The Varden, as Nasuada had said the previous day, left the city of Cithrí behind before daybreak. A page had woken Eragon early in the morning, the sun still a few hours away from rising. It would take a few days for the combined forces of King Orrin and the Varden to cross the Surdan border, and the latest intelligence of the Empire's army confirmed that they would meet in the Burning Plains.
Packing was a quick affair, though Eragon could not say the same of the march. Many soldiers were equipped with horses, but the rest had to trek the distance on foot. Some would sit in the horse-drawn carts used for the Varden's supplies, switching out every so often with others to rest. Eragon walked beside Saphira, her long gate easily able to outpace even the horse's slow trot. Arya was beside him, with Fírnen and Glenwing taking up the rest of the available space as they walked behind Nasuada's guards.
Nasuada positioned herself close to the front of the march, leading her soldiers with a straight spine and impassive expression. King Orrin was bringing up the rear, his own commanders bellowing out orders that were relayed from the few magicians that made up both the Varden and Surdan armies. Orrin had a massive cart full of various pieces of glass brought along with him, and Eragon had raised an eyebrow at Glenwing when the elf told him. Orik was leading the few dwarves from Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, far behind where Eragon was walking.
For hours they marched along, occasional scouts returning and departing as they cleared the way for the army. From his own scrying, Eragon knew the Empire's army was nowhere near them, but he did not begrudge Nasuada's caution. Once they left the Surdan border the Varden would tighten the spread of soldiers, only advancing so far as the scouts had determined safe.
His father was riding with Nasuada for the first half of the day, his words too low for even Eragon to hear. Occasionally he would catch Brom glancing at him, though after the fifth time Eragon started to ignore the looks his father was casting him. Glenwing kept up a steady stream of commentary to Eragon and Arya, drawing them into conversation as the Varden continued its slow march towards the Empire.
By midday Brom slowed his horse, bring the mare alongside Saphira and next to Eragon. His father greeting him with a nod, turning to converse with Saphira. Their conversation was not spoken out loud, instead done with the use of their minds.
Glenwing had finally grown silent when Arya spoke up, her musical voice soft, "May I ask something, Eragon?"
"Certainly," he replied.
Her gaze remained forward, scanning the terrain that they were approaching. The trees began to thin around the road the Varden used, and in the distance ahead he could see a faint haze hanging over the land. They would head east until they reached the Jiet River, following the flowing water until they reached the Burning Plains.
"If Galbatorix will not face us directly," Arya said, "then Murtagh may end up being our foe in this battle."
"True," Eragon admitted. "What of it?"
Arya seemed to contemplate her words, her gaze flicking over to Fírnen. "The Mourning Sage said that Fírnen and I are not ready to face Murtagh and Thorn, and that you should be the one to face them if it comes to it."
"Whether you are ready or not," Eragon contemplated, "You may not have the luxury. Are you worried about facing him?"
The elf shook her head, her expression tightening. "No. I will fight, no matter who my enemy is."
"Then what is it?" Eragon asked. "If you are not worried about fighting him, what is troubling you so?"
"Thorn is one of the few remaining dragons in existence. If he would fall, it would further doom the entirety of Alagaësia. We know that Galbatorix knows their true name, but we do not know if Murtagh followed Galbatorix before the fall. Even if Murtagh were free of his binds, we wouldn't know if he would still side with Galbatorix."
Shaking his own head, Eragon thought about the last time he saw his half-brother. Their battle had been brief, and he could only imagine what horrors his brother had underwent by the Mad Kings hand. "I do not think so," Eragon said quietly. "Murtagh's childhood with Morzan was always… a contentious point with him, but Murtagh would not have believed in the lies his father and Galbatorix spoke."
"The two of you grew up together?" Arya asked softly. Eragon was surprised she was asking such a personal question, and he could even see Glenwing beside her lean in to hear his answer.
"For a time," Eragon explained. "Murtagh was born three years before I was to our mother, Selena. I do not know the whole story, as Murtagh rarely speaks of it, but Morzan and Selena had a falling out of sorts."
Brom cut in, his face drawn at the mention of his mother. "Morzan had fallen into a drunken rage," Brom said quietly. "He struck at Murtagh when he was young, leaving him with a large scar on his back. Selena fled with Murtagh, and I found her a few months later in Carvahall. This was long before the fall, even before Galbatorix was born, so Morzan was not yet swayed by the man."
Brom's words carried a heaviness to them, and Eragon knew it was because of how he had once idolized Morzan. Brom never spoke of Morzan much, even during the years before Eragon left Alagaësia. His father had tried to reconcile with Morzan after Selena gave birth to Eragon, though Eragon did not know how it turned out even after all these years.
When his father fell silent, Eragon picked up the story. "I was born a few years later, obviously, and we lived together for a while. Brom would stay when he could, visiting us in the village whenever he found the time. When I was fifteen Brom brought home the egg that he was ferrying, allowing both Murtagh and I to see the dragon." Eragon looked over at Saphira, his heart warming at the memory. "A few days later, and Saphira hatched for me."
She hummed under her breath, her sapphire eye blinking at him. Only after you dropped me.
Eragon chuckled, turning back to face Arya. Her face was filled with her curiosity at his childhood, and he was surprised that she was so eager to hear about his youth. "Thorn hatched for Murtagh a year later, and the Order decided that it was best we were trained separately. We saw each other often enough, but once we were fully trained Riders we would spend a great amount of time together when we found the chance."
"So, you know Murtagh well," Arya determined. Her brow drew downwards, a flash of worry on her face. "That is why you refrained from capturing or killing him when you fought near Urû'baen."
"One of the reasons," Eragon said. "It was as I told Ajihad when we returned. There are few enough Riders and dragons, but Saphira and I will still do what we must."
"Will you try to free him, then? Or capture him and Thorn?" Glenwing finally joined their conversation, the elf's words low so as not to be overheard.
"If it comes to it I would prefer to capture them," Eragon frowned. "I do not know how long we would be able to hold them, though. If the elves were here they would perhaps have the strength to do so."
Silence permeated the air for a moment, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Brom had turned away once more, speaking only to Saphira as they continued their march.
"What of your mother?" Arya whispered. "What happened to Selena after you and Murtagh left to train?"
Brom stiffened on the horse he was riding, but did not turn away from Saphira. Keeping his words low enough to escape his father's ears, Eragon whispered, "My mother lived in Carvahall for the rest of her days, only traveling with Brom to visit us. She grew ill during her fourth decade, passing after Murtagh and I arrived to see her. Brom was too late, and Morzan did not care that she was gone from the world."
Arya nodded her head, a flash of sadness falling over her features. "Do you know if you have any family left in Carvahall?"
Eragon made to shake his head, but was stopped when his father spoke up again. "Selena's brother had children, and their descendants remained even today. I was in Carvahall before Eragon returned, and I was watching over them incase Galbatorix ever sent Murtagh after them."
Eragon frowned, both at the thought of Murtagh killing his own family and Galbatorix ordering it. He could not see what it would gain the Black King, but did not question his father about why he was there in truth. "Who? Did they know you?"
"A man named Garrow, after Selena's own brother." Brom explained. "He has a son, Roran, who is seventeen years of age and is intended to marry soon. They only knew me as Brom the storyteller, not Brom, Rider of Saphira and Selena's lover."
Roran was technically his cousin, though how many generations remained to be answered. At his question, Brom responded with "three."
For a moment Eragon felt old, wondering if Roran even knew who he was. They probably only had tales and legends in their family of the Riders that once came before, lost to history and war. The group grew quiet as they continued on, and even Glenwing did not break the silence. The only sound around them were the marching of hooves and feet on the soft dirt of the packed road, the dragon's footsteps drowning out much of the rest.
Days past quickly, and the march became an uninteresting and dull affair. The Varden was swift despite its size, even with many of the soldiers not able to ride horses or the many carts. Behind the Varden fell in the people of the Varden, normal citizens who had been displaced by the Empire or who remained loyal to Nasuada's cause. The soldiers grew accustomed to the dragons, though they still continued to give them a wide berth with eyes shining in awe. Arya often joined him in the march, the two of them speaking together of their past travels in Alagaësia. Other times she would be walking with Brom and Nasuada, discussing the upcoming battle and showing the elves support in the Varden's endeavor.
Eragon participated in a few of their walking meetings, though he quickly grew bored when talks often fell to discussing supply routes and other mundane topics. Brom had noticed, waving Eragon away and telling him that he was not needed for such things. His father had assured him that he would be called if necessary, so Eragon often spent the remaining time without Arya with Glenwing, the elf eager to talk his ears off with any topic that caught his fancy.
The Jiet River came into sight near the great bend south of Melian, just outside the Surdan border. Though there was no marking displaying the border between the Empire and King Orrin's domain, the soldiers of the Varden seemed to know that they had left the relative safety of Surda behind. Discussions that were once loud and boisterous grew weary and dim, with the men closing ranks tightly between them as they finally entered the Burning Plains.
Great plumes of smoke rose from the ground, with an occasional eruption of flames keeping the land smoldering. Nasuada kept the Varden near the river, in order to escape the worst of the flames and provide a source of water for the soldiers. Eragon and the others were adorned in their armor, though he refrained from placing the armor on Saphira yet. Fírnen had no such armor, though he suspected that the dwarves would quickly rectify the situation.
By the second day of their arrival to the Burning Plains, Nasuada called for a halt near the banks of the river. Gray clouds loomed overhead, with only sporadic instances of light shining through. Any light that happened to make it was quickly swallowed by the moving clouds, as though the very land itself protested the illumination. The Jiet River was turbulent, great waves sloshing around the white foam that gathered near the surface.
Jörmundur started bellowing out orders, the men of the Varden snapping to action despite the tense atmosphere that descended on them. The first order of business was forming their defenses, with trenches and stakes dug into the earth. The Empire was nowhere to be seen, though Eragon could sense in the distance a great power that drew closer with every passing moment. Tents were erected, with Nasuada's command tent being among the first to go up in the rear. The horses of Orrin's calvary were set up behind the defenses, close enough to be called into action should they be needed.
Orrin's own tent was set up alongside Nasuada's, the decadence on display with its white and yellow colors shining brightly despite the harsh light of the land. Eragon and the others set up their own tents, where Eragon divested Saphira of the unneeded saddles bags. The only one that remained strapped to her was the large bag containing the two Eldunarí, the both of them uneasy with letting the dragon's heart of hearts out of their sight. Glenwing set up his tent near his own, with Arya's next to his in the open space dedicated to the dragons.
He was inside his tent when Nasuada called for a gathering as the Varden continued to entrench itself, so Eragon took up his helm under his arm and exited his tent. He followed Saphira as she waded her way through the half-erected tents, soldiers quickly moving aside for her bulk. Fírnen was already waiting outside, his head stuck through once side of the tent. Saphira ambled around to the other side as he strode to the entrance, greeting Nasuada's Nighthawk guards. Garven -the captain on duty- eyed Eragon as he entered, though the stern man said nothing to him.
Arya was waiting inside, armored as he was. Her silver armor contrasted impressively with her raven hair, leaving Eragon momentarily stunned at the sight. She smiled lightly at him, though if it was at his stricken expression or merely in greeting Eragon did not know. Brom and Nasuada were deep in discussion already, his father wearing a simple armor that was nothing like his old Rider armor. That his father even lost his Rider sword saddened Eragon, though Brom did not seem perturbed by it.
Saphira pushed her head through an opening that was made in the tent, though she was unable to fit in as far as Fírnen was. Nasuada glanced at him, a small smile washing away the frown that was present. "Ah, Eragon," the Leader of the Varden said. "Good. We are only waiting for Jörmundur to return from the front."
They gathered around a broad table, already adorned with scrolls and maps. Few enough furnishings were already present, though Eragon suspected that once the meeting was over soldiers would quickly carry in the rest of Nasuada's things. He stood between Arya and Brom, with Nasuada opposite them, her gaze stuck on the largest map spread before her.
A sound rustling outside sounded Jörmundur's arrival, the old soldier pushing his way into the tent with a scowl. His expression lightened as he took in the occupants, bowing lightly in greeting. Nasuada waved him forward, and the Councilman took up position next to her at the table.
"Our scouts say that the Empire is nearing us, and the best estimation they could come up with is for Galbatorix's forces to arrive in three days," Nasuada explained. Her eyes roamed over the members gather around, returning to the map after she had examined them all. "Their number is thought to be around a hundred thousand, though that is only what we could glean with scrying and our scouts."
A hundred thousand soldiers. The thought drew up Eragon short, a shiver running down his spine. The Varden was outnumbered, and if Murtagh was among them he knew that the odds where not in their favor. Even Brom's face grew dim, the lines of his face exaggerated from the force of his expression. "Conscripts?" Eragon asked.
Brom nodded. "As best we can tell, yes. If we are lucky, they will not be eager to fight and may break rank and flee after the fighting has begun."
"How can we help best?" Eragon asked. Arya glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, though she remained quiet.
Nasuada shook her head. "Only you can answer that, Eragon. I would not dine to know the full extent of your powers, and I hold no command over you and Arya."
Eragon stroked his hand over his chin, fingering the small stubble that had begun to grow. "I need to speak with the leader of Du Vrangr Gata, so that we may be able to fight the magicians Galbatorix has no doubt seeded his army with."
Nasuada agreed with him, though she said, "I suggest waiting until the later, for the Du Vrangr Gata is currently busy with the defenses we are erecting. I will have word sent to Trianna that you wish to meet with her."
Eragon inclined his head in thanks, not surprised Trianna was the new leader. She seemed ambitious enough, and he briefly recalled his last meeting with the sorceress. It drew a smile from him as he recalled Arya interjecting herself, driving the witch away with her usually stoic attitude.
Brom pulled a scroll in front of him, his fingers tracing the words lightly. "We know roughly how many soldiers the Empire has, but we do not know what other surprises Galbatorix has for us hiding in his army. We must be ready for anything, so I ask if you have any suggestions to please bring them up."
None of them offered anything, though Eragon knew he would spend some time thinking of the matter while they waited for the Empire's army to arrive. Nasuada was given command over Orrin's troops back in Aberon, and they quickly delved into strategies they could use now that they had his calvary and men.
Long hours passed, until the fading light of day finally diminished entirely. Nasuada dismissed them all, citing her need for rest for the coming days. Eragon followed Brom out, Arya close behind him. His father paused as Jörmundur exited the tent, stepping aside to allow the soldier to pass. The Councilman nodded his head at them, though Jörmundur seemed deep in thought as he continued past. Saphira and Fírnen left after Jörmundur, their forms easy to track as they towered over the tents surrounding them.
A glance over Eragon's shoulder from his father told him that Arya was still behind him, though Brom said nothing of her presence. "Are you ready, Eragon?"
"As best I can be," Eragon answered. His eyes roamed over his father's features, taking in the aging face that was before him. "And you, father? You are not as you once where, and I can see how even the trek here has worn you."
"If you were anyone else," Brom scowled, "I would assume you doubt the strength I still hold. But I know your worry, Eragon. I will fight if I must, but I will not be in the front. My place is besides Nasuada now, as her father would have wanted me. My council is the best thing that I can offer her."
Eragon nodded, though he still felt the worry over his father inside him. "Very well."
Brom eyed Arya once more, who waited silently behind Eragon. "I will see the both of you later, then."
A thought occurred to him, and Eragon blurted out, "Wait."
Brom turned to him, one of his brows quirked at Eragon.
"There is something I need to show you later, father," Eragon explained. Curiosity rose in his father, though the man only nodded his head before turning away once more.
Turning around, Eragon took in Arya behind him. She was watching him carefully, her eyes roaming over his features. Arya did not ask what he intended to show Brom, and for that he was grateful.
Eragon smiled at her, though she did not return it this time. "Is there something you needed, Arya?"
"Come," Arya said, leading him down the row of tents to where theirs were situated. Saphira and Fírnen were laying near each other in the open spot between Arya's and his own tent, their bodies almost touching. Both dragons had their eyes closed, though he could sense that Saphira was still awake as they approached.
Arya stepped into her tent, and Eragon paused in the entrance. She beckoned him with a hand, so Eragon followed her inside and let the flap cover the opening once more. Her tent was arranged much the same as his, with a simple cot adorned with sheets, a small table holding a mirror, and a lone chair that stood next to the table. Arya unstrapped Támerlein from her waist, setting it down gently beside her bed, the hilt leaning against the frame.
Eragon pressed his palm down on Brisingr, feeling the blade move as he watched her. She was still wearing her armor, though she made no move to unstrap it as he stood there. Instead, she sat down on the edge of her bed, her eyes flicking over to the chair. Eragon understood her wish, straddling the chair between his legs and resting his arms on the back of it to face her.
Arya's emerald eyes roamed over his features, and Eragon tried to quell his heart as it sped up in his chest. He remained silent, forcing her to be the one to speak first. "I wanted to speak with you, Eragon."
"Concerning?"
Arya shrugged her shoulders lightly, the movement surprising Eragon. She did not seem unsure of herself, so he took it to mean that she simply wished to spend time alone with him. He smiled at her, trying to find something for them to speak about together. When he made to speak, Arya finally answered his query, "You told me some of your youth, and I feel that it is only fair that I do the same."
"Only if you wish to," Eragon said quietly.
Her eyes left him, studying instead the soft glow outside that permeated over the Burning Plains. Even at night the fires illuminated much, an orange tint hanging over them and pulsing as the very grounds surrounding them smoldered. Luckily, Nasuada had chosen a relatively calm location near the banks of the Jiet River, though they were still close enough to occasionally feel the heat of the flames.
Arya's fingers began dancing over her leg, tracing unknowable shapes into the metal of her armor. "I do not remember my father, since he a year after I was born. But my mother spoke often of him, and many others that knew him would tell me wonderous stories about the King. I was a curious child, always seeking out knowledge from others about the world outside the forest. I would listen to their tales, imagining the day that I was old enough to finally emerge and devote myself to my people."
"How long did you want to be a Rider for?" Eragon asked, his words soft between them. Her emerald eyes turned back to him, and he saw her features slightly brighten.
"Ever since I first saw Glaedr with my own eyes," Arya admitted. "I was enraptured by him, and I wanted nothing more than to travel to Urû'baen and retrieve the remaining egg myself."
He smiled, trying to imagine a younger Arya, her eyes wide as she stared at the massive golden dragon. It was difficult for him, so used to her current appearance, unchanging as the elves were. "I told you once that my father wrote about you, yes?"
Eragon nodded, the face of the Elven King flashing in his mind. "You did. I'm unsurprised, considering how extensive his journals were. What did he write about me?"
"Nothing concerning what happened in Belatona," Arya quickly said, easing the worry that was growing inside him. "My father wrote of the friendship the two of you shared, and the other accomplishments that you had during your time in Alagaësia. It was actually what drew me in further in my want to be a Rider."
"Oh?" Eragon exclaimed, though he was unable to place the feeling inside of him. That Arya read of him when she was younger was an odd thought, considering he never even knew she existed for a century. "Did he ever write about why I left?"
Arya shook her head, "No. Only that you had to leave on important Rider business. Sometimes he would write about you in his later scrolls, referencing something the two of you talked about during your stay in Ellesméra. It always surprised me that he would hold you in such high esteem, especially considering you only knew each other for fifty or so years."
"We knew each other that long, yes," Eragon said, "But our friendship only really grew when I stayed in Ellesméra before I left." Wishing to turn back the conversation to Arya, he asked, "When did you decide to leave the forest to join with the Varden? I know that you spent seven decades fighting alongside them."
"I did," Arya said, "But we did not fight as often as you might think. Urgal's were the main enemy of the Varden for a long time, as they would occasionally harass any caught outside Farthen Dûr." She sighed lightly, before continuing, "For years I felt that I could do more, and I could only serve my people better outside the forest. My father died fighting the war against Galbatorix, and for as long as I can remember I have wanted Galbatorix to fall."
"I wish," Eragon said quietly, "That Saphira and I returned earlier. Or that we have never left at all."
"If you did, you would not be here today," Arya said, reaching out a hand and setting it lightly against his forearm. The contact sparked between them, their eyes meeting. She did not withdraw her hand, and Eragon swallowed roughly.
He smiled at her, though even to him it felt forced. "Many have told me this before, but I feel it will never truly go away."
They were silent for a moment, before Eragon asked, "And how have you been, Arya?"
Her grip on his arm tightened. Her eyes danced between his own, and he knew she understood the meaning behind his words. "What should I say? That I am over his death? That I do not feel guilty about what grows between you and I, and that I…"
Eragon placed his own hand over hers, squeezing it lightly. "I do not want to push you, Arya. I only wish to offer any solace you may need."
"Thank you," Arya whispered. "Fírnen has been a great comfort to me, as have you."
"I am glad," Eragon said. He paused, a question forming in his mind. "Why do you feel guilty?"
Arya was silent for so long that he thought she was not going to answer, withdrawing her hand from his grasp. "I do not know why," she admitted quietly, her words low even for her, "But sometimes I think I feel more for you than I ever did for him."
Her admission shocked him, his body stilling. "I once thought the two of you were mates."
Arya shook her head, the movement small enough that he barely caught it. "No, but there was something between us. Companions? Certainly. And I did love him, but we never decided to become mates. I thought we had more time, and when Durza struck him down I realized that the true agony of war isn't being wounded yourself, but it's having to watch those you care about being hurt. It was a lesson I thought I learned long ago, but never has it been more personal."
"I understand," Eragon said, watching as a tear developed in her eyes. He never wanted to illicit such an emotion from her, and he hardly knew how to comfort Arya. She turned her head down, her raven hair bouncing from the movement.
"I know that you do," Arya said, "Our talks in Ellesméra made that clear to me."
Not knowing what to say, he instead latched onto her words. "I once told you the story of Seril, but I did not tell you what happened after."
Arya wiped her face with her hand, peering up to look at him. Her eyes roamed over him, and he could see curiosity rising in her, though most of the sadness from before remained.
"After Saphira.. well." Eragon hesitated. "I thought I would never be able to feel that way with someone again. I tried to drown out the feelings inside in any way I could. I began to close myself off, denying myself the truth of what happened."
"Her betrayal struck you deep," Arya reasoned.
"It did." Eragon sighed, "Saphira had to knock some sense into me, and it took me far too long to realize that denying that part of me, the part capable of love, was perhaps the worst thing I could do to myself."
Arya pondered his words, the silence descending around them. He let her, knowing that he was right in admitting to her his past troubles. "She must have hurt you immensely, for you to feel as such."
"It wasn't just that," Eragon stated. "I never let myself grieve for what I lost. Both in her death, and who I thought she was."
She studied him intently, seeming to understand the meaning behind his story. Arya nodded her head eventually, and a small smile lit her face. Her tears had dried, and the two of them sat in a companionable silence for some time. Only when a yawn escaped him did Eragon rise, Arya following suit.
The sounds of the Varden outside had diminished greatly. He caught the footsteps of various patrols walking around, and the quiet murmur of soldiers as they settled in for the night. Standing before the exit to the tent, Eragon turned to face Arya. Eyeing her, Eragon opened his arms in a silent invitation.
He expected her to take a moment to consider, or to outright refuse, but instead Arya embraced him. The metal of their armors clinked as they made contact, Arya's arms winding around his torso even as his did the same. He bemoaned the metal between them, unable to feel the press of her body against his own.
When Arya withdrew, Eragon smiled at her. He was heartened when she returned it, though it was not one of the blinding white smiles she had graced him with before. "Goodnight, Arya."
"Goodnight," Arya whispered.
With one last glance at her, Eragon left her tent. He took a deep breath as he glanced around, trying to slow his pounding heart. The more time he spent with Arya, and the more he learned about her, the deeper his feelings seemed to grow.
Eragon passed Fírnen who's head was situated next to Saphira's own, unsurprised to find the dragon still awake. The green dragon bared his teeth at Eragon in a toothy smile, likely having been able to hear their entire conversation. Eragon ran a hand over the dragon's scales, feeling the rumbling hum the dragon let out.
Saphira was similarly awake, and she raised her head up as he stepped over to her. A tongue flicked out, coating his armor with her thick saliva. He groaned at her, glaring as she chuckled lightly. He kissed her snout, striding over to his tent. Entering his tent, Eragon was surprised to find it already occupied.
Brom and Glenwing were conversing in the ancient language, the two of them glancing up at him when he entered. Glenwing was sitting on his cot, while Brom had moved the chair to face the elf. Blinking, Eragon said, "Is my tent to be our communal meeting place from now on?"
Glenwing chuckled, while Brom scowled at him. "You told me you wanted to speak with me. I've been waiting for you for a while now, but Glenwing said you disappeared with Arya."
Eragon glared at the elf, who smiled grandly back at him. "So? How was it?" Glenwing asked, mirth filling his voice.
"How was what?" Eragon returned sharply.
"Your clandestine meeting with Arya, of course!" Glenwing exclaimed. "Now that the two of you are together, I can finally rest happy knowing that I've fulfilled my duty."
"You and Arya are mates?" Brom asked, his brows rising sharply. His father puffed on his pipe, the fumes lingering in the small space afforded by his tent.
"No." Eragon retorted, frustration rising inside him. "We are not mates."
Brom eyed him carefully, his father's blue irises roaming over him. "But there is something between you," Brom speculated.
Eragon sighed, nodding his head. "Yes. That is all I will say."
"Finally!" Glenwing groaned. The elf placed the back of his hand over his forehead, the pose dramatic and drawing a chuckle from Eragon.
"You know," Eragon hinted, "Yaela is supposed to arrive soon with Blödhgarm and the others. I would be glad to return the teasing you have bestowed upon Arya and I."
Glenwing scowled at him, though he sensed a small sliver of worry in the elf's features. "Some friends I have indeed."
Brom glanced between the two of them, and Eragon thought he detected a small hint of a small at the corner of his father's mouth. "Getting back on track, what did you wish to show me?"
Eragon looked at Glenwing, the elf's face showing his curiosity. "I need to speak with my father in private, Glenwing."
The elf nodded, standing from Eragon's cot. "Rider business, eh? I understand. I will see the two of you tomorrow."
Glenwing bid them goodnight, disappearing through the flap of Eragon's tent. When Brom eyed him, Eragon raised a finger and said, "One moment."
He stepped outside after Glenwing, watching as the elf disappeared into his own tent across from Eragon's. The Rider stepped around to the side where Saphira rested, feeling her attention on him even as she laid still. Eragon showed her his intent silently with his mind, feeling her approval flow through him. He climbed up her back as best he could, pulling Glaedr's Eldunarí from the sole remaining saddle bag.
A quick glance around showed him that no one paid him any mind, and Eragon reentered his tent. Brom was puffing on his pipe, his eyes stopping on the large cloth covered object in Eragon's hands. Brom frowned heavily, and Eragon suspected that his father knew what he held. A few whispered wards shielded them from the outside world, and Eragon stepped in front of his father.
Eragon did not reveal the contents of the bag yet, instead opening the drawstring and reaching a hand in to rest against the golden Eldunarí. At once Glaedr's mind brushed up against his own, startling the dragon from the sudden contact. Glaedr examined his mind, lowering the shields around himself to ask, Eragon?
Yes, Glaedr-elda. Eragon replied.
What is it? And why have I been unable to sense anyone but you now?
Forgive me, Glaedr, but I cast a spell around the bag so that none may find you. Eragon explained, I can remove it if you wish, but it will expose you to the Varden.
Please do so.
A whispered spell removed the wards, Glaedr's presence flowing around them into the tent. Glaedr's mind stretch out tentatively, and Eragon felt it extend past Eragon to Brom. His father jumped at the contact, and he could feel his father's mind retreat further. Saphira greeted Glaedr, but he did not know if Fírnen or Arya could feel the older dragon's mind.
Glaedr examined Eragon's surroundings, his mind curious. Was there something you needed, Eragon?
Brom is here, Glaedr-elda.
Ah. The dragon paused, then said, tell him I wish to speak with him.
"Glaedr wishes to speak with you, Father." Eragon repeated.
His father took in a harsh breath, before slowly nodding his head. Eragon felt his father's mind connect with the Eldunarí, and Eragon withdrew Glaedr fully from the bag. He handed his father the Eldunarí after a moment, watching as Brom gazed deep into the gem and into the swirling golden light that escaped.
Arya felt Glaedr for a moment, Saphira said to him, I had Fírnen tell her it was your doing, but she is persistent in knowing how it was possible.
The knowledge she seeks is something the dragons need to disclose, not me, Eragon attested. This was the stance he always held over the Eldunarí, not willing to share the dragon's most precious secret. Letting too many people know risked trouble, though Arya was now a Rider in full. Did anyone else sense him?
Not that I can tell, Saphira explained. No alarms have been risen, even among the magicians of the Varden. After Brom is done speaking with Glaedr, Fírnen and I will discuss the matter with him. Saphira paused, and Eragon could feel her mind brushing up against a few more individuals. Solembum and Angela seem to understand what is happening, though they do not intent to seek us out.
Angela? Eragon thought. He forgotten the witch was among the Varden, not having seen her during the march to the Burning Plains. He reminded himself to seek the woman out in the morning. It would not surprise him if Solembum knew of the Eldunarí, for the werecats knew many of the secrets of Alagaësia. But if Angela knew, then the knowledge was more widespread than he had previously thought.
Brom and Glaedr continued their conversation for some time, and Eragon watched as different emotions flashed over his father's face. Brom seemed to draw into himself even more, as though the discussion was taking something from his father. After a while Brom nodded his head, handing the Eldunarí back over carefully to Eragon.
The contact reestablished his connection with Glaedr, but Eragon did not speak towards the dragon yet. "Are you alright, father?"
"Aye," Brom said hauntedly. "There was much for us to discuss, and I thank you for this, Eragon. If you do not mind, there is much I need to think over."
Eragon eyed his father, worry taking over him. Eragon nodded his head, watching as Brom stood from the chair. His father passed him silently, his gaze far away and not meeting Eragon's as he exited.
What did you two discuss? Eragon asked Glaedr.
The colors of the Eldunarí swirled for a moment, and Eragon realized that the dragon was thinking. After a moment the dragon said, Just some things your father needed to hear from both myself and Oromis. Do not worry over him, Eragon, it was nothing dire.
Saphira's and Fírnen's mind connected with Glaedr, and Eragon felt the flashes and impressions of their minds as they communicated wordlessly. They went back and forth for a moment, and Eragon was hardly able to keep up with the swiftness of their minds. The communication stopped suddenly, Glaedr's mind reaching out to him. Fírnen, summon Arya to Eragon's tent.
The dragon acquiesced, withdrawing from the group slightly.
You are going to tell her? Eragon asked quietly.
Yes, Saphira answered.
Eragon nodded, drawing the bag up around Glaedr's Eldunarí once more. He sat on his bed, holding the Eldunarí close to his chest. Fírnen rejoined their connection when Arya entered his tent, sweeping quickly inside. She paused suddenly, only now able to fully feel Glaedr's presence.
Her brows drew downward, confusion clear on her face. She was no longer adorned in her armor, only wearing her usual leathers now. Eragon was surprised to see her raven hair no longer held up, instead falling gently down around her. She must have been readying herself for bed after he left. Arya's eyes alighted on the bag in his grasp, and she stepped closer to him.
"Why do I feel Glaedr-elda, Eragon?" Arya asked sharply. "What is going on?"
Saphira was the one who answered, her mind pressing forward to join with the elf. The others joined in, all of their minds swirling together and causing the elf to further frown. There is something you need know, Arya, as is your right as a Rider. Eragon could not be the one to tell you, for it is only a dragon's place to tell you of this. Have you always wondered at the source of Galbatorix's power?
Arya's eyebrows rose, her eyes darting to Eragon. Yes. Eragon once said he knew how Galbatorix's power has increased over the century.
The source of his power lies within the hearts of dragons. It is from us that he steals his strength. Without our aid, Galbatorix would have fallen to the elves and Varden long ago.
Arya's features tightened, incredulous. "I do not understand. How is this possible?"
Many of the dragons Galbatorix and his Forsworn slew are still alive today.
Bewilderment shown clear on her face, and Arya glanced again at Eragon. Eragon nodded his head, standing before her with the Eldunarí still covered in his grasp.
Saphira continued, A dragon is unlike most creatures. Our consciousness does not only reside within our skulls, but within what we call our heart of hearts. The Eldunarí lives in our chest from the moment we are hatched, a hard gemlike object that is clear and lusterless. It will remain so for the rest of the dragon's life, and will dissolve alongside the body should they die. However, if we wish it so, we can transfer our consciousness into the Eldunarí and disgorge it.
Eragon drew open the drawstrings, lowering the sack covering Glaedr's Eldunarí. Arya drew in a sharp breath and stood motionless; her eyes locked onto the gem in Eragon's hands. The golden light of Glaedr's Eldunarí swirled inside, pulsing along steadily as the dragon listened through Eragon.
An Eldunarí grows alongside the dragon, and only stops when disgorged. Then, as you can see, it will take on the color of our scales. This is how you felt Glaedr's presence so far from Ellesméra. The Eldunarí allows us to exist separate from our bodies, yet still remained linked. In this way we can live on indefinitely, but it is a risky endeavor.
Arya strode forward, her hands moving on either side of the Eldunarí. They hovered just over the surface, not quite touching the golden gems. This is the source of Galbatorix's power? She paused for a moment, then said, He captured them.
Yes, Saphira said. The Eldunarí is our very being, and any who holds it can force us to do their bidding. From what Glaedr, Oromis, and Brom have told me, Galbatorix did not capture all of them at once. Many dragons disgorged their Eldunarí for the sake of convenience, and long ago we stored them in Du Fells Nángoröth before Vroengard was established. After, the Riders moved them to the island, both wild and paired dragons would entrust their hearts to the Riders. Unfortunately, many of the Riders became careless about protecting them, and once Galbatorix sacked the city of Doru Araeba he was able to gain possession of the entire hoard of Eldunarí.
Arya pressed her hands onto the surface of the Eldunarí, jumping in surprise at the contact. For a long moment she seemed transfixed, her eyes growing cloudy as she communicated with Glaedr. Eragon remained still, holding the Eldunarí up in his arms despite its not insignificant weight.
Minutes passed in this way with Glaedr communicating to Arya through their minds. After a while, she drew back, her expression still showing her shock. "The dragons are still alive," she whispered. Her hands withdrew from the Eldunarí, though Eragon could still feel Glaedr connected to her. "They still live. Oh, only if we could tell the whole of my race, how they would rejoice! And how terrible their wrath would be when they heard of the enslavement of the Eldunarí! We would march straight to Urû'baen, and not rest until we were able to free the hearts from Galbatorix's control, no matter how many of us died in the process."
The elf sighed, her gaze falling. "But we cannot."
No, Glaedr said, we cannot. Long have Oromis and I debated sharing this secret with your kind, but it would only spell disaster in the long run. You are granted the knowledge because you are a Rider, Arya, though I suspect that if you weren't we still might have told you, since this knowledge will be important in our fight against Galbatorix.
Arya nodded, her eyes returning to the Eldunarí in front of her. "How will we fight against hundreds of dragons with only three? Is this why you did not sound so confident we would triumph?"
"Yes," Eragon said quietly, clearing his throat as he spoke for the first time. "But there are four dragons, not three."
Arya blinked at him in confusion, her eyes darting to the side where Saphira and Fírnen laid. At her questioning look, Eragon continued, "The hatchling I slew long ago, the one that was turned into a Shade. The purple dragon disgorged its Eldunarí, and for centuries I have kept it safe."
Her eyes widened and her face became stricken with grief. "It survived the encounter?"
Barely, Saphira stated. Its mind is warped, twisted by the dark magic of the Shade. The hatchling is one of the reasons we left Alagaësia so long ago. Vrael thought that traveling the land would ease the dragon's suffering, as well as quell the questions that were beginning to rise about Eragon's appearance and how he killed a dragon. The Council of Riders were able to suppress much of the events of that night, but even then Rider's began to learn of what occurred.
Arya's eyes darted to his pointed ears, and Eragon felt them heat under her scrutiny. "I see." Her gaze moved away, and Eragon let out a soft breath. "When you fought Murtagh, he had Eldunarí with him, did he not?"
"Yes," Eragon said. "The hatchling came to our aid then, and it was the only reason we were able to survive as we did."
Arya rubbed her temples, and he could feel the exhaustion rising inside of him. He suppressed a yawn, though it did not go unnoticed by the elf. "I thank you, Glaedr-elda, Saphira, for telling me about this."
Glaedr said nothing, but he felt a strange feeling reverberating from the Eldunarí. It took him a moment to realize that the dragon was humming, though it sounded strange since it was only in his mind.
Arya turned around and made to exit the tent and paused at the flap, and turning back around to face him. Eragon had covered Glaedr's Eldunarí, drawing the string tight again as he looked at her. "Do all dragons know of their Eldunarí?"
"They know it exists, but do not often understand the implications of what it truly entails." Eragon explained. "Do not be mad at Fírnen for not telling you, as he would have been sworn to secrecy by both Saphira and Glaedr. I'm sure you can understand why."
"I do," Arya whispered. Without another word, Arya exited the tent, and but he felt Fírnen lingering in his mind. Saphira withdrew fully, bidding Eragon goodnight as she did.
Is there something you needed, Fírnen? Eragon asked.
Thank you, Eragon-elda.
Eragon frowned, though the green dragon had already pulled his mind. Sighing, Eragon set Glaedr's Eldunarí down next to his cot, whispering a few spells to ensure its safety as he unstrapped his armor. His mind was swirling from the conversations he had today, all of them weighing him down in different ways. Eragon was glad to know that Arya knew now of Eldunarí, that much was certain, but he still worried over the conversation his father had with Glaedr.
He heaved himself onto the cot, pulling the blankets up high around him as he gripped Brisingr's hilt tightly in his hand. The blade laid next to him on the cot, and he tried to calm his mind to finally catch some much-needed rest.