Disclaimer: No... just no.
This chapter was supposed to be uploaded last Monday but after getting my heart trampled on again (and again and again and again) and getting drunk, it got pushed to today. Ugh. My upload speed is as bad as always.
Chapter 28: Diversity
Arya led her friends among the trees, the dragons trailing closely behind them. She felt Firnen's presence in her mind, the mighty dragon basking in the presence of his beloved Rider's birthplace. Though she resented most elves from being too detached from the world and too self-possessed, she still loved Ellesmera with its towering tree houses and friendly wildlife.
Your race has a rich heritage, noted Firnen. I am sad to see that they have forgotten it. Master Ash – now, that's how your people should have been.
They flitted through the forest path as the faint tendrils of light from dusk filtered through the green canopy overhead. Gem-colored flameless lanterns flickered into life, casting a beautiful glow all throughout the city. For the first time since her father's death, Arya felt at ease in Ellesmera.
As usual, elves worked on various projects around the lanterns, usually alone though an occassional couple could also be seen. Some elves played their haunting reed pipe tunes, the sweet, tantalizing music coloring the air. She even saw Maud crouched beside an elf who was trying to create some sort of pottery. Her silvery eyes seemed to flash as she glanced at the group. The elf, Elandis, looked up to follow her gaze and nodded to them.
They passed a few elves who were experimenting with some spells. Unlike Elandis, these ones took no notice of the Riders and the dragons, which Arya was thankful for. She wanted to avoid being crowded by elves. It was just too uncomfortable.
Eragon cleared his throat. He had that infuriatingly attractive look that he wore whenever he was pondering some sort of question. "What do elves do for a living or profession?"
Arya shrugged. The only thing that she liked about being an elf was finding it easy to hide emotions that made her uncomfortable – though that in itself also caused her some discomfort. "Elves are gifted with strength and magic, which lets us get anything that we desire. We have no need for hunting and farming, and so we spend most of our days mastering any interest we might have. There is barely anything that we have to strive for in the long run."
"That is… lonely."
Arya nodded. She led them through a tunnel of dogwood that was also adorned with creepers and flowers. They entered the main hall of a house grown out of a ring of trees. A hut occupied the center, sheltering a forge and various tools that a human or dwarf blacksmith would most likely covet. "It is why elves are so different from humans and dwarves – and it is infuriating, is it not?"
"I suppose," mumbled Roran. "You elves are beautiful, graceful and powerful – unsettlingly so. And your way of thinking, your culture is vastly different."
That was when Arya nodded to the elf woman who held a pair of tongs in front of molten coals as she worked bellows with her right hand. With the use of her exceptional speed, she pulled the tongs out of the fire to reveal a white-hot ring made of steel. She was working on a chain mail, and did not address them.
"Atra esterni ono thelduin," Arya said softly.
The elf then turned to face them with an annoyed air – typical of her. Her face, as Arya remembered clearly, had faint lines on them. She was one of the very few elves that she knew to have such traces of age. Other people may have found it offensive, especially as Arya was the queen's daughter and had honored the blacksmith by speaking first. But Arya knew her since she was old enough to wander through the city, and she paid no mind.
"Rhunon-elda, I have brought you the other new Riders," Arya said, introducing her friends one by one.
"I heard that your brother was dead and that you were missing," replied Rhunon, her voice rasping as it always did. As Arya traveled through the human land, she realized that the blacksmith sounded like humans who were well into their age.
"When did you last leave your house?"
Rhunon rolled her eyes. "Blast it, girl, you're the one who should know. You and that brother of yours forced me to attend the Midsummer's Feast."
Arya smiled. "That was three years ago," she mused. "Right before I started visiting you in here."
"Was it?" Rhunon raised her eyebrows at the younger elf, banking the coals before covering them with a grated lid. She crossed her arms. "Does it matter? You know I find company very trying. Meaningless chatter does not… Wait. Why are we speaking in this dratted language? You want me to forge new swords for you and your friends? You know I am bound by oaths. I cannot create instruments of death again – not when those traitor Riders caused havoc and destruction with my blades."
Nasuada smiled. "As a matter of fact, we already have our own swords," she said, presenting Skymning to the smith.
The others did the same, and Rhunon examined them all with wonder and interest. She caressed the blades, lingering on the symbols etched on their surfaces. She tested each of the blades with a look of a person finding a long-lost child before returning them to their owners. "I remember," she murmured. "I remember them all when I forged them… it seems like it was just yesterday – and still as perfect as they were back then." She paused, handing the blades back to the Riders. "My entire life I spent hammering these swords out of ore – before he came and destroyed them all, wasting centuries of effort. I thought only a handful of examples of my art existed. Those blasted traitors' blades, Brom's, Oromis's, Ash's, Serylda's and two others safeguarded by people close to the owners after being rescued from the Wyrdfell."
Through the vague and hazy link that Arya had with her friends, she felt their curiosity about this unfamiliar term. She smiled. It is another term for the Forsworn, she explained.
"Well now, we have six more," Katrina said with a grin.
"Yes." Rhunon let out a huff of breath. "Now they have returned to me. I did not expect to hold these ones again. I know how their owners fell. How did you come to possess heroes' swords?"
The Riders stared uncomfortably before Murtagh nodded. "Well, Brom gave them to us," he explained. "I think he held on to them for safekeeping until he retrieved the eggs and then proceeded to hide them in a secure area."
Rhunon frowned. "With the strange power that gave rise to those traitors, I cannot imagine even the strongest wards to conceal such items from him. Ellesmera is built upon layer upon layer of protective magic, and yet we still live in constant worry that he will find us." She blinked. "Brom… I remember him. His sword was one of the last seven I forged, and among the most beautiful works I have created."
"Rhunon-elda, your works have served us well," Arya mused. "You know, if we did not have these blades with us, we would all be long dead."
Eragon nodded eagerly. His blue eyes shone like shimmering pools of water – and when did Arya start thinking like elven poets? "As a matter of fact, Kylskada and Eldsvard were used to kill the Shade, Durza," he was saying.
Rhunon nodded almost imperceptibly. "Well, did they now? Then these swords still bring good upon the word, then," she said. She turned to the dragons, a small severe smile playing on her lips. "Well met, dragons." As the six acknowledged her, she did not bother to ask permission before moving nearer to them and tapping her scales with a blunt fingernails. She examined them with expert eyes, moving from dragon to dragon fluidly. "Beautiful colors," she noted dryly.
And what is that supposed to mean? Firnen asked his Rider.
Oh hush and let her be, Arya said. It is merely how she appreciates things.
"You have the prized vivid color, unlike those muddy brown dragons. Gray, white and black dragons sparkle too, but they don't have the beauty I prize," Rhunon continued. "Riders' blades must match the hue of the dragons, and your shades would have made gorgeous and terrifying blades. You will have to make do with close matches." She slumped back to her coals, a defeated look upon her aged face.
Roran examined the mail that Rhunon was working on, a look of wonder passing through his face. "I've never seen anything that could equal this mail, even among the dwarves. I admire your patience."
After a few more words, Rhunon retreated back to her workshop, claiming that she was weary. Arya ushered her friends out of the house with a grin. "Rhunon-elda!" she called out. "Remember, my brother and I will return for you on the eve of the Agaeti Blodhren!"
The sound of steel pounding on steal reverbrated through the air as they returned to the forest path. Katrina rubbed her cheek. "Did she make all the Riders' swords? Every last one of them?"
"Yes, and more," explained Arya. "She is the greatest smith that has ever graced the elves. For her sake and yours, I thought it would be best for you to meet her. She is abrasive and quite different, but she means well."
"I think I know where your… difference… came from," Eragon said, earning a punch from the young elf.
She seems like a strange elf. Like you. Askanir snorted.
Arya shot him a glare. What was it with males picking on her? "Oh, she has always been that way. Only her craft matters to her and she is impatient with everything and everyone that could interfere with it. Elves tolerate her strangeness because as I've said, she is the best in her field."
"Arya, what does Agaeti Blodhren mean?" Murtagh asked. "I think blodhren is blood-oath, am I correct?"
"Yes. Agaeti means celebration. The Blood-oath Celebration is held once every century to honor the pact our race made with the dragons. We are all fortunate to be here now, when it is nigh upon us. It's an auspicious coincidence."
They veered off the path they were following and into another one. Arya knew it so well, as she used to follow Faolin down that place all the time. Rose bushes were strewn around the biggest house in the path, made up of a cluster of trees twined together gracefully. "This is the hall of House Erthaila. I wish for you to meet someone."
I do not think that there is enough space for us, grumbled Firnen.
"Someone?" Murtagh asked, brows raised.
Arya grinned and turned to the door. She took a deep breath and entered the house. They were in a massive entrance hall where some elves were occupied with scrolls and books. One of them bowed low to Arya, his deep brown hair shining in the lantern light.
"Arya Drottningu – or is it Shur'tugal now?" he murmured. He bowed to the other Riders and the dragons. "Shur'tugalar. Skulblaka. Atra esterni ono thelduin."
Arya bowed to him too. "Airrim-elda," she said with a small smile, before completing the greeting. "It has been too long. Am I intruding upon your mourning?"
"No, you and your brother have always been welcome in our halls," the elf named Airrim replied, his face a perfect mask of calm. "We have mourned Glenwing far too long, and I was expecting you or Faolin to visit before the moon wanes again."
Arya smiled gently. "Thank you." She turned to her friends. "This is Airrim, head of the House Erthaila." She proceeded to introduce her friends.
Upon realizing that two of them are the twin Shadeslayers, the elf's black eyes widened. He bowed to them, saying, "It is an honor to meet those who have rid our land of much evil."
Eragon shuffled in discomfort, making him resemble the farmboy that he started out as. "We were simply fortunate. If it were not for Arya, Katrina and the dragons, we would have been overpowered and we would not stand here before you."
"Even so, it is a feat that few people could match," Arya told him, surprised when her friend turned pink.
Airrim nodded contemplatively. "Are you here to see Niduen?"
"Yes. I want my friends to meet her – and tell her that her gifts of clothing were appreciated. I have not worn such clothes since I left Ellesmera."
"Ah, then let me not delay you much further, Shur'tugalar. She is in her quarters, as always."
Arya thanked him and proceeded through the hall. She turned left, through another hallway and into a massive room that held a bed, shelves filled with books, and a massive loom. A silver-haired female elf stood before it, as if deep in contemplation. As Arya stepped through the room, the elf turned. She fixed her wide, blue slanted eyes on the newcomers.
"I was expecting you," she said in a deep and harmonious voice. She began the standard elven greetings, which Arya answered on behalf of her friends. Then, the elf woman smiled. "I have waited long to meet you, Shur'tugalar. I am Niduen of House Erthaiya."
"We are honored to meet you," Katrina said with a smile.
Niduen nodded gently. "I have been seeing… dreams… for a time now." She strode to her loom. "They have helped me weave my first gifts to you – and more to come."
Arya smiled, remembering the older elf's tendency to shower people she liked with gifts. "Niduen, you know that there is no need for that."
Nasuada nodded. "But Lady Niduen, the thought is very much appreciated."
Niduen shook her head. Truly, nobody could argue with many elves, but she was sometime much diferent. "Shur'tugal, it is more than what is due. In days of old – long before even I was born – even the newest ones were lavished with gifts."
"Nevertheless, it is not necessary," Arya said, though she was sure that she was already fighting a losing battle.
Niduen smiled and closed her eyes. "Think nothing of it, Arya Drottningu – or is it Argetlam now?" She began to work on a new weaving, her deft hands working the threads skillfully. "There is nothing that you can do to stop me from lavishing you with gifts."
Eragon followed Arya deep into Du Weldenvarden, tailed by the other Riders. They walked past paths with tangling nettles and bushes, the lights eventually dwindling and disappearing altogether. He relied on Saphira's night vision to navigate through the wilder parts of the forest, though he could still see Arya's pale skin even in the darkness.
Through the woods they went, the trees crowding closer and closer. For a while, Eragon feared that they would be unable to push forward. As soon as it seemed this was the case, the forest ended in a massive clearing. The moonlight filtered through the place, bathing it in a vivid silver glow.
A lone pine tree stood in the very middle of the place. Though it was roughly the same height as the others, it was very, very thick. At least a hundred trees could fit inside it. A pile of knotted roots were gathered beneath its trunk, sprawled across the ground in a way that looked like the rest of the forest was borne from the tree.
They were in the very heart of Du Weldenvarden itself.
The massive tree seemed to watch over the rest of the woods like a mother tending to her children, protecting the land under the shelter of her thick branches. Something about it told Eragon that it was not just a big tree.
Arya turned to the group, her eyes glittering gleefully. "This is the Menoa Tree," she said with a flourish of her hands. "The Agaeti Blodhren is observed under her shade."
Eragon blinked, a memory striking a chord at the back of his mind. He blinked and stared at Arya. "Do you remember?" he said breathlessly. "Solembum's prophecy – or advice? We were together that day, when Angela read our fortunes and Solembum spoke to us."
"I do. It seems like some kind of weapon is waiting for us under this tree." Arya put a hand on the tree's thick trunk, a small frown creasing her fair face.
And you berate me for thinking too much of both Aegar and Brand, noted Saphira.
This is different! They are your masters, argued Eragon.
Roran stepped forward with a frown. "I don't see how you could conceal a weapon beneath something as massive and as ancient as this."
I don't see anything, confirmed Saphira. But I doublt that the cat's words would make sense to us unless we are in need of them already.
Arya nodded. "Werecats rarely offer help. That much I know." She crossed her arms contemplatively. "As I've said before, no song or legend speak of a weapon beneath its roots. I really did hope that by being here as Riders, we could unearth this supposed weapon."
"But we have no need for it. Yet." Murtagh stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe this weapon – if it does exist – will only present itself when we need it."
They spent the night talking of the Menoa Tree and its sad history. By the time Eragon clambered back to his quarters, a wide range of emotions began to swallow him up, plunging him into confusion. His thoughts kept wondering back to Arya, and her reasons for telling the tale of the Menoa Tree. Was she trying to hint that she believed humans and elves were not suited for each other?
Saphira curled up on her space and closed her eyes. That you must ask directly from her.
I cannot. You know that. Eragon did not even know what to make of his strange feelings for the elf.
It would be best to sort out what you feel for her and then tell her. It would save you a lot of trouble and if she does not reciprocate then you can turn your attention to something – or someone – else.
Eragon frowned. He knew that she had a point but still… he himself did not know how to sort them all out. And how in Alagaesia was he supposed to tell her about what he was feeling? It was ridiculous – no, it was madness. "I'm sorry." He closed his eyes, wrapping himself in the warm, thick blankets. "I do not know if I am brave enough to face whatever consequences that might bring."
Then so be it, Saphira said, closing their connection for the night.
Enough personal drama, I really want to apologize to the reviewer who seemed to REALLY want me to quickly upload another chapter within last week, but I seriously can't. Real life is catching up to me and I had to deal with it unless I wanted to lose my new job, so yeah.
And yeah, Eragon seems to like picking on his brother, huh? I really could imagine Murtagh being the patient big brother who puts up with his brother no matter what. Yeah, that's brotherly love for you!
I haven't explained much about Niduen yet, but I hope to cover that next chapter! So wait for it, okay?
Read and review, as always!