Darkness pressed on Arya from all angles, squeezing her like she had dove deep in a lake of ink, pushing her lungs and eyeballs in. The only thing she could feel was Harry's unyielding grip, dragging her onward through the void. She held her breath for what felt like an interminable amount of time.
When her lungs were burning and Arya was desperate for a breath, they emerged. Arya heard the echo of a whipcrack rebounding off stone. She gulped greedy breaths of cool, fresh mountain air and looked around. They were in the mountains, too small to be the Beors. The Spine, then.
"What was that?" Arya demanded.
Harry's eyes were wild. He was also panting. He looked horrified, and held his wand loosely, like he wanted nothing to do with it. The bow in his other hand trembled.
He swallowed thickly. "Blasting curse," he forced out, then bent over and threw up.
What little Durza had allowed him to be fed in captivity fell on the grass, then Harry was dry heaving.
"I meant how did we get here?" Arya knew firsthand how much it took to move a vaguely spherical object less than the size of her head through space; the effort had nearly killed her. Two humanoids in no particularly dense configuration, the toll should have been monstrous. Out of reach to anyone but Galbatorix.
"Apparition," Harry forced out. "Supposed to be my secret move." He managed to squeeze between heaves.
"Then why here?" Arya glanced around. They were in the Spine, standing on an unremarkable patch of clearing amidst hectares of wild forest. Mountains rose and fell around them. It was a transcendent view, but no obvious place to rest and recuperate. Perhaps Harry had an outpost here, hidden like the dugout had been by magic?
Harry took a few steps forward. He turned back. "I need to get someone to welcome you inside. I'll be right back."
Arya nodded.
He took another step forward and vanished. As perfectly as if he was wearing the Cloak. Except Arya knew that he wasn't; she still had it draped over her shoulders. His mental presence was gone, and none of her senses suggested he had done anything more than take a step forward, and there was nothing remarkable about the patch of wilderness he had stepped into. Arya felt confident he had not 'apparated' again; there had been no bang of air refilling the void left behind by his body.
For five minutes, Arya stood in place waiting.
Harry reappeared as abruptly as he'd vanished, blinking into existence without the whipcrack echo from when they'd left Gil'ead. Accompanying him was a human man on the cusp of showing his age. Harry waved his wand, muttering under his breath. Arya caught a series of words that sounded nothing like the Ancient Language.
"I'll be," the man murmured, his eyes drawn to Arya's pointed ears. "A real elf. The castle is in the Spine," he told her. Arya was caught flat footed by the unexpected sentence, busy preparing herself for humans' response to a woman doing something besides getting bred and pumping out babies for their whole life, and the poor restraint human men had around beautiful women.
The moment the puzzling meaning of the sentence registered in her cognizance, her senses stopped lying to her. Just as Harry had vanished without effect, just as he and the older human had reappeared, a massive stone wall appeared in her view, stretching beyond her field of view in either direction. The fitted stone bricks were put together with the precision of dwarvish work. Just behind Harry and the other man, a great gate with a raised portcullis stood over top of the paved path which started at the threshold.
On either side of the gate, empty suits of armor gave her salutes with their gauntleted hands. It was a bit unsettling to be hailed by something that played at being intelligent, yet had no discernable mind.
Beyond, an enormous castle stood at the top of immaculately groomed lawns, gardens, and footpaths. Grassy hillocks and fields of flowers surrounded gazebos, pavilions, and terraced gardens where creeks and sculpted waterfalls wound lazily through the gardens and formed little ponds wherein ducks swam.
A river flowed from a lake beneath the cliff the castle was perched atop, modulated at the throat of the river by a dam with a footbridge on top. Harry led Arya and the man down the path towards the grand castle.
"You've been busy, Garrow," Harry said. "It looks brilliant." Surreptitiously, Harry flicked his wand at the bit of sick on the grass behind them. His demeanor seemed a bit forced.
Garrow grunted. "Don't have to farm, do I? Gardening is the rich man's farming."
"More than gardening," Harry said. "This is landscaping. That creek is new, the ponds are new, and that footbridge–"
Garrow shrugged, ducking his head. "There's so much lumber in the cellar, and the tools were already there in the workshop–"
"It's brilliant," Harry grinned. The smile felt a bit more genuine. But his good cheer faded fast.
They crossed over the dam and began mounting the wide stone steps up to the castle. Carvings of strange beasts perched on the railings and over empty braziers. Arya gazed up at the soaring towers, turrets, skyways, and halls. To her eyes, it was grand in scale, but something about the way it was all put together felt…inexperienced.
"Was this all your magic?" Arya asked.
Harry perked up out of his fugue for a moment. "Er, yeah. This was about a year's work."
Arya nodded and went silent. Harry was one magician. Her people could certainly manage a similar feat – if scores of them put their efforts together.
"Is this your…first…castle?" she ventured.
Harry nodded.
The architecture was very interesting, and also not obviously inspired by anything in Alagaesia. Dark bricks, wrought iron, strange statuary, it had a certain theme to it, a theme Arya did not think Harry had the expertise to invent by himself, not with the aesthetic knowledge the layout of the castle displayed. "Is it inspired?"
"By Hogwarts, a school for magic," Harry agreed.
"And it was all you."
"Hogwarts was just four founders," he defended. "It's not as great as Hogwarts, either. I dunno, I guess my imagination didn't translate as well into real life as I hoped. There's stuff about Hogwarts that you just can't replicate with building alone. It's magical."
They crossed the paved square to the main doors. A fountain gushed in the center of the square, surrounded by stone benches. The doors were guarded by more suits of armor. At their approach, the great doors opened by themselves.
"This place feels magical," Arya observed.
Harry sighed wistfully. "Not like Hogwarts."
She gazed up at the ceiling of the Great Hall in rapture. The roof reflected the sky above, as if the wooden gables were made from glass. She had seen the enchantment briefly in the dugout, but it did not do justice to the effect when cast upon such a vast roof. Floating candles illuminated the room with rainbow-white flames that danced upon their wicks without consuming.
Harry collapsed into the nearest table. Arya followed suit, sitting opposite him. The Skilna Bragh's progress had been viciously accelerated by her exertions helping Harry escape. If effort always accelerated the poison's course, there was a balance to be struck between rushing towards the cure and avoiding exertion. Garrow was the last to sit. Either Harry knew no manners, or Garrow was not the master of the castle.
"I know it's not your job but I'm desperate for food," Harry told Garrow. "We both just managed to escape captivity."
Alarmed, Garrow nodded. "Of course." he headed to the back of the hall.
"Did he poison you?" Arya asked Harry once Garrow was out of earshot. Harry shook his head.
"Not that I know of. I think they were giving me drugs to make it so using magic was harder, but I don't feel sick or anything."
Arya raised an eyebrow.
"Sick from poison," Harry amended. His mood fell even lower.
"Was that your first time?" Arya realized gently.
Harry seemed confused. "What? He didn't try that."
His response confused her. "I don't understand."
"My first time," Harry repeated dully. "Durza did not try to have me raped."
Arya was even more confused. "I meant your first time killing."
Harry blinked. He dropped his forehead onto the table. "No," he said muffled into his lap. "Yes. I don't know what counts. I killed someone when I was eleven, but I didn't really understand what I was doing then, and he was trying to kill me. There was another time that doesn't really count. Other than that, no. Never deliberately." He raised his head. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his cheeks were traced with wetness.
"Everyone feels like that after their first," Arya said.
Harry huffed out a laugh. "It's hard to take you seriously when you keep phrasing it like that."
Arya surmised what Harry was suggesting. The corner of her lip twitched. "I do not understand why you connect that phrase with sex."
"Your first time having sex," Harry prompted. "Bit of a rite of passage, y'know? Losing your virginity?" He'd begun to blush.
It made her a bit sad to realize that if war and killing were not so common in her lifetime, she might have grasped Harry's insinuation immediately. That made her sad, that her mind first leapt to war before love.
Garrow returned then and the chance to try and give counsel passed. He brought a tray of food. "Thanks," Harry said. He ate like he was a starving animal. Arya was only mildly surprised to find there was no meat in the food. It wasn't just Harry. Garrow also had not served meat. If Harry wasn't opposed to it morally, evidently the practical concerns of farming meat applied even at his home. There was still cheese, so clearly they had livestock. Arya ate silently.
Garrow broached the silence. "Eragon is not with you."
Harry nodded. "He's fine. At least, last we saw each other in Teirm."
"Good. How was he?"
Harry bobbed his head. "Eragon had a bit of a falling out with Brom. We found out in Teirm that Brom knew his mother before we even left, so both of us were suspicious that the whole thing was a pretext to see his friend Jeod who lives there. Eragon felt more betrayed than I did, but Brom promised to tell him more if he came with him to his next stop. The three of us were all going to hitch a ride on one of Jeod's ships, and get off at Kausta, then walk to Morzan's old castle."
Arya nearly lost her composure. Brom. They knew and had just seen Brom. Brom, who should have the dragon egg she sent him. Maybe he did have it, and he was passing it off to a courier to get it back to the Varden.
"Does she have to do with why you left?" Garrow indicated Arya.
Harry nodded. He looked to her as if for permission. Arya bowed her head. Her mind was too full of whirling thoughts and implications. "She was captured by a Shade. I kept having dreams about her, and they suggested she was about to be taken to Uru'baen, where rescuing her would have been impossible. I thought I had a better chance of doing it alone, especially since there's some stuff I've kept secret even from them. Eragon agreed."
"And you said you had been captured?" Garrow led. Harry shrugged.
"It was a bit messy. We both got away. We can't stay long, though. Arya's been poisoned and we have to go after the cure."
The man nodded. "Are you going to stay the night?"
Harry looked to Arya again. "Are you good to keep going?"
Arya nodded. "I will only get worse if we wait." The Skilna Bragh was unstoppable without the cure, and Harry's supply of Wiggenweld was all too finite.
"Then we'll just restock and head out," Harry told Garrow.
"You'll rest easier in a real bed," Garrow offered. "You'll have to sleep at some point, I imagine you can easily regain lost distance on a full night's rest."
Harry shook his head. "We have to cross the bay. I'd rather get underway before sleeping tonight. I'll magic our craft to sail itself while we sleep."
Garrow hummed. He made to clear away the plates, but Harry beat him to it with a flick of his wand, scouring the plates sparkling clean.
"Have you sent the bird with a letter yet?" Harry wondered.
Garrow shook his head. "I understood it was for emergencies."
Harry shrugged. "I guess it was. I had a proper owl, a live one. Hedwig." he sounded sad again. "She carried letters for me loads of times, let me talk with my friends over the summers. Just thought you might do the same."
Garrow sighed. "Eragon doesn't need his peasant farmer uncle to pester him on his grand adventure. He sounds like he's safe," Harry gave a little wince, "-enough," Garrow amended. "And if not happy, at least content. Aye?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "Well maybe you'll get lonely. You can send letters to me if you like."
Arya glanced at him and shook her head. The wards around Ellesmera would stop it.
"Or not," Harry said, a bit confused. "Whatever. Just, don't be lonely, right?"
Garrow huffed. "Your castle keeps me company. The gardens, your bees, the workshop, there's plenty to do around here. It would have happened one way or another. Roran and Eragon were about to leave the nest regardless. Thus is the way of the world."
"Molly Weasley would have strong words for you," Harry smiled. "Family was very important to her, and she found ways to keep in touch even when her sons worked in several different countries. It was good to see you."
"Aye. I appreciated the news," Garrow said. "Should I expect to see you any time soon?"
Harry considered. "The circumstances that brought me back here are hopefully not going to be too common. And in the future, I bet I'll have different places to run to. I suppose it depends on how busy I am."
"Then in case it isn't for a while," Garrow extended his hand. "Good to see you."
The next fifteen minutes were marked by frenzy. Harry trotted down tunnels and hallways, past endless works of art on his way to a grand glass-roofed hall full of planter beds of every size. Some were small and grew spice plants, herbs, some were wide and deep enough for trees. Many wildly different species grew beneath the malachite glass, cacao trees and mango trees next to apple and orange trees.
Harry followed a floating hopper down to a series of impossibly large cellars. The walls, arches, everywhere, artwork adorned the halls. It had to be done by magic – there simply wasn't enough time for it to be done by hand – yet Arya respected the growth they showed. The further from the Great Hall they ventured, the better it got. There were fantastical creatures and intriguing patterns, but there were also normal-looking people there, smiling or laughing or scowling, not striking heroic poses. They looked like friends.
He filled up a box with an impossible amount of produce. The amount of food she saw float inside would have filled the whole cellar twice over. It got her thinking about a different sort of impact Harry could have in the fight against Galbatorix.
They were only at the castle for a half an hour before they were trekking back down the trail to the gate. Harry stopped at a boathouse on the outflowing river. It was an odd spot to put a boathouse; the river flowed out from the lake. Anyone who wanted to sail on the lake would have to paddle upstream, and even then the dam barred the way. Downstream, there was another, smaller gate set in the wall. It was deep enough to let the river through and out to the Spine. But Harry had said (and Arya had heard the thundering water to confirm) that the river led eminently to a great waterfall.
"Why put a boathouse here?" Arya asked Harry, following him inside. There were two boats inside, neither any larger than a modest riverboat. One had a mast for a sail, the other did not. Harry pointed at the mastless one with his wand. It shrank to the size of a toy. "The waterfall is not far downstream."
"The boats were supposed to fly," Harry admitted. "I'll figure it out eventually."
Of course.
They headed back out and over the footbridge spanning the river, then out to the main gate. The suits of armor hailed them again as they passed beyond. Arya looked back over her shoulder at the walls and the castle. "Magic hides this place?"
Harry nodded. "The most powerful hiding spell there is. If Garrow does not tell somebody of its existence, it is impossible to find. I cast the spell, and even I could not have given you the secret."
"And if he dies?" Arya wondered. Would the castle become lost? There was something romantic to the idea, hundreds of lost bastions or wonders dotted throughout the land, hidden perfectly by magic that served a long dead master.
"Everybody who he gave the secret to, we all become keepers." Harry gestured at the gate. The portcullis began to descend. He offered her his hand.
She regarded it warily. "Are you going to 'apparate' again?"
"I've heard the second time hurts less," he grinned.
She took a deep breath and grasped his offered hand. They twisted into nothingness again.
The second time was far less violent. The squeezing seemed gentler, and the pressing blackness did not last half as long as before. They emerged on a bare finger of rock overlooking the Bay of Fundor. At the far edge was a stack of large stones, and a tiny little campfire that flickered with the same rainbow flames as the candles in the Great Hall.
Arya was immediately on alert for who had set the fire. She extended her mind to search when Harry cleared his throat. "It's fine. I put that fire there."
She relaxed a bit. How long had the fire been there for? Surely at least a week, yet it had not so much as blackened the little branches it danced upon.
"Very well," she allowed.
Harry descended to the rocky shore. He waded out on the rocks until he was ankle-deep in the frigid water. He bent down and placed the toy boat in the water before retreating a few steps. With a flick of his wand, it grew back to full size.
Arya gauged Harry. He didn't seem overly fatigued, like he'd just cast a monstrous feat of magic. It looked to him like business as usual. He'd been trying it in Gil'ead, Arya was certain. In the guardhouse when he'd seemed to lose a step and bounce off some invisible barrier. And he'd successfully managed it not thirty minutes before doing it again. From Gil'ead to the Spine was at least a hundred miles. And then to the west shore of the Bay of Fundor, those were some vast distances to cross with magic.
Muttering strange words under his breath, Harry painted in the air around the boat with his wand. The vessel tightened up into ship shape, boards filling in and mortar sealing the cracks. Harry clambered in over the side and offered a hand to help Arya up. She heaved herself over the rail.
"No sail?" Arya asked.
Harry grinned and rapped the side of the hull twice. The vessel leapt away from the shore, waves breaking over the prow as the shoreline receded.
They settled into the boat. There was an enclosed cabin in the middle, and a tiny lower deck. Harry clambered below and Arya got to witness him extend the space inside significantly. Enough to pitch the tent inside with some room left over besides.
"We'll probably be here a few days," Harry mused. "Make yourself comfortable. I can make furniture if you want, or whatever. Just ask."
Arya nodded. Harry went back up to the deck. She headed into the tent and unfolded the medkit.
The Skilna Bragh was starting to get bad again. She was starting to bruise all over, and her breaths seemed to fill her lungs less and less. All that exertion had gotten her blood pumping and drastically accelerated the poison's progress.
Three vials left. As long as neither of them suffered any more injuries, Arya suspected they'd make it. Certainly to Osilon. She resolved to put the next dose off as long as she could.
Arya headed back out to the lower deck. It smelled like fresh timber and sawdust. Elvish carpentry, as a rule, did not smell like sawdust. It smelled more earthy; the elves never actually cut through the wood. But human woodworking did smell like sawdust, and Arya had come to appreciate the scent. Even if it wasn't very similar to any of the smells in Ellesmera, it reminded her of home.
The boat rocked gently on the waves over the bay. That too reminded her of better times. Riding on canoes on the rivers in Du Weldenvarden with Faolin and Glenwing, the part of their journey carrying the egg where they could afford to relax and enjoy themselves. Faolin told more jokes, Glenwing sang to the wildlife, deep in the forest; they did not have to worry so much about Galbatorix's agents.
Gazing at the swaying lantern hanging from the ceiling, Arya leaned against the inside of the hull and caught her breath. She could feel the rush of water flowing against the wood outside. The day moved so fast. Years of carrying the dragon egg, eternal months of torture, then a day of explosive action wherein more happened than all that came before.
She slid down to sit on the floor and rubbed her bruising arms. She felt…fragile. The poison made every muscle, skin, and nerve feel raw. She took a few minutes to herself, then climbed back up to the deck.
Harry sat at the prow in a chair made from metal frames and cloth belts. It squeaked as he turned to glance at her. At his feet was a little blue campfire that somehow did not scorch the wood deck beneath. A translucent shield held the spray of the prow cruising into the chilly waves at bay. Like woven glass, tendrils linked the wedge shape to the tip of Harry's wand. Staring into the flames, the flickering, unnatural blue light cast a haunted shadow over his face. Arya sat at the fire with him.
"First time?" Arya joked. The ghost of a smile touched his lips.
"I remember my first time," she said.
"They always say it's a bit shit," Harry said a bit mischievously. "Awkward, fumbling–"
Arya laughed There was an undercurrent of rawness beneath the humor. Laugh or cry, she supposed. "My first was an Urgal."
Harry made a show of gawking comically.
"I was doing the thing Durza was after me for," she continued. "A group of them attacked us unprovoked. I had two companions before Durza killed them, Faolin and Glenwing. We defended ourselves. I killed one of them. No matter how I rationalized it, I could not help but feel guilt. His face haunted my dreams and waking moments."
"Well there's not a whole lot to rationalize about it," Harry said scornfully. "I killed them."
There was silence save for the waves against the prow. Arya let Harry gather his thoughts.
"I can't even pretend I was forced into doing it," Harry said, his breath shaky. His eyes were lost in the recent past. "We could have just tried to run through an alley. The blasting curse would have worked just as well on the city wall. Then nobody would have died."
Arya cleared her throat.
"I wouldn't have killed anybody," Harry amended, glancing up with a distant look at her. It didn't feel judgemental, it felt like Harry had already made up his mind about her, decided she was a killer, and simply acknowledged the label she'd earned. Arya was somewhat uncomfortable. He was right. Even if she had made peace with what her role in the world demanded of her, something about that glance, about Harry's opinion of her, it mattered more than it should have.
His strange chair creaked as the rocking boat shifted his weight upon the flimsy frame.
"I killed them because it was convenient," Harry said derisively. "They were in the way."
"Did you not aim at the gate instead of the guards?" Arya asked.
"I knew that was going to kill them," Harry decided. He gave a haunted bark of laughter. "Ha! Did you know that the guy responsible for my parents' deaths, he did the exact same thing? Killed thirteen people, with that very same curse I bet. Peter Pettigrew. He pinned it on somebody else, and that guy was arrested and chucked in prison for life."
Arya grasped for the right words. In any other case, killing thirteen people, killing one person was grounds for execution in the Empire. And while she did not necessarily agree with execution as a punishment, she could not deny it was 'fair.' Arya had killed more than thirteen people in her time as a courier. But there was a certain kind of different morality one had to adopt in service of something greater than themselves.
"I suppose you need to think of it from a different angle," she said. "You were within your rights to use lethal force to escape that situation. I know little about your motivations and goals, but you rescued me without a pragmatic reason. If you must, view those you killed as 'involuntary sacrifices' made to buy your freedom. Use your second chance to do good, and eventually their sacrifice will be repaid. I only wish to understand; you were striking down men left and right with magic. Why were the gatekeepers your concern?"
Harry shook his head. "The red bolts were stunners. They'll wake up in a half an hour or so. I guess I'm thinking; what gives me the right to take their 'sacrifice?'" he said it with a faintly mocking tone.
Arya shrugged, letting the barb roll over her. "You were stronger. The humans have a disdainful saying: 'Might Makes Right.' I think it applies here."
"What kind of morality is that?" Harry demanded. "The bad guys in my world said just about the exact same thing. Magic is Might. You think the world should be ruled by the strongest? That's what put Galbatorix where he is!"
Arya scoffed. She filed away the mention of morality. Harry was a curious specimen. Educated, powerful, yet living rough and wild – insofar as his magic allowed. "Yes. His existence proves my point."
"And you think he's right to do whatever he's done?" Harry pressed.
Arya felt a flash of rage at the implication. She reminded herself that Harry almost certainly did not know the greatest of the King's crimes. "No," she ground out. "Wrong 'right.' Right not in the sense of correctness, but inherent privilege. You got to choose what to do with their lives because you were strong enough to ignore their wishes."
Harry did not seem comforted by the direction of her counseling. Unfortunately, the nature of the world would not change because he disliked hearing its truth. He stared into the heart of the ensorcelled flames, deep in thought.
The waves calmed and the little boat glided easy on the tranquil surface. With no breeze and already far from shore, the only sound was that of the prow of the boat being pushed on by his magic. That, and their breathing.
"Then what makes us different from them?" he said finally.
Arya shrugged. "Nothing but what we believe is right. So it is with all conflict; lines are drawn, sides picked, and battle done over whatever thing people could not resolve any other way."
Harry mulled that over. "That seems pretty stupid for something loads of people will die for."
Arya tilted her head. "I know why I fight, and it is a reason good enough to kill for. What is yours?"
Harry said nothing.
"Or perhaps you still need one." Arya rose. "Find a reason to fight, and remind yourself of it when guilt weighs you down. Goodnight, Harry Evans."
"Goodnight," Harry murmured.
When Arya woke from her sleep, Harry was dozing in his chair, wand held limply between his fingers. For an hour, she just sat there by the blue fire and watched as they sailed on across the Bay of Fundor, bound for Ceunon.
Later in her vigil, Harry's fingers tightened on his wand. He began shifting restlessly in his seat, muttering unintelligible. For several minutes, he dreamed.
Harry's eyes flew open. He immediately locked onto her sitting against the prow, gazing at him from across the blue flames. Arya watched him struggle to command his limbs. After a minute, he overcame his sleep paralysis and sat upright. Stretching up his arms, Harry yawned.
"What?" He demanded thickly.
"Nothing," Arya said. "You should get some rest. In your bed."
Harry looked like he would like to protest, but swallowed his objections and padded below deck. The ship continued on unimpeded by the absence of its enchanter. Arya leaned over the rail and gazed into the black, fathomless water.
Arya got bored. She went back below deck and snuck into the kitchen to grab a dish. She headed back upstairs and took Harry's chair.
"Adurna, risa."
The dish filled with seawater.
"Letta."
The rippling surface stilled.
"Draumr kopa."
Inky blackness spread over the water. Nothing was revealed. Brom must have wards against scrying. Arya tried a few other focuses. Her friends in Du Weldenvarden, Farthen Dur, Surda, but her scrying revealed nothing of note. Arya lingered on the vision of a friend deep in sleep in her home. She wanted to contact her, connect with her mirror and speak, but they were not safe yet.
She refocused and cast again. "Draumr kopa."
The spell failed entirely. It did not even produce blackness, it was as if the object of her search no longer existed.
What in the blazes had happened to the egg?
Alone on black waters out to the horizon all around, no answers were forthcoming.
"They won't. They'll think you are a failure, and consider her death just rewards for your ill-advised adventure."
Galbatorix shut out Durza's poisoned words. He'd hitched a ride to Vroengard in the saddle of an old human rider with a massive, moss green dragon.
The man offered him sympathy. Galbatorix wanted to burn the sympathy in spite and make him understand what his pitiful emotions were next to reality.
He turned back to him in his saddle, the wind ruffling his hair as his dragon coasted lower towards Doru Araeba to land.
Galbatorix decided that he despised the place. Now and forevermore, he would be known as a failure, the ultimate kind. One who had lost his dragon, and was now no more than another human.
He rejected that fate. He would never go back. To abandon all that he knew, all that he had mastered, all that he was good at, and return to the life of an unremarkable farmer, that was a fate worse than death.
"Where do you want to be put down?" the Rider asked. Galbatorix had not paid attention to his name. Rather than suffer the indignity of being 'put down' like a stagecoach, Galbatorix leapt from the saddle.
Even the plunge through thin air did not shake him from his foul mood. "Letta," he barked half a second before death on the unyielding ground. The spell took more out of him than it would have a month ago, with Jarnunvosk offering her unhesitating aid.
Doru Araeba was so very much larger on foot. Hours later and he had hardly reached the center of the city. The citadel was on the far side. The hybrid dragon/humanoid buildings that had seemed so clever on dragonback looked foolish from on foot. Sizing them for such massive creatures made the city sprawl for miles, stretching everything apart so that dragonback was the only reasonable way to get from place to place.
It was a city for Riders.
It was unapologetically hostile to those on foot. Every step he took was a reminder to Galbatorix. He no longer belonged here.
He looked up at the citadel. Nothing had been able to kill him on his way to the western point. Robbed of all his privileges and advantages as a Rider, Galbatorix had proven himself a worthy member as an individual. The Council had to see that.
Harry woke up. He sat in bed for a while in reflection. Galbatorix had lived a lonely life. He had been gifted since the first day he arrived on Vroengard. Harry knew that sort of thing tended to isolate a person. After all, Hermione had been in the same position until he and Ron and her had been bound together by the near-death experience with the troll.
He knew first hand how much it sucked to be a loner. Until he got his Hogwarts letter, Harry was an outcast on Privet Drive, both by Dudley's and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's efforts.
If he had been given a glimpse of the Wizarding World, then had it ripped from him–
Harry swallowed. Just entertaining the idea made him uncomfortable. It wouldn't come to that. He wouldn't give up his wand. He'd buy another one, or steal one or get somebody else to get him one. Dumbledore would have protected him, the Weasleys would have taken him, Sirius, Remus, somebody would have helped him. He would not have left the wizarding world without a wand.
Except Galbatorix had no one.
Harry stretched and rolled out of bed. The door to Arya's room was open and her bunk was empty. The rest of the tent was likewise unoccupied. Harry put together breakfast and headed out and up to the deck.
"I made breakfast," he announced as he pushed through the door to the helm. "Vegetarian, like you–"
Harry dropped the food and rushed over. Arya was slumped against the rail, her skin ashen white shot through with blackened veins.
He knelt and checked; she was breathing. Barely.
"Accio medkit," he yelled. The little thing came flying out of Arya's pocket. He rushed to unfold it and find the bezoars and Wiggenweld. Clumsily, he scrambled through the little vials for the rich green liquid and the little pebbles. His fingers closed around a bezoar. Harry stuffed it down Arya's throat. He fumbled with the cork of a vial of Wiggenweld and poured that too into her mouth.
Harry waited with bated breath for Arya to swallow. It took a few seconds before he saw her throat move. A minute after that, the darkness in her veins faded and her skin returned to a healthy shade. Her breathing leveled off.
He slumped next to her and caught his breath.
"Arya?"
The elf stirred.
"Arya!" Harry insisted.
Her eyes cracked open. "What happened?"
"I was poisoned," she muttered, giving him a strange look.
Harry pointed to the unfolded medkit. "I thought you were keeping track of it. You had the medkit."
Arya pushed herself to her feet. "How many vials are left?"
Harry glanced down. "Two."
The elf nodded to herself. "Then I was right to wait."
"You almost died," insisted Harry. "Bit obvious that you waited too long, isn't it?"
"We have a long way to go," was all Arya said. "Two vials left."
Despite the speed of the enchanted boat, there was still nothing to do but stare out at an endless expanse of blue all day. Harry got bored some time during breakfast.
"What do elves do all day when they're bored?" Harry asked. He had conjured a table and another chair at the open area by the stern to sit at. The helm guarded them from the breeze and the spray, and they could see the wake the boat dragged along, falling out behind it like a really long wedding dress. Arya lounged in her seat, reclined nearly backwards and with her limbs spread over the armrests like a dropped banana peel.
It was the height of summer and even though the water below was too cold to swim in, the blazing sun glared down on them unimpeded by any clouds in the flawless, azure sky.
"We pursue our passions." Arya rocked the sunglasses Harry had given her. She sipped her lemonade. "We do what fulfills us. Much like yours seems to, our magic eliminates the toil of living. And we are fortunate to enjoy unlimited lifespans and good health."
He cleared his throat. "More specifically, like in this situation right here."
Arya paused. "Oh. We play games."
Harry hummed. "Fair enough. I hadn't thought of that." It wasn't as if not having a wizard chess set laying around was a great obstacle. He flicked his wand and produced a deck of playing cards. Something about teaching Arya the whole game of chess did not appeal to him on a lazy day.
The Elder Wand did not respond as snappily as Harry was used to. As if it had to check with someone else before it obeyed. Nevertheless, 58 wizardly playing cards materialized before them.
Arya picked up the rules to solitaire, garbage, blackjack, contract rummy, whatever he gave her quickly. She won a lot more often than she lost, and her poker face was flawless. Still, it was a lot less boring than sitting around and waiting.
Arya stacked her last hand and penned the round's score.
"What games do elves play?" Harry asked.
Arya thought about it. "We might make one up when we wish to play. Games of skill appeal more than games of chance; we do not play dice." She tapped a finger on the deck of cards. "Even this would be considered too random. Blackjack is just a game of chance. It would be the work of a few hours to solve the game for the statistically best moves. The game is nothing but hoping for a good deal."
Harry summoned his bow from below deck. Holding it reminded him that he had its maker as a transfigured toy. "Archery competitions?"
"Between roughly equals," Arya said. She didn't say it harshly or sympathetically, she merely stated it as fact. "There is one game," she said slowly. "Runes. I shall tell you what the game requires."
Runes, as it turned out, was a bit like chess with tiles instead of pieces. It was a hexagonal board with hexagonal cells and tiles. Unlike chess, there was no predestined way to set up the board. They each were allowed to create their terrain as they pleased. The tiles had runes carved into them instead of pictures, several different types which had different capabilities.
Among the runes was the monarch, the only tile that began the game facing upwards. All others remained face down until an enemy piece drew close enough to reveal it.
Compared to runes, chess was a laughably simple game. While the rules to the pieces were relatively simple, they had much more complicated interactions with each other than merely capturing or checking.
Arya, naturally, utterly demolished Harry. She announced self-imposed restrictions and told Harry how she intended to pursue victory, each round a different avenue which taught Harry some new mechanic of the game.
But towards the tenth game or so, Harry understood enough different mechanics that he could devise a way to actually challenge the elf by attacking around her handicaps. It was very different. It stretched his brain in a way that chess did not. Priorities shifted quickly in runes, and there were several victory conditions to win the game. It demanded much, much more adaptability in each game.
While they did not have unlimited food, Harry still had plenty more exotic ingredients left. The lemonade flowed. He made smoothies and crepes for lunch (the crepes ended up a bit more like pancakes) and napped in the warm sun for an hour in the afternoon.
Were it not for everything that surrounded that moment in time, Harry might've considered it a vacation.
They cruised on through the afternoon. Harry spared a thought to the dark waters beneath the prow, wondering if perhaps the monstrous thing that had gotten those Riders was still lurking in the fathomless depth.
"You seem to marvel at the idea of a life without toil," Arya remarked. Harry squirmed into a more comfortable position.
"What do you mean?"
Arya cleared her throat. "You told me your muggles managed to walk on the Moon. And that they were merely 'muggles.' Do your magic users not live as easily as elves?"
Harry blew his bangs from his forehead. His hair was getting long. "I don't know if wizards have to work. I obviously have not needed the rest of society to survive. But I do know that even wizards and witches have jobs as the norm. We have our own currency, jobs, all that rubbish."
He rubbed his forehead. His fingers fell into the grooves of his scar. "I've only ever seen a few wizarding places that actually sold food for money. One, if you don't count candy or alcohol. Restaurants. It's mostly magic, I reckon. You need galleons for wands, magic books, broomsticks, enchanted candy and stationery, potion ingredients." He sighed. "Dragon's blood."
Arya immediately perked up. "Dragon's blood."
"Dragon's blood." Harry fished out one of the last two vials of Wiggenweld. "Did you think I made these with bits and bobs I scraped off the ground?"
"Where did you get it?" Arya demanded. "Which dragon gave its blood?"
Harry cursed himself for the slip. "Dunno," he lied. "They don't put names on the labels in the apothecaries."
"So one can just buy…dragon parts in jars and bottles at any old shop?" Arya was disgusted. "Like a slaughterhouse?"
Harry picked out his words carefully. "I have known dragon keepers who seem to treat their dragons with dignity and care, and I have also seen dragons chained and brought before crowds for sport, but I've never seen them treated with anything but respect. Even as ingredients." (because they were bloody expensive.)
Arya worked her jaw. "Is it not disrespect to slay a majestic creature, and cram it into ten thousand tiny bottles for mere gold?"
He sighed. "What else should they do? Unleash hundreds– thousands of giant fire-breathing, flying lizards to rampage wherever they please? I doubt they are raised and slaughtered like cattle. But they are invaluable to wizards and when they get old and die, their bodies probably pay for the upkeep and feeding of the next generation. Isn't that acceptable?"
She was silent for a long while. So many dragons. All out of reach. The sun had begun to sink towards the horizon behind them. There was still no sign of shore to the east.
"Alagaesia's dragons do not get old. They live and grow endlessly. The ancient ones slumber indefinitely, pondering the mysteries of the universe. Or at least they did." Arya wiped her cheek. "Alagaesia's dragons are as much a person as you or I. Are yours not?"
Harry thought back. The dragons he had met came to mind. Norberta had been a baby, and all babies, even human ones, were pretty indistinguishable from animals. The Horntail certainly had intelligence behind its eyes, but he had been able to bait her from her eggs. The dragon in Gringotts had behaved like a beaten dog. None had shown any spark of higher thought, any reasoning or deliberate planning.
"I don't think so," he said finally. "All the ones I've encountered acted like giant animals." They were not like Saphira. Saphira was curious, sometimes playful, proud, deliberate. She was willing to act against her instincts when presented with reason, and she was rather wise for a not-yet-one-year-old. And of course she could speak English.
Arya did not speak for a while either. "Ours weren't always like this. Before the Fall, before even the Riders, dragons did not learn languages and speak. They were always intelligent, but reason came to them later."
"What happened?" Harry sat up.
"The Riders," she said. "There was a war between the dragons and the elves and to end it, both sides agreed they needed lasting peace. We bound our races together. The Riders weren't peacekeepers in the beginning. They were the embodiment of the elves' and dragons' suit for peace."
The orange disc in the sky cast reflections on the darkening evening water. The shape of its mirror image warped and danced on the movements of the calm surface.
Harry let his eyes unfocus, staring somewhere between the two overlapping reflections in his limp gaze. "Maybe we shouldn't do that. I don't think I know enough to condemn it. I suppose living in any society means putting up with some things you don't agree with."
"Do you disagree?"
"I don't know. I don't know if dragons have hope for a better life outside of preserves. Tearing down the system because it has problems seems a bit short sighted without knowing what the alternative is going to be."
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Arya turned away. "What is your chief problem with Galbatorix, then?"
"I've never met him–"
Arya snorted.
"-so it's hard for me to say I really understand why he's so evil, but people tell me he committed genocide against the dragons, who were just as smart as people. They weren't dumb herd animals. And some people think he's a shitty King. And I suppose they also say he aggressively hunts and presses magic users into service for him." Harry frowned. "Did you really think I'd be some kind of apathetic monster for being born into a society that has a use for dragon corpses?"
"Very well," Arya said without looking at him.
Even when the sun had set and dusk had passed, the moon was nearly full and Harry was able to watch the ominous cloudfront approach. The wind died and a calm fell over the water.
Arya looked to the sky as well, watching the moonlit clouds roll over them. She was wary, too.
Nervously, Harry watched to the east, hoping to catch a glimpse of land. Neither of them said anything. Magic drove the boat onwards at the same steady speed.
Arya brought the furniture on the deck down below. The sky flickered. A moment later, the soft roll of thunder. As the first drops of rain fell, they took shelter in the helm. Harry muttered under his breath, casting charms of unbreakability, stability, waterproofing. He impervioused the glass windows and rubbed the fog from his glasses. The drizzle became a deluge, thousands of raindrops falling on the wooden roof amidst the aggressive rumbling thunder. The flickers of lightning were intermittent now, and every so often a brilliant flash and a piercing thunderclap rolled over the water.
"Point me, north," Harry cast. Arya watched the wand point perpendicular to their direction of sail. At least they were still on course. "Point me, Ceunon."
Straight ahead.
"Head more to the north," Arya said. The waves had grown choppy and the wind was not done yet. Raindrops smashed into the windows and flattened themselves like a car windshield on the highway.
With a thought, Harry altered the course of the spell driving the boat. The waves tossed the small vessel like some kind of carnival ride, lurching unnaturally up waves under the power of the spell, teetering on the crest, then plunging into the trough of the next wave.
Harry and Arya were thrown into each other in the little helm of the boat. Water gushed over the rails and onto the deck, pooling on the watertight boards and changing the balance of the craft. Then they mounted the next crest and it all slid off the open stern. Harry stopped bothering to keep apologizing for falling into Arya when a violent wave threw the elf into him and pinned the both of them against the wall to the side. He rubbed his head where it struck the glass window.
It was too dark for Harry to make out each oncoming wave in greater detail than its vague presence and shape. Even in nighttime, the swelling walls of water cast a shadow he could sort of make out against the flashes of lightning.
A forked bolt struck the waves less than a hundred yards away, the thunderblast merging with the blinding flash. Harry blinked spots from his eyes.
"If we get in trouble we can apparate out," Harry reminded Arya.
"And lose not just our distance, but the boat as well," she said over the thunder and pouring rain. "Two vials remain."
Harry gripped the wheel as the boat tipped an alarming forty-five degrees backwards. Arya slipped down the floor and fell against the inside of the door to the outside. Harry's weight wrenched the wheel to the side and turned the rudder perpendicular. The boat lurched to the side.
For a moment, all was chaos as the boat capsized, throwing Arya and Harry around like clothes in a laundry machine. The sailing charm didn't know what to do with an upside down craft and fizzled out.
A moment later, the crest of the following wave folded over and smashed them down into the depths.
"Harry. Harry. Harry!"
The voice came as if from far away. His head pounded. Someone was shaking him. Hadn't they sank? Why was he still being bothered?
Harry groaned. "Five more minutes."
"Wake up." The shaking continued.
Harry dragged his eyelids open.
They were underwater. The helm of the ship was watertight and unbreakable. They were upside down. The water was too dark to see more than a few feet in any direction. If not for gravity pulling them towards the ceiling, Harry would have had no idea which way was up. Arya was crouching next to him. She pressed his wand into his hand. Her face was pale.
"We need to resurface. Now."
The air in the little cabin was growing stale. Harry cast a freshening charm, then bubbled his and Arya's heads. The headache cleared up a bit.
"Better?"
"No," Arya said shortly. She pointed to the window. Harry squinted. He searched for his glasses and mushed them onto his face. He still couldn't see anything in the blackness.
"What?" he pressed his eyes to the glass. "Oh."
A visceral sort of fear gripped him. In the darkness, a dark shape loomed. It seemed to have no end. Its borders extended beyond his field of view on all sides. "Shit," he whispered. He had seen one of those just once before. It had killed five dragons with impunity.
The size of the creature played tricks on his eyes. He had no idea how close or how large it was. Either prospect was terrifying.
"Hominem revelio," Harry murmured. The charm raced out like a sonar wave, pinging the colossal creature. A faint purple glow passed over its abyssal skin. Two bright shapes stood out inside the creature, its brain far beyond the field of view of the window, and a strange ball in its chest.
The creature seemed to take notice. It moved.
The mere motion created violent currents in the water as it pushed and pulled unimaginably powerful tail muscles to swim around.
"Apparate us," Arya said with low urgency. "Now."
Harry ignored her. He gripped the Elder Wand and swept it around them, forcing every bit of will he could muster through the twig. It suddenly became very uncooperative. He bent it to his will and growled. "ASCENDIO!"
They were pinned to the ceiling by acceleration. The boat shuddered as it blasted up through the depths, rocketing higher and higher. Harry's ears popped. The breath in his lungs was forced out as the pressure plunged.
Like a cork, they shot up and out of the depths, still accelerating. Harry held onto the spell and forced power into it, urged it to be stronger, go faster, accelerate harder.
They breached the surface like a naval mine, blasting through the water. The sound of the storm hit their ears all at once, breaking through the serenity of underwater silence. All of their momentum carried them hundreds of feet into the air. Harry prayed it would be enough.
He couldn't see through the ceiling, but he and Arya both heard something breach the water below.
The boat reached the apex of its arc. Weightlessness settled over them, Harry's stomach in his throat. He cast a formless spell to right the boat midair. As it was turning, he got a glimpse out the window pointed back to the sea.
A flash of lightning reflected off a million droplets of water hurled from the sea, haloing an unbelievably gargantuan beast. A spike protruded from its forehead like a narwhal, a hundred foot long pylon anchored on a mass of wet grey flesh the size of a small island. The massive creature was sailing towards them, lunging out of the water and into the air, up, up, up. The spindly horn stabbed with unerring precision towards their tiny little speck of wood and magic.
But their momentum was spent. The boat began to fall towards the creature. As if sensing this, it tipped its head back and seemed to split in half, a gaping mouth large enough to swallow dragons opened up, its teeth stuck with bits of rotted wood and sails and bones, a deathly stench emanating from within. The smell of rot and death.
Harry clenched the Elder Wand with sweaty palms. "Arresto momentum," he began to chant. The fall halted for an instant before gravity began to drag them down like an anchor. "Arresto momentum," he cast again.
Again, they halted for a moment.
The thing could have gotten them. If it had kept at them with its horn, it would have skewered them, shredding the ship into matchsticks and casting them defenseless into the violently roiling waves. But its mouth drew up short, snapping shut on air.
Harry kept freezing the boat's fall until long after the creature fell back into the water. He waited for the plunge of its reentry to fill and eject a plume of water that managed to strike their boat with a deluge of salt water, even as they were hundreds of feet up. He let it down in jerky increments. The moment they touched the water, Harry recast the sailing charm and cruised away.
Opening the door to the cabin, Harry clenched the doorframe with a white knuckle grip and peered around the side, blasting the oncoming waves out of his way with jets of light that flashed like lightning strikes. Through sheer brute force, they made their way through the storm, bullishly forcing safe paths through the bucking, fathomless aquatic terrain.
Every time the ship bucked violently, Harry thought it would be the last. This time, his grip would break and he'd be hurled into the unforgiving sea. But somehow he managed to hold on until light glimmered on the horizon.
A particularly massive wave did break his grip, but in a flash, Arya grabbed his arm and hauled him back to his post. "North!" she shouted. "We cannot make land at Ceunon!" She took over the helm and steered them to the left of the faint beacon of Ceunon's lighthouse.
For another exhausting half an hour, they fought the elements to make headway to the north side of the city. Harry stopped blasting away the waves when they got too close to risk the flashes being seen. The waves became less relentless as they neared shore.
Harry looked back towards the Bay of Fundor behind them. "I fucking hope that thing's not following us!"
"Too shallow," Arya shouted back. "Nidwhals prefer deep, cold water."
The name seemed very appropriate for the creature. Despite her assurances, Harry's nerves did not settle until dark trees came into view over the shore, silhouettes bending back under the relentless stormy gales. The rain had long since drenched Harry's clothes. He imperviused his glasses and wiped his bangs from clinging to his forehead. A spray of sweaty water came away.
They made landfall at the base of a cliff. Arya went below to grab the tent while Harry fired cables from his wand to the top of the cliff, tying them to the helm and prow. As soon as Arya came back up from belowdeck, he began climbing up the rope to the top. Once he was up, she followed after him.
Harry shot a featherlight charm at the ship and dragged it up the cliff. Arya helped him push it back from the ledge. He shrank it back down and hosed off the mud on the keel, pocketing the wooden toy. He brought out the horses and untransfigured them.
"We need to hurry," Arya said as quietly as she could over the rain, thunder, and crashing waves. "We are not safe here. We need to get to the forest."
They mounted their horses and began galloping east. Through the sheets of rain, Harry could barely see anything. All that stood out was light in the night, lanterns or candles or hearths spilling through the cracks in shuttered windows. They gave any sign of other people wide berth on their way.
Rainwater dripped down his clothes and squelched between his rear and the saddle. His horse's hooves kicked up mud that splashed his legs and chucked clods of grass and sopping dirt behind. Harry didn't bother with the annihilation charm to cover their tracks. He doubted the spell could level off the little holes in the ground and replant and repair the grass all at once.
Their speed made the rain hit Harry's face like a million little flicks on his skin. Through the night they pushed on, racing through fields and pastures headed east. Harry was exhausted from sailing, his muscles burned with fatigue and he struggled to think straight. The rain and mud made him cold, dirty, and miserable, but still they pressed on.
It was an hour later that they came across forest that looked more substantial than the patches of trees and modest woods they had seen.
"Where do we set up camp?"
Arya shook her head. "Further. The humans have settlements some ways into the fringes."
"I'm running out of steam," Harry told her, slouching in the saddle. "We've got to be done soon."
"The forest is watched," Arya insisted. "The Empire has scouts and rangers watching the borders. Especially here, so close to Ceunon. We must ride deeper into the forest. Into elves' territory."
Harry groaned and followed her between the trees.
She was right. Settlements continued for at least a couple miles into the trees. The forest was different. The shape of the silhouette of the trees, the way humans had to grow around it instead of bending it to their will, simply because the forest was too thick to cut through.
Again, they steered around human presence and kept to rough paths only Arya seemed able to see through the stormy night. The trees overhead provided some shelter for the rain and wind, and Harry was not quite as deathly cold as he had been.
The night seemed to drag on endlessly. The horses were exhausted from galloping for several miles, and now trudged tiredly through muck and undergrowth. Even after they were well beyond the last little villages and hamlets settled among the trees, Arya kept on. It was so dark beneath the stormy night and the trees overhead, it was nearly pitch black. Harry managed to follow her only by catching glimpses of lightning flashing off the buckles of her horse's saddle.
Then she stopped. Arya dismounted, her boots going splat as she landed on the wet dirt. "We need to go on foot," she whispered harshly over the rain.
Harry clambered off his horse. Mud splashed up from his boots. It sucked at his feet and yielded with a squelching noise. "Can you shrink the horses?" Arya led hers towards him. He nodded and transfigured them back into toys.
"Put on the cloak," she told him.
"What about you?"
Arya sprinted and leapt up at the nearest tree, soaring a dozen feet into the air and catching a branch, clambering up into the canopy. "I will not be seen."
The Cloak insulated him against some of the elements. Harry silenced his boots and moved along. He could not hardly see his own feet, let alone Arya running along the branches overhead. Instead, he cast hominem revelio over and over like sonar, limiting the range of the spell just far enough to keep an eye on Arya, and to avoid stumbling over someone hidden in the bushes.
Exhaustion eroded his focus, and the spell was not enough to tell him where was safe to place his feet. The walk was even more tiring than riding. There at least, he could let the horse do the work and just hold on for the ride.
Hominem revelio, Harry thought dully for the umpteenth time. The spell pinged twice.
Harry shook off his stupor. The second presence was huddled on the ground to his left about a dozen feet away. Harry tried to peer through the darkness. Tentatively, he extended his mind towards the ping.
Cold, wet, miserable. That was about all he got from the presence. The human man shivered when the spell passed through him. He cursed the walls of the listening post for letting the wind ghost right through him.
Harry turned back and blindly cast the obliteration charm to clear his footsteps. The faintest sound of slick mud and grass moving to fill in the depression of his feet reached him, nearly lost in the sound of the rain. The man perked up for half a moment before dismissing the sound.
He walked on, following Arya's position overhead.
If possible, the forest got even darker, and no more could he see anything at all. He groped blindly in the wet and dark, following directly below Arya with every tentative, questing step, bone-deep exhaustion in every limb.
Arya's mind touched him then. You must mask your scent, or else fly over this stretch on your broom.
Why?
The elvish scouts are not so easily fooled. Nor will they miss your casting that spell.
Harry bubbled his entire body and contemplated flying over. It would take only a few minutes at most to get through.
A particularly vicious lightning strike flashed through the trees, the thunderclap following less than a second on its heels. Harry decided against it. Flying in the wind and rain and thunder when he was nearly too tired to walk seemed pretty stupid.
He heeded Arya's warning and stopped casting the human revealing charm, instead following Arya with his mind alone, silencing his entire body so that his fumbling and stumbling remained inaudible. He cast the obliteration charm behind him every minute or so, hoping it had the range to clear all of his tracks.
The next stretch seemed to go on even longer. Harry was wet and cold and miserable when Arya jumped down from the trees next to him. Cast the wards, she sent.
Obligingly, Harry threw up Hermione's warding spells and chucked out the tent. Arya followed him inside.
Harry tossed off the cloak, scourgified himself, and laid down by the fire in the living room. He fell asleep immediately.
AN: I have heard the people's desire to see more Brom and Eragon POV. Next chapter is still going to be Harry+Arya POV, but the chapter after that will return to Eragon+Brom.
This one took a while for a few reasons. I'm currently working on not just the direct sequel to this fic, but also a rework of my HP/MCU/ASOIAF fic set in Planetos. Also my summer job just ended and I'll have loads of time to write again, so hopefully you won't have to wait as long between chapters.
I also wanted to add, because a commenter asked, about the anti apparition ward in Gil'ead. All I can tell you is to read those chapters more closely, and remember Durza's history with Arya and now also Harry.