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Let it Go from Frozen is playing here all day and is making me churn out chapters faster than my mind can keep track!

Chapter 21: Before the Fey Queen

Arya kept her head bowed as her mother retreated from the embrace. She shared an anxious look with Faolin, who was doing better at concealing his emotions behind the usual blank mask he wore within Ellesmera. She was already missing the smiling, absent-minded air that her brother possessed. She chanced a glance at her friends. Nasuada didn't look surprised. Maybe she even suspected it for a time. Katrina seemed to shrink at her stare. Roran was merely curious, and Murtagh was surprised.

And Eragon… he was dismayed.

"Islanzadi Drottning," she finally responded to her mother, who looked stung.

"My daughter, I have wronged you. And your brother." Islanzadi began to speak in the ancient language, the tongue of truth. "I barely slept or eaten when your brother disappeared, and I sent you away. The news from your spellcaster escorts was barely enough for me. I fretted day and night, unable to sleep and eat. I knew you would be in safe hands with Brom, but it was not enough. And you, Faolin, have haunted me. Your fate made me fear that I would never see you again. Banning you both from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made. Can you both forgive me?"

The elves within the room stirred with the barest hint of amazement that the can. Faolin stepped forward, his face a mask of indifference. "I speak not for Arya, but for twenty years I have lived, loved, fought and killed without speaking to you directly, only through your messengers and advisors. Our lives are long, but you sent me away when I was five and twenty, barely out of childhood."

"I still am a child, mother," Arya said plainly. "You sent me away when I am barely sixteen, without undergoing anything other than rudimentary training to protect myself. I was almost captured too. I fought, killed and traveled wide, and it has taught me many things, but even so…"

Islanzadi lifted her chin proudly. But behind it was the sadness and pain that she always held since King Evandar and his mother were murdered. "I cannot undo the past, even if I desire to."

"We cannot forget what we endured," Faolin argued.

"Nor should you. Our past shapes our present." Islanzadi clasped her children's hands. "I love you both, Arya, Faolin. You are the only family I have left. Go if you must, but unless you wish to renounce me, I wish to be reconciled with you."

Arya glanced at Firnen. What should I do?

Listen to what your heart says, Firnen said.

Really helpful.

Faolin nodded to her. "I do not speak for my sister, but I could not leave," he said after a moment of hesitation.

Arya kept her eyes down. "Nor can I."

Islanzadi broke into an uncertain smile and embraced her children once more. This time, they also returned the gesture, though somewhat reluctantly. The white raven hopped on his stand, as he always did. "And on the door was graven evermore," he cackled. "What now became the family lore, Let us never do but to adore!"

"Hush, Bladgen. Keep your doggerel to yourself," the queen said.

Arya grinned. Though the bird was annoying at times, he truly was also wise and quite amusing too. Don't eat him, Firnen. I know what you're thinking.

Blast it.

Islanzadi addressed the other Riders and the dragons. "Please excuse me for my discourtesy and for ignoring you, our most important guests."

Go on, greet her, Arya told her friends.

The Riders touched their lips and twisted their right hands over their sternum. "Islanzadi Drottning. Atra esterni ono thelduin."

"Atra du evarinya ono varda." The queen's golden eyes widened.

"Un atra mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr."

Arya chuckled, knowing that the other elves were caught off-guard by her friends' knowledge of elven customs. The dragons repeated the greetings to the queen.

"Dragons, tell me your names."

A flash of recognition appeared on Islanzadi's face upon Saphira's reply, and she smiled more warmly to Firnen, her daughter's dragon. She returned her curious gaze to the Riders. "Welcome to Ellesmera. And what are your names, Riders?"

It is very pressuring to be around someone like her, Firnen complained.

Imagine growing up with her.

Upon speaking their names, an audible stir rippled among the elves seated around them. Even Islanzadi was startled. "Names have power, and yours are the most powerful names. Especially you, Eragon Shadeslayer. We rarely bestow such a name to our children, even now. We have waited long for you and your friends." She greeted Orik before returning to her throne. "I assume that Brom has completed your initial training, bu I wish to hear your full story, Riders. Then I will hear of your mission here, dwarf, and your adventures, Faolin, since your ambush in Du Weldenvarden."

The group took turns narrating. Arya recounted her tale of reaching Tronjheim, meeting Nasuada, the eggs hatching for them and running off to look for Brom. Then Katrina recounted meeting her mother, who gave her Luneria's egg as if by a strange compulsion. Lastly, Roran told the cousins' tale of finding the other dragon eggs that Faolin transported and the subsequent hatching. Then they recounted the rest of the adventures from meeting Arya and Nasuada, Garrow's kidnap, and their flight with Brom right up to their departure from Tarnag. The dragons did most of the telling when it came to their journey from the Beor Mountains to Du Weldenvarden.

Nasuada stepped forward when they finished, and handed a scroll to the queen. Islanzadi accepted it and quickly read the missive. She glanced at the group with a familiar regretful look. Faolin often had the same expression when he made mistakes that embarrased him in front of many other elves. It didn't look as dignified as it did when Islanzadi wore it.

"I truly have made a grave mistake. If I had not withdrawn our warriors and ignored Ajihad's messengers after Faolin was ambush and Arya ran away from Tronjheim, my grief would have ended much sooner."

Great. Now she isn't even directly addressing us, Arya grumbled.

Though you say otherwise, I can still see that you crave for her attention, Firnen muttered.

Does it matter?

I think it does.

"I should never have blamed the Varden for the misfortunes of our family," Islanzadi suddenly said, facing her children. She put a hand on Faolin's shoulder. "For one so old, I am still far too foolish."

Nobody spoke for a while. Nobody wanted to confirm or contradict her statement. Then, Eragon stepped forward, shooting a wounded look at Arya. "Now that Arya has returned with her dragon, and Faolin came home alive, will you be helping the Varden once more?" he asked.

"He is right," Nasuada said. "My brother, Melikir, cannot succeed otherwise. Roran and I are pledged to his cause, and the other Riders, though with no oaths, also wish to help."

"I have no more quarrels with the Varden," Islanzadi said, giving her children a strangely warm smile. She never did that since Evandar died. "There is nothing to fear, young Shur'tugalar. We will assist them as we always did and more, because of the victory over the Urgals."

"They must all be named Elf Friends, mother," Faolin said.

"And so they shall, but we must create the rings to bestow upon them first. Now, such tidings as yours has not been heard in Du Weldenvarden for such a long time. People within the forest are accustomed to a slower way of life, and it is troubling to hear of the swift events in Alagaesia that failed to reach my ear."

"And what of our training?"Arya asked, truly hoping that she at least knew who Togira Ikonoka was.

"It shall begin in the fullness of time, though instruction may be more difficult as Eragon's infirmity persists. Unless we find a way to fight the Shade's final magic, you will be facing more challenges than your peers, Blue Rider. It is not your fault, and it pains me to know that someone as powerful as a Rider is facing such a grave situation. I truly am sorry."

"It is not a problem, Your Highness," Eragon murmured.

Arya wanted to reach out, but her mother would have disapproved. Instead, she opened her mind to him. Eragon.

What, princess?

So now you do not call me an elf? Arya rolled her eyes. I am still me.

But I cannot look at you the same way anymore. Eragon still sounded wounded. Why didn't you tell us sooner?

For the exact reactions that you have all given me.

After more pleasantries and stories, Islanzadi raised her hand. "Enough. Our guests are tired, and we have spoken of dark events far too long. We must not mar this occasion with past injuries. My children have returned, and one of them is among the six Riders who have finally come back to Alagaesia. We must celebrate in the proper fashion." She stood up and clapped her hands. Lilies and roses began to shower above them, their fragrance filling the air.

Roran peered at the queen in curiosity. She didn't use the ancient language, he told Askanir.

No, she didn't.

The queen murmured something to Faolin before extending his arm. "Bladgen," she called out, and the raven flew from his perch. He landed on her left shoulder. Together with the odd bird, the queen headed to the end of the hall and threw the door open to the numerous elves outside. She announced something in the ancient language, and the elves began to cheer and rush about.

"What did she say?" Roran asked Nari.

Nari smiled, clearly elated. "To break open all of our finest caskets and light the cooking fires. We shall have a night of feast and song. Come, come!" He motioned to the Riders and led them after the queen, weaving their way between the shaggy pines and patches of ferns.

Above them, the sun was dropping low, casting the forest in a dim, warm light that cast a soft glow to the trees. They clambered up a small hill. Upon reaching the crest, a group of elves greeted them while assembling a long table and numerous chairs. Around them, the entire forest bustled with life. The sun began to fully set, and the light of fires began to appear throughout Ellesmera, and the table itself.

A goblet of odd wood was handed to Roran, filled with a clear liquid. He stared at its depths for a while before trying to take a sip. He gasped as a trail of warmth burned its way down his throat. It tasted like a mix of mulled cider and mead. The tips of his ears and his fingers tingled with warmth, and the world shifted, giving him a sudden sense of clarity. "This is fantastic! What do you call this?"

Arya smiled. "That is called Faelnirv," she said. Though she had a commanding air about her, it was still difficult to think of her as a princess. "It is distilled from crushed elderberries and spun moonbeams. Strong men can travel for three days with nothing else but this if he needs to."

Eragon nursed his own goblet beside Roran. "Hey, Saphira, you have to taste this," he said with a grin.

Saphira opened one eye and sniffed the goblet. She opened her mouth and allowed him to pour the rest of his faelnirv down her throat. Her eyes widened and her tail twitched. Askanir gently nudged Roran reproachfully. What, and you don't share some to me?

Oh, of course. Roran poured his faelnirv down Askanir's throat. So, how did you like it?

It's a treat! Askanir let out a dragon chuckle. Is there more?

Orik grumpily stalked toward the group, arms crossed. "Children of the queen," he muttered with a shake of his head. "Wish I could let Hrothgar and Melikir know, it would be interesting information for them."

"Now, now, Orik," Arya said with a grin. "They wouldn't believe it."

Islanzadi took her seat at the head of the table on a high-backed chair. With a clap of her hands, a group of elves with instruments arrived. Two brought cherrywood harps, one had a set of reed pipes and another simply sang a playful song that sent Roran's mind dancing immediately.

He noticed a girl lurking behind the queen and was startled by the shock of white hair that was not the elven silver hue, but simply white that comes with age. Her face was even creased and lined. She was no elf, dwar, nor even human. She smiled at him, displaying two rows of razor sharp teeth.

Careful, Askanir warned.

Once the song finished, numerous elves approached the Riders who wished to meet them – and most importantly, the dragons. It was a repetitive task, with the elves bowing and touching their lips, the Riders responding in kind, an exchange of greetings and answering endless questions in the ancient language. They made polite conversation and questions, but reserved most of the talk to the dragons themselves.

At first, Roran prefered it that way. Letting the dragons talk seemed easier, but then it became irritating. Even though he wasn't a great talker like his cousin-brothers, he was slowly getting used to the attention he was getting in the Varden and the way that people always wanted to listen to him. With a sigh, he forced himself to enjoy the celebration instead.

Murtagh grinned at him. "Let me guess. Not used to being ignored?"

Roran nodded. "Quite true."

"It's a welcome change," mused Murtagh. "Too much attention might go to our heads."

A group of elves arrived, carrying platters stacked with piles of delicacies. Different kinds of breads and cakes were placed first, followed by dishes made solely of fruit, vegetables and berries – oh, especially the berries. From soups to sauces to jellies, different kinds of berries were put to good use. Sliced apples, wild strawberries and syrup were placed beside stacks of mushroom pies.

No meat, even fish or fowl, can be found on the food, which was strange. In Carvahall and other places in the Empire, meat was a status symbol – a sign of your luxurious life. The more gold you had in your pockets, the more steak and veal you could afford. Even the most minor of the nobility could afford meat with every meal. The kitchens of Tronjheim offered meat during every meal. Apparently, the elves did not adhere to the same customs, though they are obviously wealthy and can hunt easily.

No doubt about it, everything still is appetizing, Nasuada commented to the others from across the table.

After a bit more of small talk, everyone was seated on the table. Islanzadi was naturally at the head with her raven, Blagden. Some important elves were seated to her left. Faolin and the Riders were seated by her right hand. Orik sat across from them. The rest of the elves then took their seats anywhere, but left a huge portion of the table empty except for six huge carved plates for the dragons.

The meal was spent in laughter and talk. Roran was only vaguely aware of the time passing. He spoke with his friends, the elves and even the queen at times. He felt drowsy, happy and contented with the help of the faelnirv that settled in his stomach. The harp music didn't help much either. Every now and then, he caught the stare of the woman-child that focused on the six Riders with a strange intensity, even during the meal. It was unnerving.

Murtagh casually bit into a big slice of mushroom pie. "I must say, the food's divine. Add roasted turkey and a good serving of roast in Elain's superb gravy, and it would be even better," he said. "Maybe some of that Nagra from the dwarves too."

"Never knew that you were that interested in cooking," Eragon joked, sniffing at a couple of blueberries before biting into one of them.

Murtagh smiled lazily. "What, and no talk about your feeble attempts to paint when we were little?" he asked.

Roran quietly considered Murtagh's suggestion. "It's a nice idea though. Mixing the food from the three races would be splendid."

"I miss Carvahall," Eragon said with a sigh.

Roran nodded. He gazed to the west, the general direction of Palancar Valley. "I miss it too. They would probably be planting seeds by now. Father would have already scolded us thrice already for sleeping too much. I wonder how he is?"

"He is probably back in Carvahall already," Murtagh said, though a look of worry crossed his face. A lot of things could go wrong during the journey, after all. "He might have already started the rebuilding of the farm."

"Even if we could go back someday, you do know that we can't just settle down in farms anymore, right?" Eragon asked.

As the implication of those words hit him, a sudden wave of sorrow hit Roran. There was no going back.

Bladgen cawed and jumped from Islanzadi's shoulder. He strutted down the table, mockingly bowing to the people left and right. He cawed, "Dragons like wagons have tongues. Dragons like flagons have necks. But while two hold beer, the other eats deer!"

The conversation died, as the elves mortified elves froze. They all waited for the dragons' reactions. Askanir lazily flicked his thoughts to Roran. This little bird is insolently funny, he said.

Saphira lowered her head and eyed Blagden. A puff of smoke jumped out of her nose, enveloping the white raven. And little birds too, she said, projecting her thoughts so that everyone could hear.

The elves laughed as the bird staggered back, cawing angrily and flapping his wings to get rid of the smoke. "He is lucky that none of the dragons wanted to eat birds today," Katrina said with a smile.

"Forgive Blagden's wretched verses," Islanzadi said, nodding to her. "We have spent many years trying to tame his saucy tongue, but it has no worked 'till now."

"He is a… curious bird."

Arya smiled. "He once saved my father's life. He was a prince then, fighting an Urgal. He stumbled and lost his sword, but before the Urgal could deal a killing blow, a raven pecked out his eyes. Nobody knows why exactly that happened, but it was enough for my father to regain his balance and win. He was always generous, so he blessed the raven with spells for intelligence and long life."

"There were some… unforeseeable efects, though," Faolin said with a chuckle. "Aside from turning white, Bladgen also gained the ability to predict certain events. He cannot see the future as is, but he can sense what is to come. He speaks in riddles all the time, though most of those are nonsense. But if he comes to you and tells you something which is no joke nor pun, heed his words."

"He told me something before I left Ellesmera. When green meets green and the elder green is captured, watch the rise and fall of a black king's hand." Arya rubbed her forehead. "Green meets green. I have green eyes and Firnen is green. Elder green would be Faolin."

"So the black king is Galbatorix, but 'rise and fall?' It does not make sense," Nasuada said helplessly.

"We will understand when it comes," Faolin said.

"It is late, and I am tired," Islanzadi said, standing. Everyone hurried to do the same. "My young Riders and noble dragons, I wish for you to accompany me. I will show you where you ma sleep tonight. Arya, shall you still stay with your family?"

"No mother, forgive me. I wish to take residence with my friends, as befits my status as a Rider," Arya replied, lifting her chin.

"Very well." The queen swept her hand, motioning for Faolin to follow.

Roran paused curiously as he passed the woman-child. Her wild eyes felt familiar, and so did her shaggy hair. "You're a werecat, are you not?" he said. She blinked once and bared her teeth in a feral grin. "I met one of your kin. His name is Solembum. He used to live in Teirm but he and Angela moved to Farthen Dur."

"Aye." The werecat's grin widened. "He is a very good one. Humans generally bore me, but even I must admit that it would be amusing to travel with that witch Angela," she said. She gave a throaty growl-purr of appreciation upon seeing the dragons.

What is your name? Askanir cocked his head curiously.

"Powerful things, names. Yes they are, especially here in the very heart of Du Weldenvarden. The elves know me as The Watcher, as Quickpaw and The Dream Dancer. You may know me as Maud." She tossed her stiff mane of white hair. "Better catch up with the queen, younglings. She does not take lightly to fools and laggards. We shallh ave time to… know each other better. Soon, oh so soon."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Maud." Roran bowed, and the werecat inclined her head. Vaguely wondering where Orik got himself into, Roran dashed to follow the others.

They found the queen standing in the middle of a cluster of eight similar trees, with trunks ridged by delicate staircases that spiraled to several spherical rooms suspended on the tree branches. Islanzadi motioned to the Riders. "You may take your pick among those, but dear dragons, you must fly to the top. Our stairs were not grown with dragons in mind."

Few places in Alagaesia were built with dragons in mind, Askanir told Roran.

Aye, I shall remind father to build an especially massive farmhouse that can fit ten full-grown dragons.

I do not know if you are being serious.

"As you must know, there were eight Elders among the Dragon Riders among any given time. One of these was last owned by Vrael. I give them to you now, for you are the rightful heirs to that title. They are your inheritance."

Before anyone could say more than their thanks, the queen swept off with Faolin in tow.

The Riders took their pick of dwelling place. The three boys took dwellings next to each other, and the girls took another three. The two other tree-houses that closed the gaps were left empty. Askanir nudged Roran with his nose. Let us see our accomodations, he said.

Roran nodded. He took the first step to his house of choice, which was placed in between an empty one and Murtagh's. He realized that the stairs truly were one with the tree, even though the bark beneath his feet was smooth, glossy and flat from the feet of the many elves that once traversed it. Sadly, because they were designed with elven strength.

He was breathless from the sheer effort of climbing by the time he reached the top. His calves and thighs burned from exhaustion. He had to pause and catch his breath after clambering through the trapdoor leading to one of the rooms.

Then, he put an hand on his waist and examined his surroundings.

Apparently, his accomodations really did mean that he had a house of his own. He stood in a circular area that held a pedestal in a corner with a wooden sculpture of a dragon in flight. Three screen doors led to different rooms – a dining room that can hold at least ten people, a closet with an empty hollowed out part in the floor, and a bedroom that overlooked and was open Du Weldenvarden.

Roran removed one of the lanterns hanging on the walls and entered the bedroom. He was amazed by shadows cast by the bright white light. He shook his head and looked around the new area. There was a massive gap on the outer wall that was large enough for a full-grown dragon. There was a massive, circular bed where he could watch the moon and the stars before he slept. An icy-cold, steel-hard fireplace of gray wood was situated in the was a low-rimmed bowl in the floor, lined with soft blankets for Askanir.

The violet dragon landed on the edge of the opening, his scales reflecting the light of the lamp. The last rays of sunlight gave the entire forest a molten quality, an interplay of light and shadows that Roran would have wanted to paint, if he did have the skill. The massive city, miles upon miles spreading to the west and to the north, was sprawled beneath him.

If this is how the leaders of the Riders normally lived, I respect the Riders even more. It is much simpler than the stories would have you believe. Roran gripped his lamp nervously as the entire house rocked slightly due to the blowing wind.

Askanir pawed through the blankets curiously. You know, we haven't seen Vroengard yet.

They continued to explore, eventually discovering a study stocked with quills, ink, paper and numerous books and scrolls. It also held a padded roost for a dragon. After a bit of nudging around, they also discovered that a thick membrane of cloth could be used to seal the entire house from the elements during storms and other unwelcome weather conditions.

They returned to the bedroom, where he removed his tunic and mail. Then he unpacked, since he was sure that this tree-house would be his home for quite a long time. As always, everything was meticulously placed and arranged in the wardrobe and closet that he didn't notice before, though he did not have much belongings. He propped up his weapons by his bed, but kept his hunting dagger right under the pillow.

Well. We're here, he told Askanir.

Yes. Askanir curled up on his roost. You little ones are very lucky, you know that?

Aye, and now we are about to know if it was worth it. Roran sat on his bed tiredly. You know, sometimes I wonder if we weren't better off helping the Varden.

I know. But we both need to learn too, Brom wants us to. Ellesmera, the elves and Islanzadi are worth coming all this way to see. Askanir closed his eyes. Elves are so secretive though, more so than Brom. And their magical feats are amazing! But we can't trust them. I think. Except Arya and Faolin, we can always trust them.

Roran sighed. He watched the stars above him, wondering how far he needed to fly to reach them. Silence began to engulf Ellesmera as night fell, and owls began to stir around them. There he was, in the city of the elves, a hundred feet in the air. He was lying in a former Rider's bed. An Elder, to be exact.

Sleep was difficult at first, but when it came, he shut off his thoughts of the present and the future.

For some reason, Queen Elsa reminds me of Arya. xD

We'll be meeting both Oromis and Glaedr next chapter, along with some surprises that a Rider, er, reviewer, has predicted a while back.

Oh, I forgot, Evandar died when Arya was ten, so I think it was roughly five to six years before the story started, at the fringes of Du Weldenvarden. He died with his mother. His father, the previous elf king, perished during the Fall itself.

And aren't the dragons so adorable and lovely? :3

Read and review! Hopefully I could keep updating at this speed.