"How does she do that?" Arya thought to him.
"I still have no idea," Eragon thought back. "It used to baffle me, but now there's a sense of relief when she does. It's as if all is right with the world as long as Angela knows before everyone else."
Eragon and Arya found Haroldun and Dorzada on the sparring fields, preparing for training. Sensing the significance of the feast and the intensity of recent lessons, Eragon decided to give them a reprieve.
"You've earned the day off," he said with a smile. "Rest up, and we'll resume lessons tomorrow."
They nodded in thanks, clearly relieved, and set off to enjoy the festivities. The crowining ceremony was almost upon them.
As Arya and Eragon made their way to Tialdari Hall, Saphira's thoughts stirred in his mind.
Angela may know more about the magic binding Oromis to the Crags, Saphira commented.
Eragon nodded mentally. "I think she knows something, as always, but she'll never say it outright. That would ruin the game."
"Hmm," Saphira mused, her mental growl deep and contemplative. "She always has a reason for being somewhere, even when she pretends not to."
The day passed quickly, and by the time the crowning ceremony was finished, Arya and Eragon knew they needed to act. They quietly slipped away from the crowd, heading to a room they had arranged for a private audience with Dathedr. The room was secured with layers of magical wards, ensuring that no one could overhear what was about to be discussed.
Dathedr stood waiting, his gaze steady as they entered. "What is this about, Riders?"
Arya stepped forward, her expression serious. "King Dathedr, something has occurred within your kingdom—magic unlike any we've seen in millenia. You need to be aware of it."
Eragon added, "But we can't speak openly here, even with wards in place. You must join us after the feast, at the Crags of Tel'naeír. Alone."
Dathedr's eyes sharpened, clearly assessing their words. "You're being cryptic. What am I to expect?"
"We will explain everything when you come," Arya replied. "But what you see will be... beyond belief. It also complicates the delicate balance we've achieved thus far."
Dathedr's expression remained unreadable as he nodded. "Very well. I will come alone, but it may be some time before I can extricate myself."
With that, the meeting concluded, and Dathedr was left with the knowledge that something beyond his control had transpired. The pair excused themselves and joined the crowd as they moved towards the feasting grounds.
The elves had outdone themselves with the preparations, singing long tables made of roots and adorned with leaves. The tables themselves offered an array of fresh fruits, vegetables, and delicacies that Eragon had not seen in years. Vibrant greens, reds, and purples shimmered in the soft glow of magical lights that floated above the gathering.
Large bowls of golden apples, ripe pears, and berries sat alongside platters of roasted vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and sweet squash seasoned with herbs that filled the air with a fragrant aroma. Elven breads, light and airy, were served alongside creamy spreads and rich, spiced sauces. Dishes made from mushrooms and root vegetables were presented with elegance, while exotic fruits from distant lands added splashes of bright color.
The feast wasn't just a display of abundance but a celebration of nature, with every dish seeming to carry the essence of the forest itself. Dathedr spent the majority of this time receiving congratulations and speaking with various nobles and visitors. He seemed to have gained quite a few female admirers as well.
Firnen, standing alongside Saphira, had already taken a liking to some fermented fruit drinks. As the evening went on, his behavior became increasingly playful, batting at trees to startle the elves sitting in them and trying to persuade Saphira into joining him in his games. Saphira, the more dignified of the two on this night, remained composed but hummed in pleasure at the beautiful singing of the elves, whose voices intertwined with magic, creating a symphony that filled the air with enchantment.
The atmosphere became more lively, not as intense as the Aegaeti Blödhren but carrying a similar magical undertone. People danced under the glow of lights, the music lifting spirits and causing even the most reserved to sway with the rhythm.
But in one corner of the celebration, things grew more complicated. Roran, who had indulged in too much elven wine, approached Eragon, his steps unsteady, his face flushed with anger.
"I still haven't forgotten, Eragon," Roran slurred, his voice loud and accusatory. "Why do you always keep things from me? Saphira's egg, Sloan, leaving Alagaesia, returning to Alagaesia..."
Eragon sighed, realizing that this conversation couldn't be avoided any longer. "Not here, Roran," he said quietly, sensing that the situation was spiraling.
His cousin had a limit to his cups before he became a mean drunk.
But Roran didn't stop, his words growing more heated. "I deserved to know. You took it away from me."
Eragon moved quickly, casting a subtle spell to clear the alcohol from Roran's system. Roran blinked, confusion overtaking the anger in his eyes, but the tension remained between them.
Without a word, Eragon gestured, creating a barrier around them that blocked out the surrounding festivities. "You deserve the truth, Roran," Eragon said firmly. "Not just words. I need to show you."
With that, he reached out, sharing his memories with Roran—showing him everything that had happened in Helgrind. Sloan's despair, his blindness, the disgusting sockets hanging empty, the moment Eragon discovered his true name. The exile to Ellesméra, and the slow, painful redemption Sloan had sought in isolation.
As Roran experienced it all, the anger in his eyes gave way to sorrow and understanding. Tears filled his eyes as the memory shared concluded.
"He paid for his choices," Eragon said softly. "I did what I had to do, but not without regret. Now you know the truth."
Roran stood there, breathing heavily, his body trembling from the flood of emotions. After a long moment, he gave a small nod. "I don't agree with what you did, but… I understand now."
The barrier dissipated, and they stood there in silence. Eragon could sense thought of reconciliation beginning to form on the edge of Roran's mind.
As the night continued, the two remained close, watching as the elves danced around them.
The magical energy from the feast swirled through the air, the music became slower, more intimate. Eragon found himself in front of Arya in the center of the gathering.
"Shall we?" Eragon thought to her.
Their movements were fluid, connected by more than just the song that surrounded them.
With each turn and sway, their bodies grew closer, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Arya's eyes glinted in the soft glow of the lights, and Eragon responded instinctively, his hand lingering at her waist. Their dance became a conversation without words, every touch, and every step a testament to the unspoken bond between them.
The crowd faded into the background, the world narrowing to just the two of them as the heat between them built—suggestive but never crossing the boundary into something overt. The teasing nature of the dance allowed them to express the connection they've long shared but rarely acknowledged, a dance that conveyed more than words ever could. It seemed they had garnered quite a bit of attention during the dance.
Whispers and thoughts jumped out at Eragon as he struggled to maintain control of his abilities. The mind voices of the elves were rather loud when they drank. Feeling a little uncomfortable with the cacophony in his mind, Eragon withdrew with Arya to sit on a tree trunk, observing the others from a relatively private area.
As the dance between Eragon and Arya ended, the air around them still buzzing with energy, they withdrew to a quiet spot under a large tree. The celebration continued around them, but the two were content in their shared silence for the moment.
Arya leaned back against the trunk, her gaze focused on the lights dancing above the crowd. "You're distracted," she said softly, sensing Eragon's discomfort.
Eragon sighed, rubbing his temples. "It's the elves... when they drink, their thoughts become overwhelming. It's difficult to keep them out."
Arya smirked slightly. "They're all wondering the same thing, I imagine."
Eragon raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"
Arya met his gaze, her expression thoughtful yet teasing. "What this means," she said simply, referring to the silent connection they had shared through the dance.
Eragon chuckled softly, though his heart raced a little. "What does it mean?"
Arya didn't answer immediately, instead letting the question hang between them as they watched the celebration continue. Finally, she smiled and nudged his shoulder playfully. "You'll have to figure that out for yourself, Shur'tugal."
In truth, their relationship was a symbol of the crumbling wall between the races, and they both knew it. If an elf and a human could be openly bonded, the rest may follow suit. Of course, the idea of the races mixing in that way was still taboo across the various cultures, but maybe that would change over time. Maybe their courage would be an example for others.
Eragon let these thoughts and more wash through him as the night wore on. It was getting late, and many of the elves had already left the clearing to retire.
Eragon and Arya made their way through the dense forest, the moonlight filtering through the canopy as they approached the Crags of Tel'naeír. The air was cool, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of pine and earth. Saphira walked in silence beside them, her presence a comforting shadow in the dark.
Firnen had already passed out from the festivities. The feast for him wasn't about Dathedr being King. It was a celebration of him no longer being tied to an Elvin Queen. He hadn't wanted to, but he had grown to resent Arya's position a bit over the years. Tonight was a representaion of his freedom, and Firnen had taken full advantage of it.
When they arrived at Oromis' secluded home, they found him standing just outside, watching the stars with a serene expression.
"You always seem to find peace here," Eragon remarked as they joined him.
Oromis smiled softly. "The Crags are old, far older than me or even the elves. They hold a quiet wisdom. It's why I chose this place."
Arya, standing beside Eragon, looked up at the stars as well, her expression thoughtful. "Do you think Dathedr is prepared for what he's about to see?"
Oromis' gaze shifted to her. "Prepared? No. But few ever are when it comes to the unimaginable. He will need time to process what has happened."
Eragon sighed, feeling the tension of the impending revelation. "We're still trying to understand it ourselves."
Oromis nodded. "Even with centuries of knowledge, there are still mysteries in magic that defy explanation. What has occurred here is one of them. But that does not mean it should be feared—it only requires time and wisdom to accept."
They fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments, the peacefulness of the Crags settling around them. Soon, the sound of footsteps announced Dathedr's approach.