Chapter 37: Aftermath
Sapphire shards hailed around them like vermillion daggers from heaven itself. Harry was able to nudge the largest portions aside so they did not impale or crush him, Arya, or the Urgals around him. He could not stop them entirely. With a deafening crash, the shards scattered along the ground, flying every which way, colliding with the ground, walls, people, and each other in a cacophonous spray of violently flying tiny red knives.
Suddenly freed Urgals huddled behind shields from the flock of relentless knives, slicing furiously at any bit of exposed skin. Their formation shielded Arya and Harry from the worst of the assault, surrounded as they were, yet Harry still hissed through clenched teeth at the burning-slashing-stabbing pain the red dust caused.
Harry held onto consciousness with a death grip. He had no faith that Hrothgar would honor the agreement he made to offer Urgals the chance to surrender. Every twitch of his muscles sent fresh agony down his limbs, stabbing harshly at him. His limbs were straight pulped. They might not be beyond repair with Vanishment and Skele-gro, but he needed to move now.
He set his face and drew on his power. "Cut."
Harry held in a scream as he became a quadruple amputee for a moment before summoning his wand to his mouth and awkwardly nodding his head through the movement for quicksilver. A misshapen puddle of silver pooled in the air above his midsection, but it lost cohesion before it could form. Harry knew he had limited time before he passed out from blood loss, and he needed to get the limbs made before that happened.
Again, he went through the motions, awkwardly speaking the incantation around his teeth. This time, the sliver hung in the air and he was able to split it into four segments, carefully levitating them to each stump. Harry winced as the endings dug in and linked up to his brain, but the pain was almost trivial compared to getting stabbed or amputating.
Staggering upright, Harry fumbled with his ring, attached as it was to a severed limb of his, and drew heavily on his stores of power. Waves of cool relief washed over him, and he closed his eyes to revel in the feeling.
Harry snapped out of his daze and began tending to Arya. Her arms could be dealt with later, the most urgent injury was a gut wound that went all the way through. He was pretty sure non magical medicine would be unable to save her. However, Harry had access to enormous reserves of energy.
He started out with Snape's mending charm, sealing the skin and preventing exsanguination. The skin healed over quickly, but it was obvious the spell wouldn't be enough. The cut was deep enough that her skin sagged to fill the depression the stab made. Harry urgently cast the general healing charm Episkey, but it was inadequate. Arya's intestines were cut open and the wound was probably already septic. Harry needed antibacterial potions and an organ-knitting draught. Episkey only handled muscle tissue and the bone-mending charm was useless since the strike missed her spine.
Eragon stood uselessly at his side, watching in concern. Millions of red shards of sapphire were scattered about the floor, and a gaping jagged hole filled the roof up above them.
The dwarves would not be happy with him, that was for sure.
All around them, the Bolvek tribe were emerging from the thrall Durza had maintained on them. The fiend's corpse had torn itself apart the moment Arya slayed him, bursting into balls of multicolored light which fled. Garzhvog shook his horned head as if the mind control he had labored under was water he could throw off like a wet dog. The ram said something Eragon did not understand in a harsh, guttural language, even more so than dwarvish.
Harry must have understood, since he shot something back, though in a much more hesitant, slightly broken dialect which reminded Eragon of his own skills in the ancient language. The longest bit of it he'd spoken was when he blessed a baby a while back. A woman in the Varden had cornered him when his father was with Ajihad. With no good way to escape the situation, he had blessed an infant girl, a simple incantation to bring her good fortune and shield her from harm. Saphira had left her own gift, a star-shaped gedwey ignasia on her brow.
The wizard knelt over Arya's unconscious form. Eragon would admit he knew little of healing, but he could not actually spot anything overly wrong with her besides broken arms–hardly a life-threatening ailment. Yet, Harry was treating her as though she clung to life by greased fingers on sinew.
Blinky–who had grown to a rather fearsome size, rivalling most constrictors–slithered around her fanned out hair urgently, hissing something in that strange serpentine tongue she and Harry spoke. In a flash of white, Hedwig appeared. The bird glanced at Arya's midsection, then sang a mournful tune.
Harry began to sing in the ancient language. Eragon wasn't certain what every word meant, but he got the gist of it: little tiny creatures splitting and growing, splitting and growing. Working together to form intestines, sealing wounds, disinfecting, growing back muscle tissue. As he sang, the wizard twisted the ring on his finger urgently, draining it of its strength. Eragon was relieved to see a healthy pallor return to Arya's cheeks.
"Osseo evanesco." The elf's arms deflated and jellified. Eragon realized with some horror that Harry had just vanished her bones. He rummaged through the tiny little vials inserted in loops on his belt, removing one with a white label, the writing unfamiliar to him. Eragon noted the selected vial's cork was white and skull-shaped. The big Urgal hovered over them in concern as Harry poured the potion down Arya's throat. She shifted uncomfortably, but Harry seemed unconcerned.
"Right, let's go make sure Hrothgar held his end of the bargain." Harry took a few tottering steps on unfamiliar legs, but realized it was an exercise in futility. Instead, he conjured a pair of crutches. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when Durza came," he apologized to the stoic Urgal.
He waved it off gruffly. "You were under no obligation to stay, Harry. Being Urgal-friend is an honor, not a responsibility. What was it that caused you to leave in the night?"
"Durza was attacking three elves carrying a dragon egg. Arya," He gestured awkwardly around the crutches, "was the only one who survived by hiding in my cabin. When he followed her, it set off the wards, and I had to go over there to help out. She used magic to send the egg away so Durza would not get it, and I got roped into helping her retrieve it after healing her. Ultimately, the egg hatched and I stuck around to make sure Eragon and Saphira didn't die."
Garzhvog nodded. "A worthy reason, indeed." Harry smiled in relief.
"Now I just need to make sure no more of your rams die today."
The hallway was unreasonably long, something which Harry scarcely noticed when traversing it the first few times. Now, each step jarred him uncomfortably, crutches digging into his armpits. The deep wound in his side–while not as life-threatening as Arya's–still twinged in pain with every stride. Garzhvog and his honor guard, Eragon, Saphira, and Arya–who floated along on a stretcher–followed him sedately, forming a bizarre party.
As they approached the battlefield, Harry felt a twinge of unease. How was he going to break Brom's death to Eragon? Should he tell him now? What if Durza fabricated the images to distract him? He knew how crushing losing a father figure could be, after Sirius's fall through the Veil, Harry had been inconsolable. He glanced over at the rider.
Eragon looked uncomfortable in the presence of heavily armed Urgals, but did not blatantly show it, something Harry was thankful for. Negotiating a truce between three races which historically hated each other would be hard enough without the figurehead of the anti-Empire movement blatantly discriminating against the Urgals.
"Eragon," Harry said hesitantly, "Durza showed me something during our fight," he trailed off. "I don't know if it's true or not, but if it was me, I'd like to be prepared." The rider's face paled. "I saw through the eyes of his thralls, one of them watched your father die."
"No." Eragon denied instantly, "It's not true. He lied." He looked frantic, like a cornered animal.
"I didn't think Durza was lying," Harry apologized. "He looked- well, gleeful when he said it. I just-"
"You're lying!" Eragon accused desperately. "Brom wouldn't die, he- he couldn't." He looked on the verge of tears.
The surrounding Urgals looked ahead stoically, carefully ignoring the discussion going on between them.
"Eragon, I know what it's like-"
"You know nothing!" Eragon screamed at him. "You haven't any idea what it feels like, your parents died when you were too young to miss them," he sneered, tears flowing freely.
Harry shoved his rising anger down and set his jaw. "I know very well what that feels like, Eragon. My mother's sister raised me, her and her family, and they hated me. Both of my parents were far taller than me, you know? I'm this short because they barely fed me enough to stay alive. Out of spite, since no one ever starves to death in Great Britain. I wished every day of my life for my parents to come back and bring me home with them, and it never happened, not until my third year at Hogwarts. My godfather was falsely imprisoned and escaped that year, but he loved me enough to come straight to Hogwarts, even though practically every dementor in Britain was waiting there for him to come. When he met me, he explained his innocence and offered me a place to stay. The real traitor escaped, which forced Sirius back on the run, and I wasn't able to stay with him over the summers-"
"So?" Eragon challenged through angry tears. "He was alive."
"Not for long," Harry snarled. "It was my own fault that he died, too. Voldemort sent me a vision of him being tortured in the Department of Mysteries. My friends all tried to tell me it was a trick, that he was luring me into a trap, and counter to all advice I received, I went there anyways. It was a trap, and Sirius came to rescue me. In that fight, he died. My father in all but blood, Eragon."
He looked like he wanted to say something, but council from Saphira must have stayed his tongue, since he glanced back at her before falling silent.
When they neared the end of the tunnel, Harry cursed. The sound of battle still emanated from the massive cavern, meaning something had gone wrong. He had to reach them before hopes for an alliance or at least an armistice were smashed beyond repair.
Harry lengthened his strides, reaching as far as he dared with his crutches. Their procession sped up to keep pace with him as he emerged.
It was carnage.
The slick oil on the ground had long since mixed with human, dwarven, and urgal blood, as well as water from the water cannons mounted behind the lines. Corpses of all three species littered the ground, and screams and cries pierced the clang of metal on metal. Some of the troops Harry had rendered unconscious were stirring, and Harry hoped they would have the sense not to immediately leap into the fight. Yeah right. they're Urgals, they love fighting.
Hrothgar and his troops were advancing on the broken and disorganized host, forcing them back into the tunnels or slaying them where they stood. Ajihad was behaving better, the Varden merely holding the line and repulsing any Urgal foolish enough to push them.
It was a disorganized moshpit of chaos, but it was at least marginally stable. If Hrothgar stopped pushing his Urgals back, they could begin negotiations. "Sonorous." The next words Harry spoke rolled across the cavern powerfully, loud enough to be heard even from the farthest corners of Farthen Dur.
"Sheathe your arms," he boomed. "Durza is dead. We need not fight anymore." Gradually, the clamour of battle quieted. "The shade's wicked sorcery enslaved every Urgal who attacked us. With me is a friend, Nar Garzhvog of the Bolvek tribe. We have laughed together, drank together, fought together. He told me the Urgals despise the king as much as we do. Is this true, Nar Garzhvog?" Harry discretely cast the amplifying charm on him.
The ram was a little surprised at being put on the spot, but rallied quickly. "It is. Galbatorix has tried twice now to exterminate our race, and we have no love of the spineless betrayer. I cannot speak for urgralgra as a race, but I know I speak with the voice of the Bolvek tribe when I say I would rather fight the Empire than the Varden." He repeated his speech in urgalish, something which caused a murmur of discussion among the attackers.
Harry switched to urgalish. "The leader of the Varden, the king of the dwarves, and I spoke before this invasion, before Durza enslaved you all to attack us, like mad dogs on a leash. We concluded that once the shade was slain, the hold he had on your minds would break." Murmurs of disbelief, angry shouts came from the Varden when they heard him speak in the language of Urgals, who many viewed as bloodthirsty monsters in the night.
"And we decided to give you all an offer: Should you stop fighting, you would be free to retreat to your villages unharried. Should you continue, you would be killed. However, should you wish it, you would be able to join the Varden in toppling the mad king." Harry repeated his words in common for the Varden.
Ajihad watched him warily from atop his charger, a tan horse with steel armor on it. He looked weary and bloodstained, but also, strangely…hopeful? Hrothgar looked mutinous and surly, but did not speak up in the dead silence to contradict him.
"You need not answer now, only retreat. Should your tribe agree to ally with the Varden, send a representative or bring your entire clan, it matters not. When you leave, bring with you any "dead" Urgal with superficial wounds or no wounds at all. They have been dosed with a brew which sends them into the deepest enchanted sleep, one which–depending on the dosage–may last for weeks. Many who "died" by magic are stirring now, since I did not kill anyone I did not need to. Take your tribes home and deliberate, then return if you wish to see the reign of Galbatorix end."
The delicate silence stayed, taut as a bowstring, as Urgals began to speak amongst themselves, the kull throwing their smaller brethren over their shoulders, or dragging unconscious kull along towards the tunnels. A few of the unconscious battalions stirred, picking themselves up while wincing from raging headaches.
Varden soldiers and dwarves held their breaths, the peace like a spun glass ball tottering on a string, balanced only by a hair.
A scream shattered the silence. Some maddened soldier sprinted forwards with his spear and stabbed it through the eye of an unconscious Urgal, dashing to the next as quick as he could and doing it again.
Nearby, a group of Urgals closed on the man with drawn weapons. And like that, the fight resumed. The exodus abruptly reversed tides and fearsome war cries echoed through the silence. People everywhere were dying, anguished screams emanating from humans, deeper bass cries of agony from the unconscious Urgals who woke with a spear in their chests, only to fall out of consciousness again, this time forever.
Harry cursed and hobbled forwards. "STOP!" But even his magnified voice shouting over the battle was not enough to halt the frenzied fighting. He spotted a group of Urgals dash forwards and close on Ajihad, fighting in a frenzied storm of weapons. Simultaneously, an armored man riding a familiar grey horse was dragged down into the tunnels. Harry could no longer see Murtagh, shrouded in the darkness of the underground network as he was.
"Letta!" Stop! Silence once again fell over the cavern as Harry's magic forced the three sides to stop in their tracks. The spell was sucking energy out of his diamond so fast he estimated he had maybe a couple of minutes before it emptied. When it did, his own reserves would last mere seconds before the spell killed him.
"Urgals, you must leave, now. The time for negotiation is over. If you wish to continue, send a representative only. You did no wrong here, and you may keep the man who started the fight to deal with as you see fit. It is my hope that we can still unite under a common goal later." Harry released the spell, but watched the line of meshed fighters like a hawk, prepared to recast it the instant some Urgal tried to murder a helpless human or dwarf.
No attack came. The Urgals recognized the urgent tension in the air, for they fled quickly, stopping only to drag or carry with them their unconscious brethren. It took two full minutes for the last of them to flee down the shadowed tunnels. Even Garzhvog had left, leaving Harry with a promise to return soon as his tribe's representative. When the last horned head disappeared, Harry dropped his magic and blacked out instantly.
"Wake up, Harry. Wake up." He forced his heavy eyelids open and saw a blurred head of curly hair.
"Hermione?"
"No, Angela." The voice sounded amused.
Harry became aware of a pounding headache that felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to his skull. He also felt a sort of stretching, burning feeling like a stitch in his chest, the familiar symptoms of magical exhaustion. Blinking furiously, Harry cleared his eyes enough to see.
Angela was hovering over him with a cheery smile. "Welcome back!"
He groaned "How long has it been?" She looked concerned.
"Almost a week. It's been chaos out there. Eragon was the only one to hear Ajihad's last words, and he refuses to tell anyone else what they were. Hrothgar's furious at you for freezing the dwarves and letting the Urgals go after the fights broke out again. Brom's dead, and the leadership of the Varden is in question. Arya has woken only recently, but you both still require constant attention. People are calling all three of you Shadeslayer, despite Arya being the one to kill Durza. Without your potions and Du Vrangr Gata's mysterious bout of competency, the death tolls from the invasion would have been dizzying. As it is, we have lost a couple thousand men."
Harry rubbed his head gingerly, starting at the smooth texture of silver fingers. He was about to get up when Arya limped in through an open doorway and beamed at him. "You're awake!"
She glanced meaningfully at Angela, who got the hint and packed her things before leaving, glancing back only briefly. Arya leaned forwards and kissed Harry full on the lips.
He was lost for words. It was even better than with Ginny. Arya's impossibly soft lips on his own pushed his every thought from his mind, and all he could think of was to kiss her back.
Arya withdrew, breathing heavily. Harry's eyes wandered unconsciously, drawn by her heaving chest. She smirked devilishly when she caught his gaze, making him blush. "Harry, if either of us were in any shape for it, I would give you a night you'd never forget," Arya promised sultrily.
"But you were the one to kill Durza," Harry gave only a token complaint. She stared at him and did not look away until he broke her gaze.
"The fox is among the hens now," Arya suddenly said, abruptly changing the subject. "The Varden must have a new leader, Du Vrangr Gata will soon be without theirs, and the elves are still refusing to supply the Varden–less of an issue now that you are supplying them. We had planned to leave within the week. Now, I am not so sure it is possible." Harry conjured himself a glass of water and drank it, sighing in relief.
"Angela said she would stay. She can probably handle most of those issues."
"She is no politician or schemer. She would neither lead the Varden or Du Vrangr Gata, nor would she get involved with whoever is chosen." Harry bobbed his head.
"But she would advise whoever succeeds Ajihad."
Arya sighed. "There are precious few good choices left."
"Who would you prefer?"
She thought for a moment, considering. "I think Nasuada is the best choice. She is a capable leader, cunning and clever, and succession is clear in this case. The Council of Elders will think her a foolish girl, a notion Nasuada will likely not disabuse them of until after she has assumed control of the Varden."
"I think I met her, actually. I saw a woman who looked an awful lot like Ajihad near me in the archers' bulwarks." Arya smiled faintly.
"She will not let the preconceptions of her sex stop her from serving the Varden as best she can."
The next day, Angela reluctantly deemed the pair of them fit enough to escape her scrutiny and move about. Both Harry and Arya experienced intermittent bouts of agony from a lingering curse in their wounds, something which concerned him. Even back home, there was no cure to the Cruciatus curse, the pain or the insanity which came from being under it too long. The attacks rarely lasted more than a second or two, but the anticipation was far worse, eating into his mind, causing him to rather hopelessly avoid stretching his back. Though Arya hid it well, she too was apprehensive, dreading the next bout of pain.
Moving down to the room with the tent was a laborious affair which triggered an attack for each of them. Orik had already come and gone, stocking the wagons for the day, so they went into the tent unchallenged.
Harry stumbled down the stairs awkwardly, unused to his prosthetic silver limbs, and limped awkwardly to the OR, struggling to yank out a sliding rack. On it were dozens of cylinders of varying sizes, each one containing a body part. A complete set of limbs for Brom, Eragon, Arya, and himself, along with assorted organs. Arya glanced uncomfortably at the rather gruesome sight. Harry pulled out four tubes and summoned a spare diamond, popping the caps on each one. After a brief tune, he went from quadruple amputee to having four brand new limbs.
Arya just shook her head in disbelief. "Are you able to do that with species other than humans?"
He frowned. "I've never tried, but theoretically it should be the same process. These organs aren't technically grown, rather transmuted from pig limbs and organs. I use a DNA sample to target whoever I want to make a limb for, but I imagine with a tissue sample I could make one for anything."
"You may find it harder to be so callous about other life once you reach Ellesmera," Arya said in slight distaste.
"Ahem, those pigs were destined to die anyway. They're hardly going to complain about missing a few limbs along with all their muscles." Arya rolled her eyes.
"Has anything you have been mentally connected with died while you were in their head?"
"No," Harry denied. "Why, is it terrible?"
"Quite."
"Hmm, remind me to avoid doing that, then." Harry felt the bite of fatigue again and heaved himself from the table with a sigh. "I'm going to bed."
"As am I," Arya promised with a glint in her eyes. She followed him closely up both levels. When he pushed open his door, she followed him in.
"Um, this is my room," Harry swallowed.
"I know," she smirked, pushing him down on the bed.
"What was that spell you cast on me?" Arya asked breathlessly. They were both lying on the bed, though the covers were not high enough to cover the rather distracting view Arya was giving him. They both had messed up hair, Harry's even more than normal. Arya looked positively glowing.
"A contraception charm," Harry admitted.
"What? Why would you do that?" She snapped, turning to look at him.
He gulped, shifting uncomfortably. "I didn't think you would want kids right now."
"I shouldn't have snapped at you," she said irritably. "It's just that children are considered the greatest gift in elven culture. Compared to humans, it is nearly impossible for us to have children. There are only six elf-children in existence right now."
Harry frowned. "And you're willing to risk getting pregnant in the middle of this war?'
"It is hardly a risk."
"You wouldn't be able to fight until you gave birth, and even after that unless you want to let someone else raise your kid. Plus, that's a huge weakness. If Galbatorix or his servants get their hands on our child, there's nothing I wouldn't do to get it back."
Arya's face contorted into a dark and inhuman expression. "Nor would I."
He shivered. "I won't do it if you don't want me to, I just want you to be aware of what could happen."
"Excellent," her eyes sparkled. "Then let us try again."
Orik tromped over to the wizard's room, intent on thanking him for the wondrous weapon Dawnbreaker, his marvelous battle axe which took the lives of many dozens of Urgals during the invasion. When he reached the door, he found a young boy tugging on the door futilely. Harry had explained that the wards would prevent any but him and his traveling companions from opening the door, so they did not see anything they were not supposed to. "Who're you?" Orik asked, though not unkindly.
"Jarsha, sir," the boy answered breathlessly. "I'm to deliver a message to the wizard."
He grumbled for a moment. "I'll fetch them for you."
Jarsha beamed and scrambled backwards, waiting impatiently for Orik to retrieve the intended recipient of his message.
Orik pulled on the door and slipped inside, marching into the tent. Harry wasn't in his lab, so he checked the man's bedroom. Strange noises came from the closed door. Familiar noises…
He banged with a fist on the door, and the noises instantly silenced. "Harry! Some kid has a message for you," he hollered. "I'd bet my axe it's the Council summoning you to endorse whoever they chose to succeed Ajihad." Urgent rustling of clothes behind the door. Yup, Orik smugly concluded he was right about the nature of the noises.
He did a double take when the door was flung open. Harry stood in the doorway with ruffled hair and rumpled clothes, glaring at him in irritation. Over his shoulder, Arya was standing behind him. He did not expect that. "Come on."
When they emerged from the room, Jarsha was very nearly hopping from one foot to the other. The second he caught sight of them, he took a deep breath. "you've-been-summoned-to-the-council-of-elders-to-decide-the-next-leader-of-the-Varden!" he rattled off. "It's a great honor!" he added brightly. Harry glanced down at Jarsha in bemusement.
"Fine. Where are they?" He shook his head.
"I'm to lead you to them," Jarsha beamed. He grumbled but followed sedately after the boy. He would dash ahead a dozen steps, glance back and notice Harry was far behind, then awkwardly wait around for him to catch up. Harry, of course, was deliberately walking slowly for the dual purpose of embarrassing Jarsha and forcing the Council to wait on him. Arya–who was following him at the same pace–had clearly put this together and grinned at him in exasperation.
Before the last hour or two, she probably would have given him a marginally disapproving look and perhaps a verbal reprimand, but she was too energized to care if Harry was being deliberately infuriating.
They came upon a convex stone door which Jarsha made to push open, but Harry beat him to it. With a glint in his eye, he slammed the door open and assumed a dramatic pose in the entryway. This time, Arya did roll her eyes at him, but did not remark. The interior roof was a sky blue dome with painted constellations, and in the middle of the room a large stone table dominated the floorspace, emblazoned with the crest of Durgrimst Ingeitum–an upright hammer surrounded by twelve stars. Surrounding the table were six people.
Eragon had clearly beat him to the table–though that was trivial considering the ridiculous pace Harry set, nearly crawling behind Jarsha–sitting in a chair close to the door, the first of two empty seats. The others were filled, though Harry only recognized one. Jormundur sat at a chair next to Eragon. Arrayed around him sat a fat woman with an enormous bosom, a dagger hilt peeking out from between it. Next to her were two other men, one tall and one broad; and a woman with pinched lips, close-set eyes, and elaborately painted cheeks.
Looming over Eragon's chair Saphira was hunched over, alternating between regally surveying the arrayed 'Elders' and glaring at them imperiously–a distinction likely lost on the skittish members in their chairs. Harry glanced at the single empty chair and Arya and himself.
"Jarsha, can you go fetch another chair?" The boy looked around helplessly, so Harry shooed him along with a push of magic. He scampered out and returned moments later with the requested furniture, hesitantly sliding it into the empty space between the open chair and the rightmost council member. Harry leveled his gaze at the so-called 'Elders.' Only the fat woman had a hope of claiming the title, with shaggy grey hair, yet she was not so wrinkled as to be properly old. "Who're you lot?"
The woman with painted cheeks looked offended, but the other woman put a hand on her leg. "We are the Council of Elders-"
"Not very old, are you?" Harry interjected obnoxiously. "I know for a fact Arya is twice as old as the lot of you." The woman gave a pained smile.
"Perhaps. I am Elessare," the broad woman gestured to herself, "Umerth," the tall one, "Falberd," the broad one, "Jormundur, and Sabrae," she indicated the other woman. We thank you for coming." Harry dropped into his chair without acknowledging them. Arya did not sit in hers.
"Excuse me, but I was under the impression you brought an additional guest, could you tell us who that is?" Sabrae asked with poisonous sweetness reminiscent of Umbridge.
Harry rolled his eyes. "It's for Arya."
The council glanced at each other nervously. Jormundur cleared his throat uncomfortably. "This meeting was intended for members of the Varden to pick their next leader. We had thought to only include humans, since that is all we hold authority over." Harry glanced back at Arya, who was frantically trying to abort his train of thought with her eyes.
"I was under the impression Arya was a member of the Varden, what with her ferrying Saphira's egg to and from here for years. Was I incorrect?" Falberd flushed.
"Um, no- that is to say-"
"She is the elven ambassador, not a true member of the Varden-" Jormundur interjected smoothly.
"Neither am I," Harry observed carelessly.
Jormundur began to cough uncomfortably. "Do you not wish to lend your advice to the council?"
Harry snickered. "I didn't say that. I'm just pointing out the hypocrisy of denying Arya a spot here, when you've got both non-members of the Varden and non-humans here already." He gestured to Saphira, who loomed over the table ominously. The council blinked like a fish out of water, flailing helplessly for an idea of what to say.
Elessare composed her thoughts. "There is hardly a ruling body of dragons for Saphira to follow the will of, nor are you Surdan or of the Empire. Arya answers to the elves, and her advice may be biased. We merely wish to decide for ourselves the future of a crucial movement like the Varden." Harry harrumphed, but was forced to concede her fairly reasonable point.
"Guess you get to wait outside," he sighed to Arya. She left without a word, though her face betrayed her relief. The stone door echoed shut behind her.
Jormundur began without preamble. "We face a crisis that must be dealt with quickly and effectively. If we don't choose Ajihad's successor, someone else will. Hrothgar has already contacted us to convey his condolences. While he was more than courteous, he is sure to be forming his own plans even as we speak. We must also consider-" he gave Harry a sidelong glance, "-Du Vrangr Gata, the magic users. Most of them are loyal to the Varden-" Harry coughed. "-All of them," he amended, "but it's difficult to predict how they will react even in the best of times. That is why we need your assistance, Eragon and Harry. To provide the legitimacy needed by whoever is to take Ajihad's place."
Eragon merely took in his words, but Harry clarified something. "Do you mean to say you would not have bothered consulting anyone if you thought you could get away with propping your own candidate up yourself?" The council flushed in anger and embarrassment.
"No," Sabrae nearly growled. "It is merely a courtesy."
Harry folded his arms and propped his feet up on the table lazily, letting the outraged glares wash over him easily. "That's not what it sounds like," he objected childishly.
Saphira made a strange throaty noise that Harry thought might have been a laugh. Eragon–who was not so experienced with schooling his expression–failed to contain a grin.
Falberd–likely recognizing the futility in arguing with Harry–chose to ignore the wizard and heaved himself up by planting his meaty hands on the table. "The five of us have already decided whom to support. There is no doubt among us that it is the right person. But," he raised a thick finger, "before we reveal who it is, you must give us your word of honor that whether you agree or disagree with us, nothing of our discussion will leave the room."
Harry stuck his tongue out at the man. "I know you're talking about Nasuada, and Arya knows it, too. Gagging myself will hardly accomplish anything, especially not in the spirit of democratic integrity."
"D-democratic?" Umerth spluttered indignantly, furious that Harry had weaseled out their intended puppet before even meeting with them.
"Democratic means chosen by the people," Harry explained patiently, as if to a slow child, (this tone was not lost on the council.) "Well, mostly," he amended. "There's a few nuances, but the gist is that the subjects chose who rule over them so the rulers are held accountable for their decisions. After all, the ruler is responsible for their citizens, and it makes sense that the citizens have the leverage to oust them if they are naughty."
Jormundur frowned. "We don't do Democracy here."
"Clearly," Harry snorted. "Now, why do you want Nasuada to be the next leader of the Varden? Why not-" his eyes flicked around the room. "-Eragon. He's the last free rider, the man you will all rally behind, elves and dwarves included, yes? Or Jormundur, Ajihad's right-hand man. Does that not mean you were his intended successor?"
A current of unease ran through the council, each of the five vipers glancing nervously at each other. Harry could practically see the schemes being hatched in their meaty little heads.
"Because," said Jormundur, selecting his words with care, "Ajihad was speaking of military matters then, nothing more. Also, I am a member of this council, which only has power because we support one another. It would be foolish and dangerous for one of us to raise himself above the rest." The council relaxed as he finished, and Elessari patted Jormundur on the forearm. Harry swallowed bile at the sight of her sweaty fat palms, petting him for not making a power play like a good dog.
Eragon cut in. "Does Nasuada have enough experience?"
Elessari pressed herself against the table's edge as she leaned forward. "I had already been here for seven years when Ajihad joined the Varden. I've watched Nasuada grow up from a darling girl to the woman she is. A trifle light-headed occasionally, but a good figure to lead the Varden. The people will love her. Now I," she patted herself affectionately on the bosom, causing the knife hilt protruding to jiggle, "and my friends will be here to guide her through these troubled times. She will never be without someone to show her the way. Inexperience should be no barrier to her taking her rightful position.
"You want a puppet?" Harry challenged. There were many sputtered denials, but it was as futile as claiming the earth was flat: only a retard would believe it.
"Ajihad's funeral will be held in two days," Umerth called over the noise. "Directly afterward, we plan to appoint Nasuada as our new leader. We have yet to ask her, but she will surely agree. We want you, Eragon, to be present at the appointing–no one, not even Hrothgar, can complain about it then–and to swear fealty to the Varden-"
Harry instantly silenced the council with a furious spell. "Idiots," he hissed. Elessari tried to say something, then reached to her neck in alarm when no sound came out. "You would demand that the sole free rider–a symbol of hope for Alagaesia–would swear himself to you alone? When the efforts of every race are needed to topple Galbatorix? Was this idea deliberately malicious or just unbelievably stupid? Did you mean to spurn the elves and dwarves?"
The council began to squirm uncomfortably. Eragon looked bewildered. "Count yourselves lucky that Arya was not in here when you suggested such a foolish idea. Were she, Eragon, Saphira, and I not headed to Ellesmera so soon, I would put forward my own name, and dissolve this stupid council for its idiocy."
"That would not be wise," Jormundur said. He was trying for a level and threatening tone, but it was ruined by the quaver in his voice. Harry mentally cursed at letting the silencing charm end, but it was likely for the rest, lest he rant at the council for another hour before anything got done.
"I shall attend Nasuada's appointment," Eragon interrupted, "But Brom and Ajihad both wished for me to stay independent of every race, both for the duration of the war and afterwards. Riders have always been above the authority of kings, acting as the watchers. To tie myself to one faction would be the height of folly."
Jormundur looked relieved. "Good. Then we have only one more matter to deal with before you go: Nasuada's acceptance. There's no reason to delay, with all of us here. I'll send for her immediately. And Arya too–we need the elves' approval before making this decision public. It shouldn't be difficult to procure; Arya cannot go against our council and you, Eragon. She will have to agree with our judgement." Harry snorted, blatantly disagreeing.
"Arya will not be cowed by five pretentious humans and a teenage rider. Especially not after the stunt you tried to pull."
"You gave your word you would not reveal what we discussed-" Elessare tried to challenge.
"I did no such thing," Harry cut off. "I complained about how stupid it was to gag myself, especially if you wanted to lend legitimacy to your decision. I certainly did not agree to stay silent."
They fell into angry silence. "-the Varden would be shamed if you did not swear fealty-" The man tried.
"Shut up, Falberd. There are easier ways to throw the war than this. How the hell did a moron like you get on such a prestigious council." Harry's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Jarsha!" he called. The door cracked open and the boy stuck his head in timidly. "The council has reached a decision. Please go and retrieve Nasuada, will you?"
Jarsha glanced uncertainly at the council members, but Harry waved them off. "Just go, Jarsha. They wanted Nasuada, anyway. I'm just pushing this along to prevent them from making an enormous mistake." With one last glance, the boy scampered off. Harry kept his arms crossed and glared around at the elders, daring them to speak. No one did.
When the door opened again, everyone turned expectantly. First came Nasuada, chin held high and eyes steady. Her embroidered gown was the deepest shade of black, deeper even than her skin, broken only by a slash of royal purple that stretched from shoulder to hip. Behind her was Arya, her stride as lithe and smooth as a cat's, and an openly awestruck Jarsha.
The boy was dismissed, then Jormundur helped Nasuada into a seat. Arya dropped into the chair next to Harry's with all the regal bearing of a queen.
"Arya," acknowledged Jormundur with a nod, then concentrated on Nasuada. "Nasuada, Daughter of Ajihad, the Council of Elders wishes to formally extend its deepest condolences for the loss you, more than anyone else, have suffered…" In a lower voice he added, "you have our personal sympathies as well. We all know what it is like to have a family member killed by the Empire."
"Thank you," murmured Nasuada, lowering her almond eyes. She sat, shy and demure, with an air of vulnerability, tragically different from that of the rebellious woman risking her life in the archer bulwarks during the battle. Her act didn't fool Harry for a second–but then, the council was filled with idiots, so she likely barely needed to bother acting.
"Although this is your time of mourning, a quandary exists that you must resolve. This council cannot lead the Varden. And someone must replace your father after the funeral. We ask that you receive the position. As his heir, it is rightfully yours–the Varden expects it of you." Harry rolled his eyes. Jormundur was laying it unbelievably thick.
Nasuada bowed her eyes with a masterful act of teary eyes and grief-stricken voice. "I never thought I would be called upon to take my father's place so young. Yet…if you insist it is my duty…I will embrace the office."
The Council of Elders beamed triumphantly. "We do insist," Umerth said smarmily. "For your own good and the good of the Varden." The rest of the elders added their expressions of support, which Nasuada feigned grieving acceptance of.
"And the elves," Jormundur suddenly said, addressing Arya. "Will they find this arrangement acceptable?"
Arya stared at him until he fidgeted. "I cannot speak for my queen, but I find nothing objectionable to it. Nasuada has my blessing." The council murmured their thanks.
"Again, thank you," Nasuada said gratefully. "Would you leave me now? I need time to consider how best to serve the Varden."
Umerth looked like he was going to protest, but Elessare stopped him with a meaty hand. "Of course. Whatever will give you peace. We'll be here to give you advice, you need only ask." They swept out the doorway.
"Eragon, Arya, Harry, would you be willing to stay a moment?"
Harry, who had been in the motion of lifting his feet off the table, slumped backwards lazily and nodded. Now that the Council realized Nasuada was dismissing them specifically, they suddenly looked a whole lot less eager to listen to her. But they were already leaving, and could hardly demand otherwise.
"We meet again, all of you," Nasuada addressed the elf, humans, and dragon in the room. Harry held a finger to his lips for a moment and withdrew the Elder wand, casting an ever growing slew of anti-eavesdropping spells. Each time he learned a unique one, he added it to the chain he cast whenever discussing sensitive information. The current list had fourteen spells on it, and took nearly thirty seconds to finish.
"Right, there's no way anyone's eavesdropping on us, now," he announced.
Nasuada's posture softened. "You don't know what a gift that is," she thanked him. The timid mask fell from her face. It was a testament to the Council's idiocy that they did not notice her act, yet none of the five of them left were remotely surprised by it.
She turned to Eragon, hands in her lap and posture impeccable. "I must thank you for eluding any verbal traps the council may have set. Just like my father, I understand the importance of maintaining your independence from any one faction in Alagaesia. Are you willing to share Ajihad's final words, or do they cover something which must remain secret?"
Eragon nodded. "The gist of it was that he charged me to stop the Varden from falling into chaos. I thought it unwise to reveal them and assume control of the Varden, especially when Arya would have opposed me. I have no interest in ruling."
Nasuada sighed in relief. "You have my thanks. I mean no offense, but the last thing we need is for another undying one to rule over the Empire or Varden. You have my condolences for your loss. Brom was a good man, and it was through his efforts that we could resist the Empire at all." Eragon's eyes were wet.
"Thank you. He was a good father and an even better teacher."
"Speaking of teachers," Harry interjected, "I know the elves have someone they want to teach you–and I have some guesses–but if we want the maximum time for you to learn, we need to leave as soon as possible." Arya inclined her head silently, eyes boring into Nasuada.
Nasuada agreed. "It is ever more important for the action I intend to take after being named head of the Varden. There will be no better time than now to leave Farthen Dur and strike back at the Empire. The Surdans will join us, and we may begin to turn the tide of this cold war. You need only stay with us past the funeral and my swearing in. Hrothgar will want to speak to you, then you can make all haste to Ellesmera."
Eragon looked stunned. An invasion.
Harry grinned. Finally, things were moving forwards. "Good luck with your coronation, Nasuada."
The funeral passed like every other funeral, that is to say, dreary and bland. Nasuada's touching and then rousing speech went over well, and soon it became time for them to depart. They had audiences with Nasuada and then Hrothgar.
Harry was busy enchanting many new silos to hold the produce farmed in the future. He intended to leave the current ones–and their enormous contents–with Nasuada and Du Vrangr Gata to handle feeding the Varden. Carrying the enormous and unwieldy containers was sure to be awkward, so he added in an embedded enchantment which would shrink each silo to the size of a charm on a bracelet at a command word. He approached the hallway where Du Vrangr Gata had resided before preparing for their move out.
The door pushed open and a dark haired woman was in the doorway. "Trianna," Harry greeted.
"Harry."
"I'm leaving for Ellesmera tomorrow."
"I know." She looked at him in irritation, retreating into the lounge room rather than the amphitheatre. "Are you here to give me back my magicians?" Harry held in an exasperated sigh.
"Yes. And to give you a few more responsibilities." He held out a necklace with dozens of tiny silver tubes hanging from it.
"A necklace?" She deadpanned.
"It's quite a bit more than that," Harry smirked mysteriously. "Pull off one of the little cylinders." She looked dubious, but did it anyway. It resisted her efforts like a magnet, snapping back to the chain easily when she let it go. Put it on the ground–actually, let's do this in the big room."
That caught her attention. Trianna brusquely strode to the amphitheatre and down the aisles, setting the tiny bauble in the middle of the great open space. Harry cleared his throat. "Harry is the best, ever." Trianna shot him a dirty look, but a begrudging look of respect crossed her visage as the tiny tube expanded into a silo, complete with a valve at the bottom and a green indicator stripe along the front. It stretched from the bottom to the top, filled about a fifth the way up. She looked at the indicator critically.
"Not very full, is it?" Harry shook his head in mock sadness.
"I'd have thought with what I did here," he gestured around at the large amphitheatre of expanded space made from a tiny little area, "that you'd be clever enough to understand the implications.
Trianna's eyes widened. "Just how much is in there?" she breathed. Carefully, the sorceress placed manicured fingers on the valve and gave it a slight twist. Grain began pouring out the bottom.
"A lot. I'm not actually sure how much, but enough that unless you deliberately pour out its contents non-stop for days and set it all on fire, you're not likely to run out." Trianna ran her fingers across the necklace in awe.
"Those aren't all grain, either. Each silo is a different thing. With the exception of meat except chicken, they have basically every crop and produce you can think of. Milk, eggs, wheat, corn, potatoes, vegetables, even fruits and berries that come from trees or bushes. They used to be with me, but since I'm leaving, you're in charge of them. Previously, Orik loaded wagons in a hidden room with the food and sent it to the kitchens every day, but you may need more help than that. If you do decide to enlist others, you must get them to swear oaths first. That food enables the Varden to ditch supply trains and simply march wherever they want. If the king gets his hands on it, not only will the Varden lose that advantage, he will gain it."
Trianna got what he meant. "I understand."
"It also means they don't have to buy food or focus on looting it from wherever they pass through. I can produce more and fill them with more food, but I won't be able to get them to you while I'm in Ellesmera. This is your responsibility." She nodded seriously. There wasn't much love lost between them, but the sorceress understood how important something like that would be.
"Also, while I'm gone, keep up the exercises I set–emptying your power reserves every night, casting as many small spells as you can during the day, and practicing mental fights amongst each other."
"Yes, I understand." Trianna shooed him out. "Go, and learn a bunch of stuff to teach us."
Harry smiled. That was the first time the sorceress actually asked to learn from him. "Goodbye, Trianna."
Harry twisted away, back to his tent. Angela was there, lugging out cauldrons and expanded crates full of ingredients. "Do you have everything you need?"
"Maybe two more trips after this," the herbalist admitted. "Most of it's going into expanded bags I can carry, but we need to cart along something or else people will get suspicious. This should cover for the food and the ingredients, both." A heavily laden wagon piled high with crates rested outside the room, two horses saddled up to it. Orik stood off to the side with a clipboard, scribbling on it with familiar glyphs, yet an unfamiliar language.
"You're missing hemlock, ashwinders, and-" he squinted at the lettering. "super dangerous stuff?"
"Basilisk venom, that mushroom Fricai Andlat–the one whose stalk is instant death and the caps a powerful restorative. A few other incredibly lethal substances and ingredients as well. None of them in such numbers to justify an entirely new crate." Angela cheerily explained the reasoning behind the name.
Harry went into the tent with Angela to help her bring the last of the stuff. "Be careful in Ellesmera," the herbalist advised him seriously. "They are capricious. Incredibly polite, yet no less dangerous for it. They have mastered the art of lying in the ancient language–whether by omission or misleading. Their entire culture is not unlike chess," she smiled wryly at him. "You're not so great at that."
"And I was so looking forward to a vacation," he groused. "I'll be fine. I appreciate your warning and I'll be sure to treat the elves with the appropriate caution. To be honest, I've already got a rather poor impression of whoever's in charge over there. This Islanzadi woman is apparently influential enough that when she thought her kid was captured, the entire race stopped aiding the Varden in overthrowing their own most hated enemy."
Angela choked out a laugh. "Islanzadi is their queen!" Harry gaped at her.
"I just realized something which was blatantly obvious in hindsight."
"Yes, me too." Angela agreed. "Arya's the elven princess." Harry laughed out loud.
"I lost my virginity to a princess!" He crowed triumphantly. "Take that, Ron." Angela glanced at him sharply. "What?" he defended. "She started it." The herbalist rolled her eyes.
They reached the potions lab. It wasn't quite stripped, but it certainly was missing quite a bit. A full set of glassware, a whole stack of cauldrons of varying sizes and materials, and a frankly ridiculous amount of ingredients. "You know," she observed, "trading you all those clippings for the best forged huthvir in Alagaesia was probably the best deal I ever made."
Harry laughed. "Yes, you get everything back a thousandfold, and you can keep the awesome weapon with massive diamonds in it, bigger and more flawless than any natural one could boast." Angela smiled wryly at him.
"What can I say? I'm an excellent businesswoman."
Orik checked the labels of each crate, then ticked them off on his board. "That's the last of them. Come on, Harry. Nasuada and Hrothgar both summoned you. We'll go to Nasuada, first."
Harry nodded and bid Angela farewell. "Safe travels," she shot back cheerfully. "Don't let the vorpal bunnies devour you!"
He looped his arm around the dwarves–stooping uncomfortably to do so–and twisted. When Harry landed in Nasuada's office, the twisting motion set off his back injury. Collapsing on the ground, Harry clenched his teeth to avoid screaming. The fit passed as quickly as it came, and he staggered to his feet. Nasuada looked over her desk in concern, but said nothing. The office was the same as when it was Ajihad's, only with a single violet flower in a narrow vase on his desk.
"Nice interior decorating skills," Harry complimented breathlessly. "If you get tired of this empire-overthrowing business, it's certainly a career you could pursue." Nasuada pursed her lips in disapproval. "You know, Ajihad could take a joke way better," he observed idly. That earned a heated glare.
"Before you meet with Hrothgar and go traipsing across Alagaesia, we must discuss what aid you have already rendered. You provide-" Nasuada leafed through a report. "-seventy percent of our food, and a quarter of our weapons. Do you have plans for continuing this during your stay in Ellesmera, or will I be forced to find alternative arrangements for these?"
Harry licked blood from his bitten lips and cleared his throat. "The steel, yes. No offense, but you'll never be able to make weapons as good as mine, I use a lot of magic in their creation. I made a few sets of armor, actually, I'll grab Arya's and give it to you, then I can just make another one. I digress. What weapons you have are what you get, at least until I return. During my free time there, I'll be sure to make more, but you won't get that until I get back. I suggest you give the weapons to the most skilled and strongest of your fighters. They should be able to cut right through most Empire steel if there's enough force behind the stroke. Including swords. Do you have a preference for weapons?"
"I do. Swords and spears are the most useful. If you could make one set of plate per one hundred spears and one hundred swords, I would be grateful. They would go to the captains and commanders and such." Harry nodded sharply.
"Then I'll do that."
"And the food?"
"I've been growing it many times faster than the Varden can consume it. The stockpile is enormous, and I left it with Trianna. She is the one to talk to."
"When will we run out?"
Harry laughed. "Never. Years, maybe decades. But I doubt we'll be gone that long. You don't have to worry about it spoiling, either. Magic takes care of that." Nasuada smiled at him gratefully.
"You have my gratitude. That is a great boon."
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Plus, it means you don't need supply trains. One of them has milk and another, water. You're free to march as fast as your feet can carry you. I'll leave all my steel with Du Vrangr Gata as well, and they can deal with keeping your smiths supplied. That way they can at least make some inferior weapons with it." She inclined her head.
"Very well. Know that I have seen Eragon already, and sent with him a missive to Islanzadi. It contains a plea for aid. As a rider, him bearing the missive lends it more legitimacy. If it comes down to it, please ensure that scroll reaches Ellesmera intact. Through your efforts you have put the Varden in the best position it has been in since its founding, the elves will be needed in our campaign to overthrown Galbatorix, and to lose the missive is to risk losing their support. I have nothing more for you, except words of encouragement. Fair winds, Harry Potter."
"Um, bye." Nasuada regarded him with a look which reminded him of Professor McGonagall when he had voiced his complaints against learning dancing for the Yule Ball. Perhaps this etiquette thing was worth learning.
Harry grasped Orik again and carefully shuffled in an awkward circle, hoping the rotation would be enough to trigger the magic of apparition.
They emerged back in the room. Orik patted himself down, tugging at his beard. "Aye, but that's uncomfortable," he grumbled. "If it weren't so fast." Harry laughed.
"I nearly threw up the first time I did it. And the guy who took me was considered the greatest wizard in the world."
"Oei, poor you," Orik said snidely. "Come along. Hrothgar wants to see you." Harry crossed his arms.
"Well I don't want to see him," he said stubbornly. Orik tugged his beard and grinned.
"Don't worry, he doesn't like you either." The dwarf tugged Harry along with surprising force for a person of his stature, and pretty soon they were turning down tunnels unfamiliar to Harry. Strangely enough, Eragon fell into step with them, Saphira clacking along the tunnels behind him like an enormous, blue, savage shadow. "Shadeslayer, Brightscales," Orik nodded to them.
They came to the biggest set of doors Harry had yet seen, bigger than the entrance to the mountain range, even. If Tronjheim had actual doors, they might have been bigger, but they were just open archways. The stone behemoths stretched so high Harry had to crane his head to see the top. They were much narrower than they were tall, but the stone panels were so big they were hardly narrow at all. Detailwork surrounded a colossal hammer, surrounded by twelve stars. Squads of dwarves surrounded the portal, and they banged their weapons upon the quarried floor when the group approached, creating a deafening synchronous boom.
The enormous doors swung open silently, revealing a long hallway flanked with great statues of the old dwarf kings, many times larger than life. The hall was even taller than the doors, lit by flameless lanterns.
Harry walked forwards, tromping forwards irreverently like he owned the place. The trick to ducking other people's authority was being completely indifferent. Rather than gape at all the cool statues, he strode confidently onward.
The throne ahead was quarried directly from the stone of the wall behind, an angular stark piece of furniture whose back stretched all the way to the lofty roof. Compared to the frankly ridiculous scale of the hall, Hrothgar looked rather insignificant, sitting on his throne with Volund in his gnarled hands.
When they approached, both parties stood around awkwardly. Harry discretely petrified Eragon so he couldn't bow or kneel, and Saphira would hardly lower herself to show deference to a puny midget-human. Orik bowed–Harry was willing to let that much happen–but Hrothgar's eyes bore into Eragon and Harry, daring them to bow.
"Well," he said finally, "you stick to your decisions. I can respect that, if nothing else." Harry nearly cackled as he released Eragon, who immediately shot him a glare. Hrothgar lifted an eyebrow but said nothing.
"You sent for us, king Hrothgar?" Eragon asked respectfully.
"Aye, I did." He ran a hand along the uncomfortable throne. "Do you know why this throne was quarried in such a way? It was made deliberately uncomfortable by the first dwarven king, Korgan. He did not want any king to sit easily on the throne. It is a reminder that I am a servant of the people, first and foremost." He rose from the chair, walking towards them.
"I am ashamed to admit I forgot that during the invasion. It benefits all of Alagaesia to topple Galbatorix, and I let my personal prejudices alienate a powerful and needed ally. It is true that the dwarves and Urgals have never gotten along, but it is no excuse for my behavior. And as such, should any of their chieftains return for negotiations, they will find the dwarves very accommodating."
Eragon breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, King Hrothgar." The old dwarf inclined his head.
"You have made many enemies among the dwarves, Eragon Shadeslayer. Isidar Mithrim, the star rose, was our nation's heart and soul, something our entire race could take pride in. What you did was necessary, but no less terrible for it. Perhaps it would have been for the best to be overrun by Urgals, rather than see Durok's life's work turned to ash and dust." Hrothgar looked genuinely mournful, and as Harry studied his gnarled face, a tear fell from his eye.
"One moment." Hrothgar looked up surprised. Harry conjured a crystal goblet and showed it to the king. "Would you inspect this and tell me what you think?"
The ancient dwarf ran a finger along the goblet, tapping it with a nail, listening to the sound it made. He brought it to his eye and turned it slowly, examining the item from every angle. "It is a finely made goblet, though it is…an illusion? A mirage? I confess I do not know how to quite describe it. Even with our dwarven affinity for stone and earth, only the most skilled priests or particularly observant dwarves would be able to tell anything was amiss." Harry waved it off. He grabbed the goblet and dashed it on the stone floor, shattering the thing into a thousand pieces. Hrothgar leaned back from the violence of the action.
"Reparo." The crystal shards rose from the ground and floated together, forming a seamless whole. He offered the goblet back to Hrothgar. "And now?"
"By Helzvog," he breathed in awe. "And you can do this for anything?" Harry frowned.
"I've never tried it with stuff missing, but all the parts tend to float together from wherever they are, so it's probably going to work."
"This, I must see," Hrothgar announced. He leapt down from his throne eagerly. "Come."
It was as if new life had been breathed into the man. He led them briskly down tunnels and hallways, often taking small side routes or hidden passages. The king displayed intimate knowledge of Farthen Dur's tunnels which neither Harry nor Orik had seen anyone else show. The guards at the door had tried to follow, but Hrothgar waved them off.
They raced down a silent and uninhabited hall with a roof fifteen feet above them, and Harry nearly ran into Hrothgar when he stopped abruptly at a blank section of wall. Running a gnarled finger down an invisible fissure, a panel receded several inches and slid aside to reveal a large hallway. Saphira could just barely squeeze within the passageway. The roof steepled upwards at a height of eight feet and at regular intervals flameless lanterns were mounted in the grey roof.
Twelve more turns led them to Tronjheim. Saphira was getting visibly annoyed at the contortions she was forced to go through to fit her body into the dwindling size of the dwarven secret passages. Hrothgar moved with nearly childish eagerness through unfamiliar halls. The party tromped over glossy mosaics, secret gilded rooms, and roughly cut unfinished tunnels to reach a familiar grand corridor.
In minutes, they beheld Tronjheim's great hall. Above, the jagged hole where Isidar Mithrim used to be gaped black and foreboding. Every step they took crunched underfoot, treading on shards as they were. Some enormous crystals were intact, yet in some places the ground was covered in red sand. "If you manage this, Harry Potter, there is nothing the dwarves will not do for you." Hrothgar looked like an excited child, trying to maintain his royal composure.
Harry pulled out a diamond, his last store of stockpiled energy after reattaching four limbs and the entire battle which cost him them. It was about half full, but that amount was still a ludicrous amount of power, nearly audibly thrumming with constrained energy. He swept his wand around. "Reparo."
Nothing happened at first, but he felt the spell take. No obvious threads connected any of the dusky sapphire, at least none that he could see. Evidently this was not the case for the dwarves. Hrothgar gasped.
All around the room, dwarves began filtering in, careful to avoid stepping on the shards. Eragon spotted Arya among them. Above, dwarf women and children peeked over the balustrades to watch.
Slowly, the red sand rose from the ground, drifting in a circle an inch from the ground. In the silence, the only thing that could be heard was the tinkling of crystal.
Like a vortex, the particles swirled faster and faster, merging, shifting, spinning. The granules grew larger and larger. Harry could feel the threads of the spell now, uncounted thousands linking him to every single broken piece. The toll of the spell started to become tangible, a tiny trickle which slipped from his holly wand.
Laboriously, the enormous shards struggled against gravity, drifting like a leaden balloon. They slowed down and gently collided. Like wet ink being wiped away, the cracks disappeared. A jigsaw of tiny pieces began slotting themselves between crevices and missing chunks, and gradually, the rose began to form. The swirling disc of sand had become an asteroid belt, which in turn became orbiting moons. They spun in tightening circles, moving closer.
The cost of the magic began to visibly draw from the diamond, sucking power greedily to finish assembling the masterwork.
Still scarred and pockmarked with holes, the enormous gem drifted up to the jagged edges of the collar set in the roof. All around them, dwarves who had collected a piece of their race's heart withdrew the red gems they kept with them. Gnarled dwarven hands held out tiny bundles of cloth reverently, like a mother holding her baby up for some benediction. The final pieces gently rose from their bearers.
Harry was sweating now, the toll of the spell racing through his veins like fire. When the last piece slotted into place, the cracks and lines shone with brilliant golden fire. When they faded, Isidar Mithrim was whole again.
The awed silence was violently shattered by a tidal wave of adulation. Wolf whistles, stomping feet, banging metal, and overwhelming applause blasted the air, a roiling tide of excitement and gratitude which reverberated throughout Tronjheim, bouncing off the walls and the noise being generated, forcing the noise ever higher. Harry staggered back and conjured a glass of water, gulping it down eagerly.
Hrothgar was on his knees, looking up at the star rose with glistening eyes. "By Guntera, you've done it," he murmured in awe.
The sculpture was different. Instead of the pale rose red color, the sapphire was colored a deeper hue of red, shot through with gold fire. Harry was struck with inspiration suddenly, and smiled impishly. "One moment, Hrothgar."
He rummaged through his bag and withdrew an expanded canister filled with alchemic nutrient dust. "Arya, get over here," he called. The elf gave him an annoyed look but strode over. He whispered in her ear. "Eat this, then dump your power into Isidar Mithrim. We'll keep doing that until it hurts. Trust me." She looked dubious, but accepted another canister. Throwing back her head, she swallowed a mouthful of the powder, immediately chasing it with a glass of water. The dust leeched all the water out of her mouth.
They began repeating the process over and over, a mouthful of dust, a mouthful of water, then pouring the energy into Isidar Mithrim. It was not immediately apparent what was happening, but some sharp eyed dwarf in the crowd pointed up and gasped. In the very center of the enormous flower, white fire began to grow.
The visual indicator of an energized gem grew more intense with each round of powder Harry and Arya knocked back. By the time Harry's chest started to burn, the churning power at the core of the flower had spread out to cover the central rosebud. Arya was struggling next to her, so he cut her off. "Enough," he gasped. "I have no idea what happens if you do this too much, and I'd rather not find out." Arya glanced at him in concern, but abated the tide of energy.
Harry knew there was no point in trying to fill the star rose; they could be there for a year straight just pouring strength into it, and they'd not even come close to filling it.
Arya rubbed at her chest in mild pain. "Was that all you needed, king Hrothgar?" she inquired politely. Hrothgar glanced back at her, tearing his eyes away from Isidar Mithrim with great difficulty.
"Nay. There was more to discuss. Very well. Isidar Mithrim is not going anywhere. Let us return to the throne room."
On the way back, Hrothgar broached the subject he had summoned them for. "I have heard that you are to leave for Ellesmera early tomorrow. I can offer our hospitality as far as Tarnag, at which point a dwarven escort will see you to Du Weldenvarden." Harry nodded. "And I must ask you to take Orik with you. We have a vested interest in Eragon's success, and so I must send a representative along to the dwarves, to attest to your training," he addressed Eragon.
"We would be happy to bring Orik, and to stay at Tarnag, but I fear an escort would only slow us. My methods of travel are secret, but they are also fast. Faster even than dragonback." Hrothgar looked politely incredulous, but did not challenge him.
"Very well. Until Tarnag, then." The king strode into his throne room, retrieving a bundle the size of a head. "This, I had planned to gift to you, Eragon. I have an inkling what your decision will be, as well as the advice your friends will give you, but I shall offer it anyways." He pulled off the cloth and presented the item to Eragon.
It was a gleaming helmet with the symbol of Durgrimst Ingeitum emblazoned on its brow. "Do not just put it on. This represents more than a helmet. This comes with a genuine offer of adoption to Durgrimst Ingeitum. I argued with the clan leaders for a day and a night to bring you this offer. In all things, all knurla will treat you as a dwarf. You will have the right to sit on our councils, give advice, learn our secret rites and rituals, and even–should you wish it–to be buried with our dead." Hrothgar was grave.
Orik nudged Eragon. "This has never been done before, Eragon. Hrothgar honors you with the mere offer. Though I am biased, I would love to have you as my brother."
Eragon looked lost, so Harry took mercy on him. "This offer, will it make him beholden to you?"
"No more than any other dwarf, no."
"Then you may as well say yes, Eragon. Something this big, you can't just spurn. In fact, it rather makes sense, really. The rider pact gradually transforms you into an elf, anyways. Hrothgar is offering to tie you tighter to the dwarves, in such a way that you are not directly beholden to him. I would advise you to accept."
The rider conferred with his dragon silently. Hrothgar stood with his hands folded over the butt of his hammer, as patient as the stone he stood on.
"I accept." Eragon smiled.
"Very well. Then, by the power vested in me by Guntera, king of the gods, I Hrothgar, forty-second king of the dwarves, do name you a knurlan, in name, privileges, and rights." Orik beamed as his uncle withdrew a stone and held it out. "Prick your finger, just a few drops will do," Eragon smeared a bit of his blood on the rock. "Repeat after me-" Hrothgar led Eragon through a lengthy dwarvish chant, stopping to translate every few lines.
"Congratulations, you are now a dwarf in every way that matters."
Orik beamed and clapped Eragon on the shoulder. "We're brothers, now."
Hrothgar spoke. "On the way to Tarnag, you will pass through Celbediel. It is the religious capital of the dwarves, and the home to Durgrimst Quan. You must stay there for a day to learn the customs expected of you. Normally, an event like this would be followed by a week of feasting and revelry, but time marches on, regardless of our desires. When you return, there will be a great revelry, this I promise. Now go, and know that the strength of the dwarves goes with you. May the stone beneath your feet be steady."
"Fair winds, your majesty." Eragon beamed.
AN: Some of you were unhappy with how I made Hrothgar out to be racist against Urgals. Though it was never stated directly in canon, it was alluded to that dwarves hated Urgals above all other races. They made their bows out of urgal horns as a symbol of conquest, and the reason something like this didn't come up in canon was that no one wasn't racist against Urgals during the Varden invasion. We didn't learn about Durza's mind controlling them until pretty far into the series when Garzhvog joins up with them. Another reason I had Hrothgar rather irrationally hate Urgals is because we know they killed his sister. Orik is Hrothgar's nephew and he says that his mother- Hrothgar's sister was killed by Urgals, which is a pretty good reason to hate an entire race, as far as reasons go.
I'm not super happy with this chapter, especially because in canon so much goes on in this section of the book. I'm still not sure I've covered everything that needs to be said here, and I don't want to spring some new story element on you all later because I forgot to mention it earlier. I have a similar problem with teaching Eragon and Harry in Ellesmera. The entire time he's there training is like the perfect vehicle for exposition, and so I want to introduce every mechanic and bit of exposition possible there while it's natural to do so, while keeping it interesting. But I digress.
Someone said it was stupid for Harry to have a CNC mill and I totally agree, but I forgot which chapter I mentioned it in. It stuck in my mind that it was a rather modern way to precisely shape metal, and it slipped my mind completely that the C stood for Computer, which even the most modern wizards didn't have. As far as it being unrealistic for Harry to learn all these new crafts like glassblowing so quickly, you definitely missed something. Harry comes from a long wizarding family of great craftsmen, and all their tools are left to him to learn from. Hephaestus Peverell showed Harry how to bring memories to the surface of the tools and use them like their previous owners did. So while it might take him much longer to develop his own personal style divorced from his ancestors, actually learning the trade for the first time will be incredibly quick. I distinctly remember writing about how Harry would comemorate his mastery of a craft by making his own tools for himself, symbolizing how he no longer needed to use the crutch of his ancestors' experience to do it properly.
Someone said that non human-driven evils make what God said waay back in chapter one untrue, and while religions today can believe that, God isn't the only deity around in my stories...
Please do leave reviews, I read them all and not only does it make me happy, I take what people say to heart when writing.