Chapter Fifty-Three: Ellesméra

Eragon knelt before the queen of the elves and her councilor in a fantastic room made from the boles of living trees in a near-mythic land, and the only thing that filled his mind was shock. Arya is a princess! It was fitting in a way – she had always possessed an air of command – but he bitterly regretted the fact, for it placed another barrier between them when he would have torn them all away. The knowledge filled his mouth with the taste of ashes. He remembered Angela's prophecy that he would love of noble birth… and her warning that she could not see if it would end for good or for ill.

He could feel Saphira's own surprise, then her amusement. She said, It appears that we have been traveling in the presence of royalty without knowing it.

Why didn't she tell us?

Perhaps it would have placed her in greater danger.

"Islanzadí Dröttning," said Arya formally.

The queen withdrew as if she had been stung and then repeated in the ancient language, "O my daughter, I have wronged you." She covered her face. "Ever since you disappeared, I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made… Can you forgive me?"

The gathered elves stirred with amazement.

Arya's response was long in coming, but at least she said, "For seventy years, I have lived and loved, fought and killed without ever speaking to you, my mother. Our lives are long, but even so, that is no small span."

Islanzadí drew herself upright, lifting her chin. A tremor ran her length. "I cannot undo the past, Arya, no matter how much I might desire to."

"And I cannot forget what I endured."

"Nor should you." Islanzadí clasped her daughter's hands. "Arya, I love you. You are my only family. Go if you must, but unless you wish to renounce me, I would be reconciled with you."

For a terrible moment, it seemed as if Arya would not answer, or worse, would reject the offer. Eragon saw her hesitate and quickly look at her audience. Then she lowered her eyes and said, "No, Mother. I could not leave." Islanzadí smiled uncertainly and embraced her daughter again. This time Arya returned the gesture, and smiled broke out among the assembled elves.

The white raven hopped on his stand, cackling, "And on the door was graven evermore, what now became the family lore, Let us never do but to adore!"

"Hush, Blagden," said Islanzadí to the raven. Keep you doggerel to yourself." Breaking free, the queen turned to Eragon and Saphira. "You must excuse me for being discourteous and ignoring you, our most important guests."

Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum, as Arya had taught him. "Islanzadí Dröttning. Atra esterní ono thelduin." He had no doubt that he was supposed to speak first.

Islanzadí's dark eyes widened. "Atra du evarínya ono varda."

"Un atra mo'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," replied Eragon, completing the ritual. He could tell that the elves were caught off guard by his knowledge of their customs. In his mind, he listened as Saphira repeated his greeting to the queen.

When she finished, Islanzadí asked, "Dragon, what is your name?"

Saphira.

A flash of recognition appeared in the queen's expression, but she made no comment on it. Welcome to Ellesméra, Saphira. And yours, Rider?"

"Eragon Shadeslayer, Your Majesty." This time an audible stir rippled among the elves seated behind them; even Islanzadí appeared startled.

"You carry a powerful name," she said softly, "one that we rarely bestow upon our children… Welcome to Ellesméra, Eragon Shadeslayer. We have waited long for you." She moved on to Orik, greeted him, then returned to her throne and draped her velvet cloak over her arm. "I assume by your presence here, Eragon, so soon after Saphira's egg was captured, and by the ring on your hand and the sword on your hop, that Brom is dead and that your training with him was incomplete. I wish to hear your full story, including how Brom fell and how you came to meet my daughter, or how she met you, as it may be. Then I will hear of your mission here, dwarf, and of your adventures, Arya, since your ambush in Du Weldenvarden."

Eragon had narrated his experiences before, so he had no trouble reiterating them now for the queen. He only stumbled when he had to mention Mariah and Andrar and Murtagh, their names and the memories that went with them difficult to let roll from his tongue. On occasion, Saphira was able to provide an accurate description of events. In several places, he simply left the telling to her. Islanzadí didn't look surprised in the least when he mentioned Andrar's name, confirming Ajihad's earlier suspicions that the elves had been harboring a second egg without the Varden's knowing – however her eyes betrayed her devastation upon learning both he and his Rider were gone. When they finished, Eragon retrieved Nasuada's scroll from his pack and presented it to Islanzadí.

She took the roll of parchment, broke the red wax seal, and, upon completing the missive, sighed and briefly closed her eyes. "I see now the true depth of my folly. My grief would have ended so much sooner if I had not withdrawn our warriors and ignored Ajihad's messengers after learning that Arya had been ambushed. I should have never blamed the Varden for her death. For one so old, I am still far too foolish…"

A long silence followed, as no one dared to agree or disagree. Summoning his courage, Eragon said, "Since Arya has returned alive, will you agree to help the Varden, like before? Nasuada cannot succeed otherwise, and I am pledged to her cause."

"My quarrel with the Varden is as dust in the wind," said Islanzadí. "Fear not; we will assist them as we once did, and more, because of you and their victory over the Urgals." She leaned forward on one arm. "Will you give me Brom's ring, Eragon?" Without hesitation, he pulled it off his finger and offered it to the queen, who plucked it from his palm with her slim fingers. "You should not have worn this, Eragon, as it was not meant for you. However, because of the aid you have rendered the Varden and my family, I now name you Elf Friend and bestow this ring, Aren, upon you, so that all elves, wherever you go, will know that you are to be trusted and helped."

Eragon thanked her and returned the ring to his finger, acutely aware of the queen's gaze, which remained upon him with disturbing perception, studying and analyzing. He felt as if she knew everything that he might say or do. She said, "Such tidings as yours, we have not heard the like of in Du Weldenvarden for many a year. We are accustomed to a slower way of life here than the rest of Alagaësia, and it troubles me that so much could occur so swiftly without word of it reaching my ear."

"And what of my training?" Eragon snatched a furtive glance at the seated elves, wondering if any of them could be Togira Ikonoka, the being who had reached into his mind and freed him of Durza's foul influence after the battle in Farthen Dur – and who had also encouraged Eragon to travel to Ellesméra.

"It will begin in the fullness of time. Yet I fear that instruction you is futile so long as your infirmity persists. Unless you can over-come the Shade's magic, you will be reduced to no more than a figurehead. You may still be useful, but only as a shadow of the hope that we have nurtured for over a century." Islanzadí spoke without reproach, yet her words struck Eragon like hammer blows. He knew that she was right. "Your situation is not your fault, and it pains me to voice such things, but you must understand the gravity of your disability… I am sorry."

She turned to Orik to speak with him and Eragon retreated into his own mind. This was all nearly too much to process. Coming all this way, enduring as much as he had, losing so much – nearly everything and everyone he knew was gone – and to be told he was only a shadow of the hope they had anticipated. He felt a shiver run up his back as he stood, watching Islanzadí talk with Orik, not really hearing anything as they finished and she turned to Arya. Again, it was all too much. Arya being the princess was so shocking; he was surprised at himself for not saying it aloud.

He watched her speaking with her mother and mentally slapped himself. He was hopelessly out of her league, as a sixteen-year-old farm boy from Carvahall with no lineage to speak of, even as a Dragon Rider there wasn't a chance. Despite her appeal, he concluded she was simply too different, even if there weren't so many barriers to cross over. The little he did know about elves seemed confusing and extremely formal, neither of which appealed to him. Spending time with Arya was pleasant, but he always had to be on his guard, so as to not offend her or say something stupid. Mariah never was that way; she might have scolded him about saying such things or even laughed. He'd never been worried about her being so offended by something he didn't even realize he'd been saying that she would never speak to him again. She wasn't seventy-some years older than him either. Nor was she elvish and, despite that, she was still just as pretty as Arya, even more so, since her features weren't so foreign. He felt his face burn, finally conscious of his wandering thoughts.

I see you've finally figured it out.

What?

It has been on your mind for days, if not weeks now. Tell me you've finally figure it out, hatchling.

Oh… that, he glanced at Arya again. I miss her Saphira, more than I miss anything else. And Arya… it's just not the same.

You have much time to think everything through little one, you are still very young. Do not run to or from anything, you have enough time to walk.

Mariah heard the shrieking roar coming from inside the castle and woke with a start, flying to her door and wrenching it open, running down the hallway, regretting, as she took the stairs three at a time, not taking a moment to slip on some shoes. Her bare feet smacked against the cold stone floor as she ran headlong into Kieran; the woman grasped her around her waist and smashed her into a wall, glaring. "If you have half a mind to keep yourself alive, I suggest you don't go any farther."

The roar was still pounding in her ears, though it had ceased several moments ago. She stared up at Kieran's face, confused and concerned.

"Come on," she said, grasping her wrist and hauling her back up the stairs.

"But-"

"I said come on, it wasn't a suggestion."

They arrived back at the top of the stairs where Kieran turned to the left. Mariah looked around, realizing she'd never been in this wing of the castle before. The princess pushed open one side of a pair of intricate double wooden doors and shoved Mariah in front of her. She let out a sigh and closed the door behind them, finally letting her go.

"There. Now." Her eyes flicked back up at Mariah looked her over. "Natalie, come here." A young woman set down her water pitcher she'd been using to water flowers and stepped over. "I'm going to need you to modify one of my dresses for Mariah."

"Of course mistress, would you like it done now?"

"Yes." Kieran told her, nodding. "I'll find a dress, come back with your equipment as soon as possible." Before the young maid could so much as curtsy to the princess, she was walking off towards a tall wardrobe.

Mariah glanced at the closing door and then Kieran, yawning a bit. It was still far too early to be up; she was still in her night clothes and with bare feet. "Is it too much to ask for you to explain what's going on?"

"You're being fitted into one of my dresses."

"Yes… that much is clear," Mariah mumbled, sitting in a chair. "But I would like to know what all the screeching was earlier."

Kieran paused momentarily, as if debating whether or not to tell her, "You'll find out soon enough. Oh there you are Natalie. I think this one would work well."

Mariah looked up from her seat and blinked at the long crimson dress Kieran was holding. Her throat seized slightly and her stomach started forming knots, realizing that the princess had probably spent more on having the dress made than what it would cost to feed all of Carvahall for two years. The beading alone must have taken hundreds of hours of work.

"Well don't just sit there, come on, we haven't got all day." Kieran snapped up her wrist again and pulled her to stand up on a small stool. Natalie helped her step into the dress after she had discarded her night clothes.

"What is this for again?" She asked, realizing the dress fit rather well, it was simply too long and her chest didn't quite fill up the corset like Kieran could. "Or is this simply a new form of torture?"

Kieran rolled her eyes, folding her arms. "Father told me to have you fitted for a dress." She told her simply, walking out of the room, leaving her there with the maid.

Mariah sighed, puffing out her annoyance and looked around the room. Now that she wasn't being dragged anywhere, she could see all the details and decorations. There were windows facing east, allowing for the morning sunrise to come streaming into the room, nearly blinding her. Kieran's room was heavily decorated, even more so than her own, with expensive fabrics and jeweled items scattered about the room. Miscellaneous treasures she was certain had been obtained illegally in some way or another from a long forgotten age. A stunning jeweled sword was mounted above a crackling fireplace. Shelves filled with ornate decorations, such as a model ship, small mirrors and paintings. On a wall filled with pictures, there was one a little more detailed than the others. In the frame were two girls, identical, both smiling as they held onto each other. Maybe Kieran still had a shred of compassion in her body.

"How stupid are they, honestly? They can't even keep it straight!"

She rolled her eyes, looking over at the princess, "What is it now?"

"I am allergic to blueberries, they can't even remember that I'm allergic to most fruits that end in 'berry' and for safety's sake they should stop trying to give me food with berries in it all together!"

"Your highness, remember to breathe," Natalie mumbled through her lips, pursed with needles. She pulled one out and pinned Mariah's skirt once more.

She stormed off over to her bookshelf, pulling down a thin volume and slumping in a chair to wait while Mariah was being fitted for her dress. When Natalie finished pinning it, she found a tall mirror and set it in front of Mariah so that she could see what it looked like on. The Rider blinked and flushed red, turning a bit on the stool to look at the dress in its entirety. "I… I don't think I've ever looked so… ridiculous in my entire life – Kieran why do I have to wear this?"

"Because father said so. You have to do what he says. And I told you to, and you have to do what I say. And Murtagh will get to see you wearing it, and that should be a good enough reason for any woman to wear a dress." She looked up from her book. "If you squeak and tell me I'm wrong, I'll know I'm right."

Mariah blinked at her and said nothing.

"Also, if you say nothing, I'll know I'm right. So, I'm right. You can stop hiding it whenever you want." She set the book down and looked the dress over. "It seems to fit better now, yes. Go ahead and sew it in place then Natalie. Thank you."

"Of course mistress."

"I'm stuck up here, aren't I?" Mariah asked, glaring down at Kieran, who simply shrugged and smirked. "You know – you don't have to always stick your nose into my business."

Kieran let out a laugh, "Of course I do."

"Fine, since I'm going to be stuck here a while, who's that in that picture over there?" She pointed, much to Natalie's annoyance. The maid simply waited for her to stop moving before continuing.

The princess froze a little and glanced at the picture. "Me… and my sister, Kendra."

"I thought you hated her."

"I do hate her." Kieran confirmed.

"Then why keep the picture?"

"Because I didn't used to hate her. Not when she was my sister." She flicked her eyes up at Mariah and sighed. "Before she grew up, before she started hating our father so fiercely, I loved her. Gradually, as time passed, she resented me, and I her." A small snarl was forming on her lips. "When Nasreen hatched for me, she stopped speaking to me, hated me for becoming something she wished never existed. She blames Riders for this war, for our father, for our mother's death. Everything that has ever gone wrong in the world she blames on Dragon Riders. You would hate her too if you knew anything about her. And if she ever caught sight of you, she would kill you. If I wasn't her sister, she probably would have killed me before she ran off, but I don't think she could bring herself to doing it."

Mariah was only vaguely aware of Natalie sewing up the hem of her dress as Kieran spoke. Hating your sibling so fiercely that you wanted to kill them? It was said jokingly on occasion with Mark, but actually wanting to commit murder, to destroy someone you held so dear in your heart because they became something you loathe.

"I hope she is dead, because that way I won't ever have to kill her." Kieran said. "If she came after me and tried to annihilate me, or Nasreen, I… I would want to kill her first. Whether I could or not remains to be seen."

"How do you know she would do something like that?"

"Because when Nasreen hatched for me, she told me so. When we were fifteen and Nasreen hatched, my twin sister told me that she wanted me dead. She told me that Dragon Riders are despicable creatures, neither human, nor elf – immortal creatures with unnatural magical powers, something that never should have been created by the gods. My sister hasn't spoken to me since we were fifteen. It's been nearly three years, and now I hope she's dead, so I won't ever have to kill her myself."

"Mistress Kieran, I've finished." Natalie said quietly, standing up.

Kieran got to her feet, walking around Mariah, "It looks good, thank you Natalie. You're free to go now." The maid curtseyed and left the room. "The dress suits you Mariah, make sure you take care of it. I don't plan on giving you another any time soon."

Mariah looked herself over in the mirror, turning a bit to see how low the back dipped down, watching the beads shimmer as she turned in the morning sunlight. The deep crimson brought out her pale skin under her now nearly shoulder-length ebony hair. She tugged slightly on the long bell-cuffed sleeves, looking at the picture on the wall again before stepping down and heading out of Kieran's room.

He straightened a little more when the queen spoke, her voice ringing like a bell among the trees. "Our guests wait tired on their feet, and we have spoken of evil things for far too long. I will not have this occasion marred by lingering on past injuries." A glorious smile brightened her expression. "My daughter has returned, a dragon and her Rider have appeared, and I will see us celebrate in the proper fashion!" She stood tall and magnificent in her crimson tunic, and clapped her hands. At the sound, the chairs and pavilion were showered with hundreds of lilies and roses that appeared twenty feet above their heads and drifted down like colorful snowflakes, suffusing the air with their heady fragrance.

She didn't use the ancient language, observed Eragon.

He noticed that, while everyone was occupied by the flowers, Islanzadí touched Arya gently on the shoulder and murmured, almost too softly to hear, "You never would have suffered so if you had taken my counsel. I was right to oppose your decision to accept the yawë."

"It was my decision to make."

The queen paused, then nodded and extended her arm. "Blagden." With a flutter of wings, the raven flew from his perch and landed on her left shoulders. The entire assembly bowed as Islanzadí proceeded to the end of the hall and threw open the door to the hundreds of elves outside, whereupon she made brief declaration in the ancient language that Eragon did not understand. The elves burst into cheers and began to rush about.

"What did she say?" whispered Eragon to Nari.

Nari smiled. "To break open our finest casks and light the cook-fires, for tonight shall be a night of feast and song. Come!" He grabbed Eragon's hand and pulled him after the queen as she threaded her way between the shaggy pines and through banks of cool ferns. During their time indoors, the sun had dropped low in the sky, drenching the forest with an amber light that clung to the trees and plants like a layer of glistering oil.

You do realize, don't you, said Saphira, that the king Lifaen mentioned, Evandar, must be Arya's father?

Eragon almost stumbled. You're right… and that means he was killed by either Galbatorix or the Forsworn.

Circles within circles.

They stopped on the crest of a small hill, where a team of elves had set out a long trestle table and chairs. All around them, the forest hummed with activity. As evening approached, the cheery glow of fires appeared scattered throughout Ellesméra, including a bonfire near the table.

Someone handed Eragon a goblet made of the same odd wood that he had noticed in Ceris. He drank the cup's clear liqueur and gasped as it blazed down his throat. It tasted like mulled cider mixed with mead. The potion made the tips of his fingers and ears tingle and gave him a marvelous sense of clarity. "What is this?" he asked Nari.

Nari laughed. "Faelnirv? We distill it from crushed elderberries and spun moonbeams. If he needs must, a strong man can travel for three days on naught else."

Saphira, you have to taste this. She sniffed the goblet, then opened her mouth and allowed him to pour the rest of the faelnirv down her throat. Her eyes widened and her tail twitched.

Now that's a treat! Is there more?

Before Eragon could reply, Orik stomped over to them. "Daughter to the queen," he grumbled, shaking his head. "I wish that I could tell Hrothgar and Nasuada. They'd want to know."

Islanzadi seated herself in a high-backed chair and clapped her hands once again. From within the city came a quartet of elves bearing musical instruments. Two had harps of cherrywood, the third a set of reed pipes, and the fourth nothing but her voice, which she immediately put to use with a playful song that danced about their ears.

Eragon caught only every third word or so, but what he did understand made him grin. It was the story of a stag who could not drink at a pond because a magpie kept harassing him.

As Eragon listened, his gaze wandered and alighted upon a small girl prowling behind the queen. When he looked again, he saw that her shaggy hair was not silver, like many of the elves, but bleached white with age, and that her face was creased and line like a dry, withered apple. She was no elf, no dwarf, nor – Eragon felt – even human. She smiled at him, and he glimpsed rows of sharp teeth.

When the singer finished, and the pipes and lutes filled the silence, Eragon found himself approached by scores of elves who wished to meet him and – more importantly, he sensed – Saphira.

The elves presented themselves by bowing softly and touching their lips with their first and middle fingers, to which Eragon responded in kind, along with endless repetitions of their greeting in the ancient language. They plied Eragon with polite questions about his exploits, but they reserved the bulk of their conversation for Saphira.

At first Eragon was content to let Saphira talk, since this was the first place where anyone was interested in having a discussion just with her. But he soon grew annoyed at being ignored; he had become used to having people listen when he spoke. He grinned ruefully, dismayed that he had come to rely on people's attention so much since he had joined the Varden, and forced himself to relax and enjoy the celebration.

Before long the scent of food permeated the glade and elves appeared, carrying platters piled with delicacies. Aside from loaves of warm bread and stacks of small, round honeycakes, the dishes were made entirely of fruit, vegetables, and berries. The berries predominated; they were in everything from blueberry soup to raspberry sauce and sprinkled with wild strawberries sat beside a mushroom pie stuffed with spinach, thyme, and currants.

No meat was to be found, not even fish or fowl, which still puzzled Eragon. In Carvahall and elsewhere in the Empire, meat was a symbol of status and luxury. The more gold you had, the more often you could afford steak and veal. Even the minor nobility ate meat with every meal. To do otherwise would indicate a deficit in their coffers. And yet the elves did not subscribe to this philosophy, despite their obvious wealth and the ease with which they could hunt with magic.

The elves rushed to the table with an enthusiasm that surprised Eragon. Soon all were seated: Islanzadí at the head of the table with Blagden, the raven; Däthedr, Islanzadí's advisor, to her left; Arya and Eragon by her right hand; Orik across from them; and then all the rest of the elves, including Nari and Lifaen. No chair was at the far end of the table, only a huge carved plate for Saphira.

As the meal progressed, everything dissolved around Eragon into a blur of talk and mirth. He was so caught up in the festivities, he lost track of time, aware of only the laughter and the foreign words swirling over his head and the warm glow left in his stomach by the faelnirv. The elusive harp music sighed and whispered at the edges of his hearing and sent shivers of excitement down his side. Occasionally, he found himself distracted by the lazy slit-eyed stare of the woman-child, which she kept focused on him with single-minded intensity, even when eating.

During a lull in the conversation, Eragon turned toward Arya, who had uttered no more than a dozen words. He said nothing, only looked and wondered who she really was.

Arya stirred. "Not even Ajihad knew."

"What?"

"Outside of Du Weldenvarden, I told no one of my identity. Brom was aware of it – he first met me here – but he kept it a secret at my request. Aside from Marcus… who said he was informed of my identity and described my appearance and told my name… in the event of his death."

"Mark knew?" Eragon blinked, staring at her for a moment. When she said nothing he simply sat there, wondering if she was explaining to him out of a sense of duty or because she felt guilty for deceiving him and Saphira. "Brom once said that what elves didn't say was often more important than what they did."

"He understood us well."

"Why, though? Did it matter if anyone knew?"

This time Arya hesitated. "When I left Ellesméra, I had no desire to be reminded of my position. Nor did it seem relevant to my task with the Varden and dwarves. It had nothing to do with who I became… with who I am." She glanced at the queen.

"You could have told Saphira and me."

Arya seemed to bridle at the reproach in his voice. "I had no reason to suspect that my standing with Islanzadí had improved, and telling you that would have changed nothing. My thoughts are my own, Eragon." He flushed at her implied meaning: Why should she – who was a diplomat, a princess, an elf, and older than both his father and grandfather, whoever they were – confide in him, a sixteen-year-old human? At least she confirmed his earlier thoughts.

"At least," he muttered, "you made up with your mother."

She smiled oddly. "Did I have a choice?"

By now all the commotion from the main hall had ceased completely. Mariah wandered down the stairs, aware of her cold feet, and silently opened the door to Galbatorix's throne room. Shruiken was the first thing anyone would have seen, his massive size dominating most of the room. But then there was the king, whose aura was simply so strong that he drew attention on himself. Kneeling before him was Murtagh, slowly stroking Thorn's snout, his face contorted in pain.

She stared, her lips parted in shock. The red dragon splayed across the floor was at least three times the size he had been yesterday. His wings were curled up at his sides, tail flickering slightly ever so often as his breath came out in labored heaves. Walking toward them, she was stopped by Shruiken's growling and Galbatorix turning to face her.

"I see Kieran's found you a proper dress. Good." He said.

"What did you do to him?" She asked quietly. It had taken Andrar several long months for him to grow to such a size, the change hadn't occurred overnight.

He blinked and looked back at Thorn, "I sped up his growth. Small, weak, frail dragons are pitiful. My plan is to attack the Varden, not have them laugh when my Riders appear to destroy them." Galbatorix turned and strode back to his throne, sitting down with a sweep of his cape.

Mariah moved over and knelt down next to Murtagh, who had yet to look at her. She stroked her fingers across Thorn's snout a few times before placing her hand over his lightly. Are you alright? She glanced over at his face carefully.

I'm… fine. Thorn though… I can't… his mind is muddied and twisted from what Galbatorix did to him. I-I don't know what to do.

Thorn will be fine… I'm sure of it. She said gently, looking up at Galbatorix again. "Dragons are powerful magical creatures in their own right; tampering with them in any way is downright despicable. They shouldn't be forced to hatch, or grow. Their race is older than ours, what place do humans have trying to force something that shouldn't be?"

"Dragons are tools for their Riders to use, like a sword, they do our bidding. Without a strong enough blade, you will surely lose."

Mariah set her jaw, "So it's about losing then? Being more powerful than your opponent isn't the only factor. If you're not clever enough to beat them, you'll lose as well. In my opinion, those more powerful than others tend to overestimate their abilities and end up losing more often."

"That may very well be your opinion, Mariah, however I believe otherwise. While you are here, you would do well to hold your tongue and forget your own beliefs and opinions, they will not help you here." With that, he stood and walked from the room.

She sat there for a while before she bothered moving, doing so only to look at Murtagh. "Let's get you out of here-"

"No, I want to stay with Thorn." He insisted.

"Murtagh, there's nothing you can do but wait. And the wait will seem longer if you sit here and stare at him, now please." She stood and brushed out her skirts, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go."

He let out a heavy sigh and looked up at her finally, standing slowly and letting her lead them out of the room. Going up the stairs, she said nothing, grabbing fistfuls of her skirts and pulling them up as she ascended, so as to not trip and fall. She let the silence linger, not wanting to force him into talking if he didn't feel up to it quiet yet. Mariah knew how important her own dragon was to her, and felt Murtagh had every right to be so upset. Finally they reached their rooms and she paused, glancing at him. He moved past her into her room and fell into a chair.

Mariah sighed and followed after him, splaying her skirts as she sat on the rug before him. "I'm sorry-"

"You have nothing to apologize for." He insisted, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm sorry regardless… I would probably be crying right now in your position." She twisted a piece of fabric around her fingers from her dress and sighed again. "Do you know what Galbatorix is planning?"

"What?"

She motioned to the dress, "Kieran said he told her to fit me into this. It wasn't her idea. Do you know why?"

"He's likely planning some event that he needs you dressed up for. High ranking lords or something of the same kind. Don't worry too much about it," he said, looking at her. "You do look lovely wearing it."

She smiled some, "Thank you."

Murtagh stood and pulled her up to her feet as well, hugging her tightly and kissing her temple. "I hope Kieran didn't torture you too much getting you into that dress."

"Not at all, actually she seemed quite pleasant this morning, aside from the blueberry incident, but all the same."

"Really?" He blinked, "That's surprising. Kieran being civil… huh."

"Don't act like it's such a surprise!"

Mariah pulled out of Murtagh's grip and turned to look at Kieran standing in the doorway, her arms folded under her bust.

"I'm not that awful to be around all the time. So what if I get angry every once in a while, it's not my fault, it's just how I am." She paused, walking into the room, "And as far as the event, with the lords, you're almost right, Murtagh. It's a party, of sorts, only a handful of people have been invited however to attend. I've been instructed to tell you it is tomorrow evening in the greater dining hall. Tomorrow, you won't train in the afternoon, like normal, you'll spend it getting ready. Mariah, you'll come to my room and I'll make sure you're prepared for everything the best I can. Now hurry up and change, we have archery practice in half an hour." With that Kieran turned on her heel and strode off.

Murtagh glanced down at Mariah, pulling her back into a hug, giving her a crooked smile, "I wouldn't want to be you tomorrow. That's going to be rough, stuck with her all afternoon." He kissed her quickly and pulled away, "Go ahead and change, I'll meet you in the armory in ten minutes."

No, no Mark and no Kendra. Sorry if anyone missed them but I'll try my best to cover more of them in the next chapter. This one was really Eragon-heavy, I know.

Lots more of Kieran though, so you get half of the twin set.

I can't... think of anything else to say right now...

With Love, As Always,

Mariah