanir opened his maw and licked off the remains of his meal. Elves are strange.
Luneria paused, considering that. They might do something that can harm the little ones, she reflected sadly, and their ways could mean that none of us may now that it will happen.
Askanir spread his impressive wings. Come, he said. We must go back. I believe that you worry for Katrina, as I worry for Roran.
The silver dragon dipped her head in acknowledgement, and together, the two took flight. Oh, how she loved the rushing-flight-wind. It has always kept her head clear, and made her feel better when she was upset. Nothing like a quick flight when she needed to think. But with a dragon like Askanir beside her, thinking was more difficult – unless she was thinking of her Rider, or him.
They found the silly canoes that the two-legs were riding, and they broke through the leaf-green-shade. Clouds of angry feather-flapper-birds squawked indignantly, and silly-little-crawler squirrels ran for cover. They should be afraid, very afraid.
She saw Saphira lounging in the water with Solaris. Thorn and Firnen were nearby, probably talking about food. As usual. She spotted Katrina and soared over her, while Askanir headed to Roran.
The elf called Lifaen smiled. "Aren't they glorious? Oh, how their scales catch the brilliant light, like moonlight and flowers wet with dew! No treasure in the world could match the sight of beautiful dragons," he said, as his companion, Nari, said similar words of praises from across the river.
Nothing's wrong with a few compliments, she told Katrina. She landed in the river, splashing Katrina and Murtagh with water.
Aye, but there's such a thing as overdoing it, Katrina shot back in amusement.
Arya sat by the campfire, quietly contemplating. She did not know if she should tell her friends about who exactly her mother was, or if she would let them find out for themselves. She was afraid that they might not believe her, shun her, or be too afraid to approach her the way the did again. Just thinking of the possibilities made her heart clench.
She never even showed them the full extent of her capabilities for fear of startling them too – especially her friends from Carvahall. As a very young elf, she was faster than the rest of her race and since she became a Rider before the required age of twenty, most of her speed will never wane. Sadly, it would be of no use to her without completing her Rider training.
Nasuada sat down beside her with a smile. "I'm hungry," she announced.
"And so am I," Arya said with a sigh. "I suppose you can't wait for Ellesmera."
"True." Nasuada gave her an intent look. "It seems like you're not looking forward to it. You were born there, right? Is something the matter with it?"
"I was born there, and yes, I don't look forward to returning. It isn't just about feeling out of place among my own kind, Nasuada. It is because of my mother. She is… Look, I love my mother as a daughter would – and should. But she is not the kind of mother that I would dream anyone of having. I have a mother who is distant and cold. It is true that she does everything that is required of her, such as making sure I learn everything that I can, and that I have a home I could call my own, but…"
"But?"
Arya decided that she could tell her the situation without plunging into details. "My mother has an important task. How do you think Faolin became an ambassador? She is not the supportive mother, though. She leaves us the entire day, only returning home to rest at night. I barely talk to her unless it is for the betterment of Ellesmera. She wishes for us to be perfect children, doing what she wants us to. She expects for us to have the same interests as her. No matter how much we look alike, we are not our parents."
Nasuada's eyes softened. "Your mother carries a heavy burden, I think."
"The burdens of your father when he lived, and the burdens my mother carried are not so different. It is just that your father knew more about being a parent." Arya smiled. "It does not matter. I have my brother, and now I have five fellow Riders. Enough about me, how are you faring?"
"I am now extremely wary of meeting your mother."
The two girls laughed, the solemn air around them completely gone. It was as if it was never there at all.
Arya felt a prodding thought from Firnen. Oh, my dear dragon, she said. It is nothing. What are you up to?
Firnen sent her a mental image of a glade where two does were grazing. We are trying a new hunting technique. I hope it will be successful.
Of course it should be. You're a fine hunter, if I say so myself.
Brimming with pride, Firnen thanked her and closed their connection.
"Who do you think will be teaching us?" Nasuada asked.
"I don't know…" Arya said quietly. "Though my mother's position in the elven society means that I get to meet many important people, I have not met anyone who has ever struck me as capable of teaching Riders or inclined to do so. I am speculating as much as you are. One of the most powerful elves that I know is not exactly capable of using the full extent of his powers, so I don't think that it is him."
"What happened to him?"
"Nobody ever told me anything except a vague explanation that something inside him was broken during the battle with Galbatorix and his Forsworn."
Eragon stood by the river, arms crossed. He felt weak and useless. While the other Riders were at the height of their strength, there he was, afraid that the most simple exertions might cause his back to flare up in pain. His thoughts strayed to Brom, and wondered how the old man was faring. He thought of what their former mentor would tell him if he found out about Eragon's fears.
He would probably berate you, Saphira said, emerging from the water. She snapped up a passing fish and chewed on it thoughtfully. That unfortunate curse must not hinder you.
Eragon crossed his arms and frowned. You do know that I am wracked by pain whenever I overexert myself, right? You know it more than anyone else!
I do. Which is why I also understand it more than anyone else would. We do not know how we could fight it, but what I do know is that you must still keep on doing what you can and what you want. Don't let fear cloud your judgement and preventing you from making the most out of your limitations.
Eragon looked away. She was right, but he did not like it. Easy for you to say, he said. Does it look like it is so easy to do?
Saphira did not answer for a while. She snapped up two more fishes and languidly chewed on them. Her eyes never left Eragon as she did, as if daring him to answer it himself. When none came, she emerged from the water and shook the water off her body, not caring if her Rider got wet. Eragon, nothing is worth having, nothing is worth achieving if it is easy. She softened. You might not be strong, powerful or fast – for now. You think you are not as good as anyone? Ha! You are clever. More so than your own brother. It is not the… hmm… educated intelligence that Arya and Nasuada have, but it is something that can serve you better than brute force or power.
Eragon raised an eyebrow. Me? Clever? I have been nothing but reckless.
People say that your recklessness will get you killed someday, but you have always found yourself going through anything in one piece. Saphira nuzzled him affectionately. Hone your mind. It will be a better weapon than spells and swords. She stepped away, spread her wings, and flew off.
Eragon was left behind to contemplate on her words.
Another brief scene with the dragons? What do you think? And yep, I do love putting little references to the source series! XD
Humanizing complete monsters is kind of my hobby. I don't think anyone is truly good, or truly evil. It's just that Sloan listened to his dickish side in the original series, and it ended up really NASTY.
As for the sheer incompetence of Kialandi and Formora, they're crazier and more broken than your regular Forsworn. :)))
And I do want to read more about the books that inspired Paolini when he wrote IC. (Well, except for LoTR, which my attention span can't stnad)
Thank you for your support and encouragement, and I promise to make this story even better. As much as I can, that is. And yup, I'm sorry that Eragon looks weak right now, but he will grow stronger especially when he's finally healed. And smarter. And the transformation WILL change them in different ways. More aesthetic with Arya, who isn't comfortable as an elf.
DON'T YOU GUYS JUST LOVE CARVAHALL?
And apology accepted and no taken, dear Anonymous reader. (You know who you are! *virtual cookies for you!*)
I hope I did this chapter justice! Read and review, as always!