Eragon did not have to meet Arya the next morning for their usual sparring, but Oromis did want him to join them for today's lesson. He was worried about how Arya might act, and as Saphira approached the Craigs Eragon tried to quell the storm brewing inside him. He promised himself that he would act the same around Arya, giving the elf as much space as she needed.
Saphira dived, her wings pulled in close as the small hut that was Oromis's home grew steadily larger. Glaedr was gone, and he could see that Fírnen was waiting for them. Oromis was conversing quietly with Arya, though he was too far away to hear what they said. They drew silent as Saphira spread her wings, slowing her down enough to land.
When Saphira was settled, Eragon unstrapped his legs and bound off her back. Oromis smiled at him, and Eragon felt a small part of him relax at the familiar sight of his old master's kindness. Oromis had a special way of calming Eragon, the old elf always making him feel more welcomed in the home of the elves.
Arya was facing Oromis as he approached the pair, though he could see her stiffen when he greeted them. Oromis's eyes glanced at the elf, though he did not give comment to Arya's sudden change. "Arya has been telling me of what transpired yesterday, Eragon."
"Oh?" Eragon muttered lightly. He looked at Arya briefly and their eyes met for the first time since their talk yesterday. Something passed between them, the shock of it making him look away. He saw her do the same, and he felt his heart skip in his chest. "What did she tell you?"
"Of your meeting with Ílyae," Oromis remarked, looking at Eragon strangely for moment. The older elf continued, "Arya said that you may have a solution now to the concerns Brom has mentioned to you."
"Maybe," Eragon admitted. "I haven't yet gone over the volumes that Ílyae provided me, and she did make me swear to only use the spell she gave in if there was no other way."
"When you are done with them, I would very much like to read these notes of hers." Oromis said. Eragon nodded his head, and he was glad when Oromis seemed to consider the matter closed. "Now, for the training today. Glaedr will not be joining us today. Instead, Eragon will fly with Fírnen, and Arya will fly with Saphira."
Arya inclined her head, asking, "What are we to go over today, Ebrithil?"
"Saphira and Eragon will coach you two in flying maneuvers today. How they will teach you will be up to them, and I expect the pair of you to listen well to the advice of Saphira. She is the finest flyer that has ever graced the Rider ranks, and I can think of no better teacher." Oromis explained. He drew into himself, but Eragon could see the elf trying to keep his spine straight. Oromis did not want others to worry over him, trying to put on an air of strength for his pupils.
Arya no doubt already knew of his illness, having known Oromis only after he was afflicted. Eragon, however, could still picture the old elf when he had first met his master. Oromis may have always been exceedingly kind for an elf, but Oromis had always stood above the rest to Eragon. Few enough had ever matched the skill and dedication that Oromis and Glaedr displayed before the war. That his master was reduced so pained Eragon deeply.
Arya moved over to Saphira as Eragon approached Fírnen. He met the dragon's eye, silently asking for permission to climb up into the saddle. The green dragon inclined his head slightly, so Eragon vaulted up the dragon's back to settle into the saddle. It took him a moment to adjust, unused to the smaller dragon. Saphira took off, Arya secured into the saddle on her back already. He waved farewell to Oromis, who watched solemnly on the ground as the dragons left.
He melded his mind with Saphira, and he let her guide him as she led the flying lesson. Saphira would show Fírnen all manner of maneuvers, and coach Arya on the best way to position herself on dragon back. Eragon -being more experienced in the saddle- would be able to correctly move his body as Fírnen twisted and turned. Saphira wanted to teach Fírnen how to be aware constantly of those on his back, especially for those who were not his partner-of-mind.
During a pause in their training, Eragon stretched his mind out to Fírnen. You have been casting glances at me throughout the entire lesson, Fírnen-finiarel. Is there something on your mind?
They were flying steady now, Saphira leading them further away from the Craigs. He caught a glimpse of her destination: an open glade that was large enough for them to land in, with a creek flowing steadily next to it. It was only a few miles away from them, easily reachable in minutes by flight. Fírnen beat his wings steadily along, and Eragon noted with interest that he felt the dragon's mind retreat slightly from Arya's own.
I wish to ask you something, Ebrithil. Fírnen stated.
Hmm. Does this question pertain to your lessons, or is it more personal?
Would that change whether or not you would answer? The green dragon questioned. His tone was polite, and Eragon could feel the dragon's curiosity rising.
No, Eragon answered, only how we would address each other. If you wish to ask something dealing with your lesson, then it is only right that you would address me as Ebrithil. If not, I instead would like you to call me by my name.
Very well, Eragon.
When the dragon paused, Eragon said, Ask Fírnen. I don't mind.
Arya showed me her memory of last night.
Ah, Eragon whispered. He felt the tips of his ears warm, his eyes glancing over to Arya on Saphira's back. She was facing forward still, not privy to their conversation.
He felt Fírnen press gently further into his mind, and Eragon let his feelings breach the mental connection between them. You feel affection for Arya. Fírnen decided.
That's one way to put it.
Fírnen rumbled beneath him as he flew. You do not wish for me to tell you how Arya felt about it?
He did, but he would not breach Arya's trust. Eragon doubted Fírnen would either. If she wishes for me to know, then she will tell me.
The dragon snorted, amusement flowing to Eragon through their link. The mating rituals of two-legs is most strange. Why don't the two of you simply act on your desires?
From Fírnen's back he could see Arya glance at the dragon for a moment. In the corner of his awareness, he could feel Saphira retreat into her own mind. He figured Arya and Saphira were having their own conversation.
Things are not so simple, Fírnen. Eragon said softly. Arya has many concerns, especially with being the newest Rider. She has a duty not only to her people, but to the whole of Alagaësia now.
And a relationship with you would somehow get in the way of this? Fírnen growled.
It could, he admitted. Her sense of duty may be stronger than any feelings she may hold for me.
The dragon considered his words as they continued their journey. The steady beat of Fírnen's wings lulled him, and he could feel his breathing begin to match the slow rhythm. And if she doesn't feel the same? Fírnen asked softly after some time.
Eragon smiled. It felt forced even to him, and he could feel the same chill he felt yesterday run down his spile. Then nothing.
Nothing?
If Arya… If she does not feel the same, then there is nothing more I can do. I will not pursue a baseless quest, and I value her friendship too highly.
So then why tell her your feelings? Fírnen asked incredulous.
Because she has a right to know, Eragon stated firmly. I am not pressing her to respond. She cannot change how she feels, and if she decides that her duty is more important then there is nothing more I can do.
You are most wise, Eragon.
Wise? Eragon chuckled. No. I've experience, not wisdom.
Are they so different? Fírnen retorted. To Eragon, the two where no were near the same. He had long since realized that experience did not necessarily make someone wise, and that the opposite was true as well. The dragon was young though, eager to prove himself among the older figures in his life.
Eragon wanted to respond but was unable to, for Saphira had started her decent into the glade. Eragon held on tightly as Fírnen followed, the conversation between them over. Saphira landed gracefully, kneeling down so that Arya might disembark. Fírnen landed heavily next to the blue dragon, his claws digging into the soft dirt to absorb the impact of his landing.
Fírnen seemed frustrated that he could not display the same ease of landing that Saphira had, and Eragon patted the dragon's neck as he unstrapped himself from the saddle. Arya approached as Eragon jumped off, her own hand resting lightly on the dragon's face. She murmured to Fírnen; her words too soft even for Eragon to hear. He made his way over to Saphira and let their minds touch each other once again.
She hummed gently as he stroked her scales, watching as she twisted to drink from the creek besides the glade. The sounds of her lapping drew the others, and he heard more than saw Fírnen approach Saphira from behind. The green dragon lunged out, his teeth catching on the tip of Saphira's tail as he flipped it in the air.
Saphira roared, twisting around to snap at the smaller dragon. Fírnen jumped back, his own teeth barred. A mix of emotion welled inside Saphira as Eragon dodged out of the way. He could feel some measure of affection for Fírnen, though he could also sense that she was also frustrated at the green dragon's actions.
"Fírnen!" Arya cried out. Saphira growled as the younger dragon peered at her, and he could see a small flicker of mischief in his amber eyes.
Saphira turned away, moving to the other side of the glade. Eragon followed silently, letting her dictate how she wished to proceed. Saphira settled down lightly on the grass, her face angled away from the other dragon and Rider. Fírnen started to clean one of his claws as Arya's face grew stern, and to Eragon it looked as if the dragon was trying to hide his face.
Has this happened before? Eragon whispered in his mind to Saphira.
Yes.
What do you wish to do?
Saphira sniffed, turning her head away from him as she closed off her mind. Sighing, Eragon turned to Arya and Fírnen. "Now that we've got the awkwardness out of the way," Eragon deadpanned, "How about we get back to the lesson?"
Arya's gaze met his own, her expression returning to its usual impassiveness. "Yes, Ebrithil. Please excuse Fírnen's behavior, Skublaka."
Eragon wanted to cringe at the title, and he fought to maintain a straight face. Saphira said nothing, her mind still closed off from the group. He frowned at her briefly before addressing Fírnen and Arya once more. "I think that Saphira has concluded her part of the lesson for the day." Eragon rand his hand over his head, his fingers dragging through his hair. "I'm unsure of what Oromis would want me to teach you, but if you would like, either of you can ask of me anything you wish."
Fírnen was still glancing at Saphira, the dragon still distracted by the female. Arya seemed to hesitate, though he could see that she already had a question formed for him. Eventually, she asked, "Will you tell me the spell you used to conceal yourself? The one that you used during our trek to retrieve Fírnen's egg."
Eragon nodded. "Of course. Though I must warn you that maintain such a spell requires enormous amounts of energy. For nearly two hundred years Saphira and I have been storing energy in the pommel of Brisingr, and the few hours that I had the spell active drew nearly a third of it away."
Fírnen turned to Eragon at the mention of their heist of his egg, his curiosity evident. Arya once said that it changed the feel of your mind. How is such a thing possible?
Thinking, Eragon drummed his fingers against his leg. Arya's eyes fell to his fingers, lingering on them until he finally spoke. "It doesn't actually change my mind, only hiding parts of it so that it appears different. It makes casting your mind out a bit… strange in experience. Once you get the hang of it, you can make it so that no one can reach your mind unless you first open it to them."
"How did you learn such magic?" Arya asked. He was glad the tension between them had faded somewhat, though he could still see she was tense in his presence. He knew Arya well enough to know that she would never bring up such personal matters during her training, but he was glad that she still was able to at least hold a conversation with him.
"There was a magician I met many years ago," Eragon began. "His name was Tenga, and he allowed me to read one of his many Compendiums in exchange for the chance to examine one of Saphira's scales. It was there that I learned of the spell, and many more."
Arya's brows furrowed. "Was this magician with those who taught you the lightning spell you used in Farthen Dûr?"
"No," Eragon answered. "He was not a part of them. They lived secluded on island to the east, far past where the edges of the map extend. There is a large body of water, and Saphira and I were able to follow some merchant ships out towards one of the inhabited islands."
Arya seemed interested when he mentioned his travel, her eyebrows relaxing from their slant. "Did you stay with them long?"
"For a few years," Eragon said. "When we arrived, they were under raid by pirates, so when we helped them fight the raiding parties back they allowed us stay. The magicians lived atop the many towers that dotted the land, and it was said that their job was to calm the sea and skies so that the boats would dock safely in their harbors."
Arya and Fírnen pestered him for questions, asking after the people who had called the island home. The people of Dvarkbor were hardy folk, used to life at sea and being away from the outside world. They had not trusted Eragon or Saphira at first, and many of them hardly even believed that dragons were real. Once they got to know them, they were rather fond of Saphira; She would often swim with their fishermen and scare away some of the larger predators that would patrol their shores, known to attack any who dared venture too close.
He spoke for the rest of the time, telling them of the magic he had learned from them. He also finally got around to teaching Arya the spell of concealment that she requested of him, and he made sure she was able to cast it correctly before he called for the lesson to end. Arya had graced him with a small smile when he bid them farewell, and the sight had warmed his heart greatly. Fírnen and Arya flew away together, returning to Oromis at the Craigs as Eragon leaned against Saphira's side.
He waited for Saphira, who had not spoken at all during his conversation with the other Rider and dragon. She did eventually turn her head to watch them, though he had noted earlier that Fírnen never made eye contact with her until they had finally flown away. After nearly half an hour Saphira shifted, and he knew she would finally speak.
I am unsure, Eragon.
Blinking at her, he said, "Of?"
What to do with Fírnen.
Eragon nodded his head, letting his hand trail softly across her scales.
I find myself conflicted. He is much too young for me, and he is also considered my student as well.
"Not always," Eragon pointed out, "But I understand."
I know you do, Saphira responded. An image of Arya flashed in her mind, and Eragon felt his heart skip briefly in his chest. But I must confess that I find myself… fond of him.
Frowning, Eragon said, "You know that I will support you in anything that you do, Saphira. Are you worried that my own feelings for Arya are embellishing your own?"
No, Saphira returned, her tail whipping against the ground. I can separate my own feelings from yours, little-one.
Eragon hummed. "And if he was older, and no longer your student?"
Then I would test the fire in his belly and the strength of his claws. But he is not ready for that, and it will be a while yet before he is.
"I know that dragon mating is.. different than how we two-legs do it," Eragon said, recalling Fírnen's own words, "Maybe the best thing is to wait and see."
My options are somewhat limited. There only remained four male dragons, though Shruikan was nothing more than a beast at this point. Thorn and Saphira had gotten along well enough, but never in the past had they even hinted of something between them. Glaedr on the other hand, Eragon did not know. In the past Saphira had admired the dragon greatly, though now they seemed to mostly focus on ensuring Fírnen learned all there was of his heritage.
A sense of sadness washed over him, and he pressed his forehead against Saphira's side. "I know. If there was one thing that I could change in this world, it would be that you would not feel so alone."
So long as you are with me, little-one, I will never be alone.
The Agaetí Blödhren was still a few weeks away, but Eragon could sense a slow change coming over the forest. Day by day more elves poured into the city, and Eragon had spent nearly an entire evening listen to Orik complain about how many more continued to show. He had joined Glenwing a few times to watch as they played runes against one another, Orik lamenting at being so far away from his home.
He sympathized with the dwarf, though he had often found himself busy in the days that passed since his confession to Arya. She had relaxed somewhat around him, her posture not as stiff as it was since that night. A few times he even suspected that he saw a flush on her skin, though he would quickly blame on the way the sun would alight on her skin.
Every evening he would read the volumes given to him by Ílyae, devouring the written notes in search of anything that would aid him. She had plenty of information on how spirits liked to wander Alagaësia, as well as a few theories on how spirits exactly came into being. Ílyae had reiterated many times in the books that the spirits did not have a history, at least none that any of the ones she talked to could make her understand. They were often drawn to large amounts of magic, and could usually be found wandering near some of the wild magic that dotted the land.
Eragon ensured that he had memorized the wording of the spell she had given him, and part of him was desperate to practice the magic. He had sworn to the Guardian that he would not, so instead he and Saphira would debate if the spell would even work.
Most of the volumes were devoted to the formation of Shades, and Eragon had never realized that Shades were so inherently unstable. It did explain why the Shade dragon had died so quickly, even if Eragon had not managed to strike it's heart. For one to actually manage to merge completely with the host was rare, and Ílyae had described various ways to read the land for signs of such a creature. Even Ílyae only knew of one way to completely destroy a Shade, and Eragon nearly threw the book when he read the words stab them in the heart.
Arya had, according to Oromis, nearly completed her training under him. Eragon had expected nothing less from her, considering she was already a fierce warrior and proficient spellcaster before she became a Rider. Fírnen was the only thing holding them back from being considered fully trained, though the dragon was admittedly doing quite well for only being now nearly three months of age. The last major steppingstone would be for them to learn of the Eldunarí, though according to Saphira all dragons instinctively knew of the gem housed in their chest.
Eragon knew he needed to have an offering for the upcoming Blood-oath celebration, so he began to steadily sing wood from one of the trees of Ellesméra so that he could shape it with his hands. He was sorely out of practice, but the feel of the blade in his hand as he carved and coaxed at the wood was quickly reawakening the old passion inside of him. He wasn't sure what he wanted to make at first, instead choosing to sing a large piece of wood so that his hands could guide him into deciding.
For a brief moment he wondered if Arya kept the wooden dragon he gifted to her in Tronjheim, especially since she had never brought it up and he hadn't once caught a glimpse of it. He had seen her plenty since the days that followed, but she had kept her distance outside of her training and their sparring. Often he would catch her staring at him, her emerald eyes fixed. He would often feel a flush rush over him, though he never allowed himself to outwardly show how much she affected him. Glenwing teased him often enough of pining over the elf, and he was not about to give his friend anything else to use against him.
Nearly a week before the celebration Eragon finally finished reading Ílyae's notes, handing them over as requested to Oromis. He had no doubt that Oromis would read them much quicker than he had, and he had let the elf know of his promise to return them to Ílyae. Oromis had promised that he would fulfill Eragon's duty once he was done, arranging for an elf to securely return them to Osilon. Eragon was secretly glad, not wanting to have to deal with the uncomfortableness his last exchange with the elf woman had invoked.
He had learned surprisingly little that would aid him against a Shade, though her notes did clear up many of the gaps in his knowledge.
Today, he was busy carving the wood into the shape he had finally chosen, calling up the memory of Vrael and Umaroth in all their glory before the Dragon War. He had procured various pigments to stain the wood, as well as using some spells to aid him as he went. The white of Umaroth's scales were particularly challenging to match. Saphira had provided him her own memories of the dragon, though they were tinted heavily with blue. His statue would only be a scale model of the two, considering how huge Umaroth was before his death. It was nearly as tall as Eragon was, and he knew he had less time than he would like to work on it. Eragon disliked using magic to speed up his process, though he had finally caved in when Saphira told him it would take him months to complete without.
Vrael would be alighted on Umaroth's back with his Rider sword drawn for the world to see. He had most of the wood shaped for Umaroth's face and neck, the dragon's mouth snarling as he glared out into the distance. He was using his chisel and occasionally a knife to replicate the dragon's scales, and he had to often inspect Saphira's own to make sure he matched the shape as best he could.
He heard a soft knock echo from the entrance in the other room, making Eragon pause as he carved. He had moved the table in the dining room to the side, the half-shaped block of wood taking up much of the space left. Opening the door to the room he was in, Eragon called out for the mysterious guest to enter.
Arya stepped into his home, closing the door softly behind her. She greeted Saphira first, the two conversing quietly as Eragon approached her. He smiled at her when she turned to him, "Arya. I thought you and Fírnen were going out flying for the rest of the day."
"We did go," Arya said softly. "Fírnen was eager to continue, but he needed rest after today's training."
Eragon nodded his head, "I can imagine." An awkward pause arose between them, and Eragon cleared his throat before asking, "Is there something you needed?"
Arya inclined her head towards the table that was in the center of his room. Understanding her intention, he led her to the table and took a seat. Arya sat in the chair adjacent to him, her slight form drawing his eyes as she settled down. "I wanted to speak with you, Eragon."
"About?" Eragon questioned. He could feel his heart speed up, and he wondered if this was the conversation he was waiting for. He felt apprehension grow inside him, and he suddenly wished he was somewhere else entirely.
"What you told me the day we returned from Osilon." Arya stated. Her words were soft, bereft of her usual stoicism. Her green eyes were locked on him, and he fought to maintain the eye contact between them. He did not like this shyness he felt around her, as though he was afraid of every reaction she could have towards him.
Eragon nodded his head, remaining quiet.
Seeing that he would not respond, Arya broke off the eye contact. Her gaze fell to her fingers, which began to softly trace patterns into the wood only known to her. "I've thought much about what you told me. I was hesitant to broach the topic, but Fírnen talked me into it."
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Arya." Eragon broke in. "I only thought that you would have the right to know. You don't have to do anything with the knowledge."
"I know." Arya said quietly. "I thank you for being honest with me, Eragon. And for your countenance these past days after you admitted how your..." She trailed off, trying to find something to say instead. "Many before you have tried to force their hand, and it means much that you would place our friendship above your feelings."
Swallowing, Eragon whispered, "Of course, Arya." He did not know where this conversation was going, and he could feel his leg begin to bounce lightly under the table.
She smiled at him, though he could see that it was slightly forced in nature. Arya met his gaze, her eyes roaming his features. He did not know what she saw, but he was glad when he observed some of her stiffness leave her posture. "I only wanted to make sure that our friendship remained unharmed. I have missed our talks of late, and your companionship has always meant much to me."
Eragon rubbed the pad of his right hand lightly, even as he forced himself to still his leg. "I have as well. I debated tirelessly whether I should tell you, but I think that truth is usually the best policy for such things."
"The truth?" Arya repeated. She took a breath before continuing, "The truth is that I do not feel-."
Her words cut off, surprising Eragon. Her face twisted as the ancient language stalled her words, and her face sharpened fiercely as she tried to speak again. When nothing emerged, Eragon watched as a flash of panic set over her features before disappearing. Not wishing to upset the elf, Eragon did not say anything. Whatever her words, that they would be a lie was surprising, though he gathered that Arya was more shocked than he was.
"Forgive me, Eragon. I do not know what overcame me." Arya whispered. Her words were in the still in the ancient language, though he sensed that she was saying one thing and meaning another. A common tactic when one could not lie in the elven language, and he had never seen Arya do such a thing before.
Eragon merely nodded, steering the conversation away, though his curiosity did not abate. "Are you excited for the Agaetí Blödhren?"
Arya seemed glad at the segue. "Yes. I have never attended one myself, and I am glad that you and Saphira are here as well. Fírnen is most excited for the celebration, and he has been besides himself trying to come up with a presentation for the ceremony."
"Saphira and I were saddened when we missed the last one, but we did celebrate as best we could together," Eragon said. "We did attend the celebration before we left Alagaësia, so we are both looking forward to it."
"You were born the same year as the Blood-oath, yes?" Arya asked.
Surprised, raised a brow at her. "Yes. How did you know?"
"You told me your age once, back in Farthen Dûr." Arya explained. "Did you forget?"
Blinking, Eragon rubbed the back of his neck. "I remember now. It was after we sparred for the first time together. Why do you ask?"
"Has your day of birth already passed?" Arya countered.
Eragon shook his head, his eyes tracing over the elf in front of him. "No. I was born exactly six weeks after the Agaetí Blödhren ends."
"An easy way to remember then," Arya said, a small smile appearing on her face. He chuckled, glad that she was talking freely with him now.
"And you, Arya? When was your day of birth?" Eragon asked.
She turned her head away from him, her gaze falling to the open dais that Saphira slept on. Saphira's eyes were closed, though she was still listening to their covnersation . "A month before you first arrived at the Varden."
"I'm sorry I missed it then," Eragon confessed.
Arya met his gaze, her emerald eyes boring into the brown of his own. "I am not one to celebrate the day, but I am sure that you will be around next year when it passes."
Smiling lightly, Eragon only said, "Perhaps."
Placing his brush down, Eragon sighed in relief. He had just finished painting the statue of Vrael and Umaroth, and he had to admit that it was perhaps his finest work. Vrael's expression took nearly a day to finish on its own, meticulously carved into an as exact replica as Eragon could recall. Umaroth's scales were the hardest part, but Eragon had used magic to replicate the ones that he carved himself.
Tomorrow was the beginning of the celebration, and Eragon knew that it would last three days until the caretakers would begin their dance. Once that was complete the ceremony would wind down, and only when the lights that were lit at the beginning extinguished themselves could the Blood-Oath be considered fulfilled. He would need to transport the statue, as well as ensure that it was not revealed until it was his turn to present it to the elves.
Saphira was off hunting, knowing that the dragons would not want to leave the celebration until it was complete. Fírnen had joined her, though the green dragon was much more reserved around Saphira now.
It was late now, and Eragon was readying himself for bed when Saphira finally returned.
Good hunt? He asked.
Saphira hummed, her mind flashing with memories of her and Fírnen chasing a deer far outside Ellesméra. I see that you finally finished.
"I have." Eragon stated.
Will I see it myself before the celebration? You've inspected my scales enough times that I grow curious.
"You already know what it is, Saphira." Eragon chuckled. He laid down in his bedding, extinguishing the lanterns around the room. Even in the dark he could still see Saphira settle down, her form twisting as she tried to get comfortable.
Saphira sniffed, her eyes closing. Still.
"I haven't seen what you decided to make this time," Eragon countered. "We only need to wait till tomorrow to see it."
Hmm.
Eragon laughed again, letting his mind meld with Saphira as they both drifted off to sleep.
The day of the celebration Eragon found himself mostly relaxing, knowing that he was to meet both Glenwing and Orik before the celebration began before midnight. They would travel to the Menoa tree together and wait for the celebration to begin with everyone else that would be attending. It would be vastly different then the last time he attended one, for only three Riders would be present. The last Agaetí Blödhren he celebrated had nearly a hundred dragons in attendance, the entire forest littered with their Riders from both the human and elven race.
Orik would be the first dwarf to be granted attendance as far as Eragon knew. Though the dwarf did not understand the way of the elves, he seemed to understand the honor that had been granted him by the elves. Eragon even knew that Orik had made his own gift for the celebration, though he had not spoken of what it was. Glenwing had even offered to translate much of the ceremony for the dwarf, and he was glad that the two were becoming close friends.
Leaving Brisingr behind, Eragon selected one of the fancier elven tunics that they provided for him. It was a deep forest green, with fine silver stitching running along the seams. He wore his finest trousers and dwarven boots, even making sure that his face was sufficiently trimmed. Saphira had laughed at him as well when he made sure that his mop of hair was presentable. He made sure to place extensive wards surrounding the Eldunarí, promising to himself that he would check in on the purple dragon after the celebration had ended.
He had been mostly preoccupied since returning to Ellesméra, unable to devote as much time towards the dragon as he would have normally liked. He knew, though, that after expending so much energy during the fight with Murtagh, the dragon would not be willing to surface for quite some time. Last time the purple Eldunarí had given Saphira energy the dragon had remained behind a mental shield for nearly a year. He hoped the presence of other dragons, as well as the elves, would help calm the mind of the dragon.
Descending the steps of his home, Eragon waited for Saphira as she leapt from the hole in the tree. When she settled on the ground, the two of them began walking towards the Menoa tree. Before long, he spotted both Glenwing and Orik. Both were wearing fine tunics as well, though Orik's was of dwarven make. Nodding in greeting, Eragon bid them to join Saphira and himself as they walked.
They talked lightly as they journeyed towards the celebration, mostly explaining to Orik the different customs that he would see during the Blood-Oath. Eragon was surprised to find Arya and Fírnen waiting for them further ahead, and he smiled at Arya as she fell in step beside him. Glenwing was to his left, and when he glanced at the elf he could see him smirking lightly.
Eragon elbowed Glenwing, ignoring the cry of protest that arose as he spoke to Arya. "Are you ready for the celebration?"
She smiled at him, her white teeth gleaming. "I am. It is most fortunate that we would both be here for such an occasion."
"It is," Glenwing smiled. "A perfect time to let off some pent-up energy, eh?"
Cursing lightly under his breath, Eragon moved to step on Glenwing's foot as they continued to walk. The elf dodged out of the way, laughing as he fell back to join Saphira and Fírnen. Arya's smile had fallen, her eyes glaring at Glenwing. "It's alright," Eragon stated, "We can get back at him later. I'm sure the elf woman he's been spending his time with will finally grace our presence during our time here."
Arya blinked at him, surprise filling her features. "What? What woman?"
Behind him he heard Glenwing gasp, "How did you know!?"
Eragon laughed, turning his head to look at the elf. "You think yourself so cunning, digging deeply into others business so that we won't look into your own. And I didn't figure it out, Saphira did."
Glenwing glared at the dragon beside him, his hand over his heart as he lamented. "Saphira! How could you!"
Saphira snorted, bumping into Glenwing as they walked. Luckily the elf was able to remain upright, only stumbling heavily from the blow. Don't you know? Elves are willing to tell dragons all sorts of things. I am more than willing to share what I learned with Arya.
Arya smirked, the fierce look in her eyes giving Eragon pause. It chilled him, and he did not want that look directed anywhere near him. "Please, Saphira, tell me this woman's name. Glenwing has given me much… grief as of late, and I think this is perhaps the thing that will certainly make up for it."
The silver haired elf, Yaela.
"One of Blödhgarm's twelve spellcasters?" Arya asked incredulously.
I do not know this Blödhgarm, or these spellcasters. Only the name and a description of her appearance.
"Blödhgarm and his spellcasters were able to drive off three of The Forsworn during the Fall," Arya explained, before sharply turning to Glenwing. "How could you not tell me this?"
"We have only been talking," Glenwing muttered. "Nothing more."
"You know," Eragon chuckled, "I think I've said much the same to you."
Arya glanced at Eragon, but he did not look at her as Glenwing sighed. "This is what I get for having the two of you as friends. And Saphira! You wound me so."
Saphira did not respond, merely humming under her breath at the elf.
There was a light conversation that flowed after, continuing until the finally reached the Menoa Tree. Islanzadí was standing on a raised root near the base of the tree in front of nearly a hundred or so elves, Blagden perched on her shoulder. Oromis and Glaedr were in attendance already, and Eragon noted that the werecat Maud lurked behind the Queen. He did not recognize many others, only briefly catching sight of Lifaen and Nari.
"Wait here a moment," Arya said, disappearing into the crowd before them. Eragon frowned, but his features smoothed over when she returned, Rhunön following in her wake.
Eragon greeted the elf, who nodded in turn to both Saphira and Fírnen. She spoke dwarvish with Orik, who seemed to jump at the chance to talk to someone in his native language. Leaving them to it, Eragon stepped beside Arya.
He smiled at her, "That was kind of you."
Arya merely shrugged, inclining her head towards her mother. Islanzadí held up a palm, a soft white orb forming from the light emitted by the various lanterns surrounding them. The Queen walked along the root of the tree, placing the werelight carefully in a hollow of the bark. Arya turned to him, smiling, "It has begun!"
She grasped his arm, dragging him forward as Glenwing chuckled merely behind him.