The festivities continued late into the night, only ending when the villagers of Carvahall stumbled back to their tents and into their makeshift beds. Eragon sat at the table he and the others occupied before, Arya his only companion. She was silent like him, though he could occasionally feel her gaze on him as he continued to sip at some ale. Glenwing had left long ago, citing the call of his own bed to be too strong for him to resist. Saphira and Fírnen were sleeping, their forms stretched out next to the pavilion, and from Saphira's mind he could feel the effects the ale had on her still. Eragon had a brief respite of amusement when the villagers had to gingerly walk past the dragons, their size leaving little room to maneuver.
A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts, and Eragon turned to face Roran, who stood behind him half holding up Katrina, whose expression bordered on sleep. "You alright?" Roran asked, adjusting his grip on his fiancée. "You've seemed troubled since speaking with your father."
Eragon waved his hand, "Nothing you need to concern yourself with yet."
His cousin stared at him, but after a moment nodded. Roran shifted, as though uneased, only to jump when Katrina elbowed him in the ribs.
"He wanted to ask you a question earlier," Katrina stated, and Eragon realized that she wasn't drunk like he had assumed, merely tired from the night. "But he kept second guessing himself."
Eragon blinked, turning fully in his seat to gaze at the pair of them. "What is it you wanted to know?"
Roran shook his head, a slight frown on his features. "Nothing of the sort." He hesitated for a second, and Eragon watched as his cousin steeled himself. "I wanted to ask a boon… a favor I seek from you."
"Oh?"
His cousin smiled at Katrina briefly, who nodded her head at him. "Will you be the one to marry Katrina and me? I know we haven't known each other all that long, but it would honor us if you were to consent to join us as man and wife."
Eragon felt astonishment flow through him. Next to him, Arya remained silent, and he wondered if she was as surprised as he was. "I-Are the two of you sure? I would think you would have wanted Orrin or another noble to wed you. He would leap at the chance to gain more favor with me, and if it was something the two of you wanted, I wouldn't mind. Having a King officiate your wedding would be a story to tell."
Roran shook his head, smiling at him. "No, cousin. I want you to be the one to do it. You are the only other living person I share any blood with, and you are the Leader of the Riders. I cannot think of anyone else I would rather have to tie the knot around my wrist and hers."
Eragon gazed at Katrina, whose face was bright in her grin despite the tiredness that exuded from her. "Are you certain?"
"Yes," she nodded.
Eragon glanced at Arya next to him, but her face was stoic and showed him nothing. Turning back to the others, Eragon nodded. "I would be honored to perform the ceremony."
Roran grabbed his arm and pulled him up, and Eragon froze for a moment as both Roran and Katrina embraced him. He was surprised by Roran's strength, his breath leaving him in a rush as his cousin squeezed him one handed. When they separated, and Eragon had returned to his seat next to Arya, he asked, "When? There are many things that require my attention, and I do not know if we will be able to find a suitable time."
Both Roran and Katrina stiffened, glancing at each other. If it weren't for the fact that Eragon knew the two of them were incapable of speaking with their minds, he would have thought them deep in private conversation. Next to him, Arya shifted lightly in her seat.
Roran shrugged his shoulders, though the Eragon it seemed forced. "What about the day after tomorrow?"
"So-." Eragon broke off, realization filling him.
Ah. Eragon thought, a smile breaking out on his face. He glanced at Katrina, taking in her countenance; he had not seen her drink any ale during the festivities, and though it wasn't proof, Eragon knew enough to gather that she might be with child. "Of course," Eragon said softly. "The day after tomorrow it is."
The two of them grinned at him, the stiffness from earlier fading from sight. "Thank you," Katrina said, reaching out a hand and laying it on his arm. "It means much to the both of us that you would do this."
"It is no bother," Eragon commented. "Your joining would bring a lightness to world, one that I fear may be sorely lacking."
They smiled at him, and Katrina and Roran made their goodbyes and left.
The two of them were the only ones in the tent now, and Eragon raised an eyebrow at Arya. "Did you know?"
Arya shook her head, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere. After a moment of silence fell between them, Eragon stood from the table, the last of his ale forgotten.
She stood with him, and before he could speak, she started for the exit. Blinking, Eragon followed behind, the two of them squeezing past the dragons. She led them back towards their tents, and Eragon quickly fell instep beside her. Neither said a word, and only the sounds of the slumbering Varden pierced the quiet between them.
It was something that Eragon greatly enjoyed about Arya; that she could simply be next to him, not having to say a word, giving him comfort just from her presence. If she knew how she affected him, Eragon did not know. It was late, far past the usual time Eragon would bed down at, the roaming guards the only one's beside them awake and moving about.
Eventually they reached Eragon's tent, and by the look on Arya's face he knew that she wanted to know what his conversation with his father concerned. Gesturing with his head towards his tent, Eragon followed Arya in as she pushed the flap aside. With a whisper Arya brought forth a werelight, the color casting her hair in green light, her irises glinting at him when she turned around to face him.
The joy he had felt at Roran's news faded as he recalled his talk with Brom, and Eragon sat heavily on his cot, his head falling once more between his hands. Instead of gripping his wrist, as she did earlier, Arya strode forward and stood between his knees, his head pressing into her stomach lightly. Hands gently found their way into his hair, musing with it and drawing a sigh out of Eragon.
Warmth radiated from her touch, and Eragon eagerly basked in it.
After a few minutes passed, in which Arya continued to cart her hands through his hair, Eragon raised his head to meet her gaze. Her emerald eyes were soft, if questioning, and he could feel a compulsion to speak building inside of him.
"There's-." Eragon broke off, his throat tightening. Steeling himself, Eragon finally managed to get it out. "There's a possibility that someone tried to recreate the events from Belatona."
At first Arya blinked at him, her face at first filled with bewilderment, only for a flash of understanding and anger to take its place. It too was gone before Eragon could fully register, and the only thing that remained was the same sense of sorrow and disbelief that he felt.
"How sure are you?" Arya asked, her words no more than a whisper. Her hands tightened in his hair, her grip strong, though it did help to steady the turmoil inside him.
"Brom received a few reports," Eragon explained, his voice matching hers. "A group of magicians interested in that night were said to be active inside Belatona, and Murtagh and Thorn were last seen arriving at the city before we captured him."
Arya's face steepled in concentration, and he could see her mind connecting the clues. "You think these magicians tried to turn Thorn into a Shade?"
Eragon shivered, but nodded his head. "Aye."
Arya's hands fell down to her side, and he could see the horror that filled her being. "If it's true," Arya softly said, "Why would Murtagh hide this from us?"
"I don't know," Eragon answered.
"If Thorn was a Shade, then could we not sense it through his Eldunarí?"
Eragon shook his head. "Not if he managed to flee into it before the spell took hold. It is possible that some connection remains, though Saphira would know more than I would."
Arya gazed at him, her worried filled expression searching his own. "How would we fight such a creature?"
Memories threatened to consume him, and Eragon struggled to push them aside. Shaking his head, Eragon felt his throat welling up, and he barely managed to control himself. When he glanced up at Arya, he could see that her features had softened as she watched him.
"Eragon…"
A hand gently pushed against him, pressing him to the cot. He obliged, and let Arya guide him down as she saw fit, her movements soft. She followed him down, and when she was done, Eragon was situated on his back, her head pillowed on his chest.
One of Arya's hands softly stroked his side, the sensation sending a fission of energy down his spine as he tried to fall asleep to Arya's rhythmic movements, Eragon's mind only continued to fill him with a deep sense of unease.
Entry 58:
No new solutions have made themselves apparent, and for the first time in all of my research I am left to consider the possibility that my assumptions so far have been unfounded. How else can I explain the monumental failure that this endeavor has been, but to realize the falsity of my own claims? All that I am left with to convey any sense of meaning is the immutable flow of time, forever untouched and untapped by those who would claim dominion over it.
Why then does this still haunt me so? Never have I been so obsessed over any singular question, so much so that it shrouds all my mind's eye to the truth that surrounds me: somethings can never be undone.
Waiting was never really Eragon's strong suite; he had ample practice at it, but he could never truly get over the need to act instead of sitting still. His fingers drummed against the table in his tent as he sat, Glaedr's golden Eldunarí swirling in front of him. His mind was lightly touching the older dragon, and he could sense Glaedr's amusement at his fidgeting.
I thought we thought you the value of patience, Eragon-vor.
Eragon sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. You did. Forgive me, but there has been much on my mind.
Glaedr rumbled, and Eragon got the feeling that the dragon had shifted his body.
Then, pray tell, what has been weighing on you so heavily?
Eragon sighed. When he had awoken this morning, it was to find a large shadow looming over his tent, and a worried dragon pulling at his thoughts. Arya and himself had rushed outside to find both Saphira and Fírnen awaiting them, and when he had shared his father's theory he had to watch as both dragons in their fury threatened to level the surrounding area.
Eventually they had managed to calm their partners, and Saphira had let out a long low keen as she pressed her snout hard into his chest. He had let her peruse his memories of the conversation, and felt her comfort flow into him, helping to hold back the tide of emotion that had threatened to consume him.
A snort from the golden dragon brought Eragon back into reality, his thoughts of this morning fading.
Even though he had not responded, Glaedr did not seem to mind. After a few minutes had passed of them sitting in relative silence, save for the stray thought that passed between their connected minds, Glaedr spoke. Oromis has arrived.
And so, with Oromis listening through Glaedr, Eragon explained everything of Brom's theories, as well as a few of his own. When he was done, Eragon sat back in his chair, his head and heart heavy.
Glaedr growled loudly, his Eldunarí flaring with light. The anger of the old dragon bore into Eragon, and he felt himself shiver as his old master's mind filled with the fearsome and renown fury that only a dragon could bring to bear. Glaedr retreated slightly from their connection, and he could feel that him and Oromis were communicating, their thoughts blocked off from his own.
With the Rider and dragon preoccupied in their conversation, Eragon let his gaze wander away towards the other Eldunarí still housed in his tent. Thorn's Eldunarí remained the same as it had the previous day, the internal red light pulsing softly, barely visible against the sunlight that managed to breach the tents thin fabric. When nothing presented itself to him, Eragon forced his thoughts away from the red dragon.
Arya was busy, and he missed her presence, her having left soon after this morning to complete her regular report to her mother. Eragon had gotten Arya's promise that she would not yet share the information he had given her, and though he could see that it conflicted with her duty to her own people, Eragon had sworn that once he knew more would he share his suspicions with all the leaders.
He had also asked her, as was her role as Ambassador to the Elves, to set up a meeting between him and the Queen, so that he might discuss Murtagh's fate. Arya had agreed, stating that she would contact him when Islanzadí was ready.
Glaedr pressed his mind against Eragon's, his thoughts subdued and filled with grief. Eragon-vor… This suspicion that you and your father hold is most troubling.
Aye, Eragon acknowledged.
Glaedr pushed hard against Eragon, his mind searching Eragon's emotions. Ease this burden you carry, Skörungr. If what your theory predicts has indeed come to pass, then the blame does not fall on you.
I am the Leader of the Riders, Eragon protested, and the title of Skörungr is proof enough that this is my responsibility.
You cannot control the actions of others, Glaedr said, his voice soft, surprising Eragon. And to do so would mean stepping closer to the line of the Oath-breaker then you would be comfortable with.
Eragon nodded his head, and upon realizing that Glaedr would not be able to see the motion expressed his acknowledgement to the elder dragon.
Good. Glaedr said. Oromis asked how you are faring, and if you have yet to come up with a strategy on how to handle this situation.
I am… As well as I can be, Eragon answered. They spoke in the elven tongue, and even in his mind Eragon was unable to lie. No solution has presented itself to me yet. I have a few notes from my studies of Ílyae's books, and hopefully her spell can be of use.
Her spell was meant to drive away Spirits, not undue the making of a Shade, Glaedr advised. We do not know if it will work if Thorn has been fully merged.
If there is a chance to save him, Eragon cemented, then we must take it.
Glaedr hummed at him, as though pleased with his words. Oromis will speak with Ílyae, and see if she does not have anything to add.
Thank you, Glaedr-elda.
Is that all, Skörungr?
Eragon hesitated, before finally saying, I need to ask a favor of Oromis and you.
Then ask, Glaedr intoned, and if we are able, we will see it done.
Later, I will ask Queen Islanzadí myself that Murtagh be kept by the elves. They are the only ones capable of both containing him and driving off Thorn, should the need arise. I would ask that if she agrees, the two of you help Murtagh in changing his true name. He is the only one who can free himself from Galbatorix's hold.
Glaedr drew silent, mulling over Eragon's request. A part of the older dragon's mind drew away from him, and he could feel Oromis talking to the dragon through their connection.
What you ask will not be easy, Glaedr finally responded. Oromis and I agree that we will do what we can for Murtagh, as is our duty as both Elder's and teachers. However, know this; changing one's name is no easy feat, and may require more of Murtagh then he is willing to give. If that is the case, our assistance will bear no fruit.
Thank you, Eragon stressed, gratitude for his old teachers rising inside of him.
We do what we must, for those that we can.
And Eragon, the dragon continued, should Thorn show himself, whether Shade or Dragon, do not hesitate to call upon me.
I won't, Eragon promised.
Glaedr closed off his mind, and Eragon ran his hand through his hair, letting out a sigh.
For the next few minutes, Eragon spent the time deep in his thoughts, his mind wandering. It was only when a loud thump echoed around his tent did Eragon stand from his chair, picking up both Glaedr's and Thorn's Eldunarí gently. He placed both of them inside the bag he had taken from Saphira's saddle, and with a few whispered spells sealed them so that only Arya and himself could open them. He would return them to Saphira's saddle, knowing that it was the most secure place they could be held for now.
That done, Eragon left the tent, feeling the familiar mind press lightly against his own.
How did it go?
Saphira peered down at him, her neck twisting as she faced him. He pressed his head against her snout, the warmth of her scales seeping into his skin. Glaedr reacted much the same as you did.
She growled, and Eragon ran his hand over her scales. That there are those who would make such an abomination again… I will burn them.
Eragon shivered, and said nothing. Saphira, noticing his quietness, keened softly, little-one…
I'm alright.
No, you're not.
Eragon sighed. I had centuries to come to terms with our past, and what I had to do. Why is it still feel like that night never ended?
A plume of smoke left Saphira, and with it the sensation of her mind wrapping around his own. He let her comfort and love wash over him, driving away the grief and despair both of them felt. Because for you, killing an innocent is the harshest act one could impose.
The hatchling isn't dead, Eragon protested.
No, Saphira answered, but is it really living when you know nothing but madness and suffering?
Eragon was silent his thoughts on Thorn, and Saphira nudged him with her snout. Come, let us go flying. Let my wings take your mind away from these problems, if only for a minute.
He smiled at her, clambering up into her saddle with quick and practiced movements. In seconds he was strapped in, a sense eagerness filling him as he readied himself. We cannot stray too far. Arya may call upon me soon.
As Saphira spread her wings and launched into the sky, he got a decisive snort that echoed in his mind. Your elf has had her time with you. Now it is time for us.
The beat of Saphira's wings rose steadily as she did, the very sky obeying her dominion over it as she angled herself away from the Varden. Eragon smiled, both at her words and the rush of wind over his features.
Admit it, Eragon teased her, you like Arya.
Not as much as you do.
Saphira!
Her laughter shook his body, the sensation helping to keep his worries at bay, even if it made his teeth rattle in his skull.
But yes, little-one, Saphira answered, I find that she is well suited for you. As you are for her.
Eragon patted her neck, a soft warmth filling him. A flash of warning made itself apparent in her mind, and Eragon quickly gripped the saddle as Saphira twisted around and began to dive.
I need to speak to Murtagh after this, Eragon thought to himself as he joined Arya in her tent.
She was seated at her small table facing her mirror, and for a split second Eragon thought that she was only staring at her own reflection. It was only when the face in the mirror did not turn as Arya did that Eragon realized Queen Islanzadí was already present for the meeting. Arya stood from her chair with a nod at him, and as he took her seat, Eragon gave her a faint smile. He was unsurprised when she did not return it, moving instead to stand next to him.
Behind the Queen, whose features took up nearly the entire mirror, Eragon could see the insides of a large white tent, which was illuminated by one of the elves' magical lanterns. The Erisdar's flameless light cast the inside in a faint red, and even Islanzadí's green eyes were dulled by the color.
The only reason Arya, and by extension himself, were even able to speak with the elves was because they were on the move, having finally left their forests after a century in hiding.
Facing the Queen of the elves, Eragon placed his fingers on his lips and said, "atra esterní ono thelduin."
"Atra du evarínya ono varda."
"Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," Eragon said, finishing the traditional greeting.
Islanzadí appraised him for a moment, and though her face was near a duplicate of Arya's, -or perhaps the other way around- he was unable to discern what she was thinking.
"Eragon-vodhr," the Queen said after a few moments had passed, "you have accomplished much since you've left our forest."
"Not alone," Eragon said.
"No," Islanzadí conceded, "success is often not something one accomplishes by themselves, but do not discount your own efforts. Arya reported to me much that has taken place since the battle, and that after your return from Helgrind you managed to take Murtagh into custody."
"Aye," Eragon responded. He glanced at Arya, glad that she had already briefed her mother on the past few days. If there was one thing he disliked, it was constantly repeating himself. "Has Arya already told you why I wished to speak with you, My Queen?"
Islanzadí's eyes flicked to the side of him, where Arya was standing. "She only said that you wished to ask of me yourself."
"Murtagh cannot remain here with the Varden," Eragon began, and if the Queen was bothered by his abruptness, she didn't let it show. "Blödhgarm and the others are capable of restraining him, but by doing so we lose any aid they may have provided us. Not only that, but the longer my brother stays the more likely it is that Thorn will come for him."
A single brow raised on the Queen's features, and Eragon was nearly taken back by the same expression that Arya often gave him. Though he had to admit that on Islanzadí, it garnered a different response from him. "My daughter has said that you believe Thorn to be injured, or otherwise incapacitated. Do you now believe otherwise?"
"I do not know for certain," Eragon said. They were speaking in the ancient language, and it was only the fact that Eragon did not truly know Thorn's condition that he was able to speak as he was. "We are in possession of Thorn's Eldunarí, but any attempt at making contact has been unsuccessful. Not even Glaedr has managed to get through to him."
"I see," the Queen said, her voice cold.
It seems that Glaedr did not tell her that he gave to us his Eldunarí, Saphira commented, nearly causing Eragon to jump in surprise. He knew that she was listening to his conversation through him, as she often did, but he had almost forgotten about her presence.
Should he have? Eragon asked.
Saphira snorted, it is not my place to say. Only Glaedr can speak for his own heart-of-hearts.
When he glanced at Arya, she merely raised a brow at him. Shaking his head, Eragon continued, "Because of this, Murtagh cannot stay with the Varden. The dwarves will want his head for Hrothgar's death, so that rules out Farthen Dûr. So I ask, Islanzadí Dröttning, as Leader of the Riders, that the elves be the one to hold Murtagh in my stead. Your people are the only ones capable of doing so, and not even Thorn would dare to enter Du Weldenvarden."
Emerald eyes peered at him through the mirror, and he could see the Queen frown at him. "You ask much of us, Skörungr."
Eragon shivered at the title, unused to it. The last person he had heard addressed as such was Vrael; the title of Skörungr was only given to the most exceptional of Leaders, and was considered the highest of honors. That Islanzadí used it as well as Glaedr was not lost on Eragon.
"I know," Eragon stated.
For a long while the two of them stared at each other, both of their faces sternly set. From this, Eragon would not back down. Eventually, Islanzadí nodded her head. "Vrael would be proud of you, Eragon. You have, despite the newfound power of your position, remained the very same person my late Evandar once called his closest friend. For this, and as a way to repay our debt for the Fall, your half-brother will be given safe passage to Ellesméra. He will be held there as your prisoner, under our careful watch."
Eragon bowed his head as much as he could while seated, and said, "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Now I just need to figure out how to get Murtagh there.
Islanzadí gave him a sharp nod in response. "Know that there are many that will disagree in the city with your decision, but I shall see to it that they leave Murtagh unharmed. This will not please the dwarves, to say the least."
"If it becomes a political issue, then it should be made clear to them that he is my prisoner, and not yours," Eragon offered. "I was named Friend of the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, and though Hrothgar may be gone, there are not many who would go against his proclamation. I will bear the brunt of their ire, so that we can ensure all the races remain united against the larger threat."
Islanzadí nodded her head, her regal features relaxing somewhat. "Tread carefully, Eragon-vodhr." With that the Queen waved her hand, ending their conversation as the scrying spell ended. The mirror cleared, and all Eragon could see in its reflection was himself.
Letting out a sigh, Eragon ran his hand through his hair. A hand gripped his shoulder, and Eragon turned to Arya next to him. "That went better than I thought it would," Eragon admitted quietly.
"Should it not have?"
Eragon gave her a small smile, watching as she moved to lean against her hip against the table next to him. He had to strain his neck to gaze at her face, and he briefly admired the way a strand of her hair fell around one pointed ear. "I'm not used to others being so… amenable, especially rulers."
It was only then that Eragon noticed Saphira had withdrawn from his mind, though he could still feel her presence lingering at the edge of his own. She was resting next to Fírnen, the two of them deep into a wordless conversation that he could only barely make out.
"You are a leader yourself now," Arya pointed out, drawing him back into the conversation, and he wanted to sigh when she raised a hand and brushed the strand away. "It stands to reason they would listen when you speak, and take your words to heart."
"I know," Eragon admitted. "It has been quite an adjustment as of late. Saphira and I, for the last two centuries, have mostly kept to ourselves. These past few months, especially since I took on the mantle of Leader, has required more of me then I thought it would have."
"Such is the burden of duty."
As one who took her sense of duty seriously, Eragon knew that Arya understood how he felt. Her hand, which had remained on his shoulder, squeezed him lightly. He reached up, trailing his own hand up her arm, his fingers dancing patterns on her skin. His eyes darted from her to the mirror, before resting them once more on her face. "Did you tell your mother?"
Arya, it seemed, had grown used to the way he sometimes darted from topic to topic. Instead of a raised brow, as he had expected, she instead shook her head. "I have not. Such a thing is a delicate matter, and is not fit to be spoken of during such a dialogue."
"Hmm." Eragon hummed. To him, it seemed that either she was right, and that matters of the heart did not belong in a political discussion, or that she was perhaps nervous to tell her mother. Whether it was the former or the latter did not mean much to Eragon, as he was content to follow her lead.
He swept his hand down her arm, grabbing the hand that lingered on his shoulder. Twining their fingers together, Eragon raised her hand up to his lips, kissing the soft skin on the back of her palm. When he glanced up at Arya, he could see that her eyes had darkened, her gaze locked on him even as he lowered their combined hands.
Shaking her head as though to clear it, Arya asked, "Do you have any other matters to look after today?"
Nodding, Eragon rubbed his thumb over the spot he had kissed. "I need to speak again with Murtagh. I want to tell him my suspicion, and see what he has to say." When she remained quiet, Eragon raised a single brow at her. "Do you have anything else your needed for?"
"No," Arya answered.
If she was hinted at something, Eragon could not tell. Instead he asked, "Did you want to come with me to see Murtagh?"
Arya frowned at him. "Are you certain you wish me there?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Eragon asked.
She blinked at him, her face clearing. "Very well."
Standing, Eragon tugged on her hand, pulling her towards the exit of the tent. As they departed, however, he relinquished his hold, his hand felling cold as the warmth of her skin left him.
Wyrden, one of the elves Eragon had first encountered during his return from the east, was standing guard outside Murtagh's tent as they arrived. The elf bowed at them, greeting them in the ancient language. Eragon nodded at him in return, watching as Wyrden turned back to his duty, his eyes scanning the crowd as the Varden went about its daily tasks.
Sweeping the flap of the tent aside, Eragon entered the small space with Arya trailing behind him. Murtagh was the only one in the tent this time, though Eragon doubted that Blödhgarm was far. He had mostly left the task of securing his half-brother to the elf, as he knew one of Blödhgarm's stature was more adept at handling something of this magnitude then he was.
Murtagh was lying on his back on the small cot provided for him, his eyes closed as his hands crossed over his chest. If it wasn't for the stiffness of his brothers features, Eragon would have believed him to be asleep.
"I heard Brom stopped by," Eragon said, striding over to stand next to the cot. Arya lingered at his shoulder, and he could see that one of her hands rested on Támerlein's scabbard.
"Aye, you missed a most riveting conversation," Murtagh muttered.
His brother had not moved, though Eragon hardly took offense. Instead, he offered, "I can always ask Angela to stop by if you're feeling lonely."
That got a reaction; Murtagh sat up, his eyes springing open as he quickly glanced around then tent. "She's here?"
Eragon chuckled, glancing at Arya as he did. She had not relaxed since entering, and he suspected that she wouldn't until they left Murtagh's side. "If you mean here as in the Varden, then yes."
Murtagh huffed, before settling his eyes on Arya for the first time. She stiffened next to him, and Eragon had to quell the urge to reach out his hand to her. When Murtagh fully took in her features he blinked, his face shifting from stunned to puzzled. "You look like Islanzadí."
If he thought Arya was tense before, mentioning her mother seemed the wrong thing for Murtagh to do. Her features tightened, and he could see a familiar coldness frosting over her features. "You know the Queen?" Arya asked, and Eragon nearly winced at the sharpness of her tone.
Murtagh, as usual, paid her countenance no mind. "No," he drawled, swinging his feet over the side of his cot. "Only her late mate. But Galbatorix made sure I knew the faces of all the leaders that oppose him. How he managed to get his hands on a memory with her in it, I haven't the faintest, but you can be sure that those in Galbatorix's army know her face."
Either Galbatorix pulled the memory of Islanzadí from one of the many Eldunarí in his care, or he somehow managed to rip the image from someone who met the Queen in person. If it was someone who met Islanzadí, what was to say that they were a spy? After a moment Eragon swept the thought aside; no elf, save for the few elves of the Forsworn, would ever align themselves with the Mad King.
Arya did not relax like Eragon had hoped, though she said nothing in response to Murtagh's comment. His brother continued his pursual of Arya's features, though it did not seem in anyway as if Murtagh was being lewd. His assumptions were proven right when Murtagh huffed, "You're her daughter."
Eragon pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, damn it, Murtagh. Well, there's no point lying now.
If Arya's features were cold before, they seemed downright frozen to Eragon now. "Yes," Eragon answered, even if Murtagh had not asked a question. Arya's glare was frightening when it was Eragon who was subjected to it instead of Murtagh, but he merely shook his head at her. "He already guessed. Even if Galbatorix was to reach out and take the information from him now, there's very little he could do with it now. You are more valuable to him as a Rider then as a princess."
"It's true," Murtagh stated, and Eragon glared at his brother. "Good on Evandar, though. Bastard never shut up about wanting a child," Murtagh murmured, turning his head away from them.
Eragon shook his head, "Just keep digging, brother." Before Arya could retaliate for Murtagh's comment about her father, Eragon continued, "Elven succession aside, there's something we need to ask."
"Oh?"
His brother did not turn to look at him. Eragon sighed and crossed his arms, unsure of how to approach the subject. He glanced again at Arya, who merely gave him a slight nod in support, though the cold expression remained firmly in place.
"Murtagh," Eragon murmured, "what happened in Belatona?"
His half-brother stiffened, and Eragon could see him tightly grip the cots frame.
"I do not know. In case you haven't noticed, I've been sequestered here by yours truly," Murtagh said, gesturing around them at tent and him in turn. They had been speaking in the ancient language, which Eragon often did with those that knew the tongue, and he knew that Murtagh was skirting the truth.
"We received a report," Eragon began quietly, fighting to keep his voice neutral, "that you and Thorn had just arrived at Belatona. Given the delay, I suspect that whatever caused you to appear north of the Varden would have taken place the next day. Am I wrong?"
Murtagh shook his head minutely, and Eragon sighed. "Why won't you just tell me what happened?"
For a minute his brother did not answer him, his gaze locked onto the side of the tent, far away from where they were. Eventually Murtagh's eyes met his own, and Eragon nearly drew back at the fury that he saw there.
"Because of what that bastard did," Murtagh spat.
Eragon swallowed harshly, his fingers digging into his arms. "Who? Galbatorix? What did he do?"
Murtagh drew silent, though Eragon could see his eyes filled with anger, locked onto to Eragon's own.
"Who is Brother Keres?" Eragon asked.
At the mention of the man, Murtagh's face had paled, though his ire was still present.
"Is he a part of the group who were interested in the Shade of Belatona?"
Slowly, his brother nodded, though he said nothing more.
"This group of magicians," Eragon cleared his throat, trying to work past the knot that was trying to form. "Did they try to recreate that night?"
Murtagh's eyes flickered between his own, and it was only then that Eragon could see the grief buried deep. Whatever Murtagh was going through, Eragon could only imagine, but he had to give his brother credit; if something like this had ever happened to Saphira, Eragon was not sure he would be as coherent as Murtagh was right now. It was testament to Murtagh's strength of will and stubbornness, the latter a trait both of them shared.
"Did they turn Thorn into a Shade?" Eragon finally choked out, and he could feel his body trembling in both anticipation and horror.
Murtagh's face fell, the fury that was there before all but disappearing. A sadness took over his brother's features, so deep and painful that Eragon could hardly bear to even look at him. "Yes," Murtagh stated quietly, his voice quivering.
A sharp inhale of breath came from Arya next to him. He felt as though the world was trying to shrink down around him, white spots beginning to dance in his vision. Shaking his head, Eragon tried to focus on his brother before him.
"Murtagh," Eragon said, reaching out a hand towards his brother.
"Don't," Murtagh warned, shying away from Eragon. The grief that was so apparent faded, and all that was left on Murtagh's face was the renowned wrath that so many others feared.
"I do not need your pity, nor does Thorn." Murtagh scowled. "What I need is your help."
Eragon drew back, stunned. Since when had Murtagh ever willingly asked for help? He couldn't remember a time that his brother ever asked for something from him.
He was silent as he tried to gather his words, watching as Murtagh bristled in agitation in front of him. Arya was silent next to him, though he knew she was as upset as he was; the elves, after all, prized the dragons above all else. If the elves learned of what happened, Eragon feared what would become of Alagaësia in their righteous fury.
"I will help Thorn," Eragon promised, his words low. "But Murtagh, you cannot stay here."
His brother glared at him. "You would send me away?" Murtagh murmured, before his voice began to rise, "When I am the only one who would be able to get through to him? The only one who, since he was a hatchling, has protected him from those that would do him harm? I cannot leave him, brother, not alone. I will not allow him to suffer in misery because of what they did." By the end of it Murtagh was nearly shouting, having stood from his cot, striding over to stand before Eragon.
The flap covering the entrance to the tent rustled, and Wyrden made to enter, but Eragon held up a hand to the elf, before gesturing to leave them.
"You are bound to Galbatorix," Arya pointed out, speaking for the first time in a while. "Even if we took every precaution, the Black King knows your true name."
Murtagh's eyes moved to the opening of the tent, watching as Wyrden left them to stand guard once again. After the elf was gone, Murtagh glanced at Arya, then Eragon. "So you don't trust me."
"I don't trust the oaths you were forced to swear," Eragon countered.
He could see how hard his brother wanted fight against his words, a dark look crossing Murtagh's face. Eragon was surprised, however, when Murtagh instead sighed, the fight draining out of him. "Where would you send me?" Murtagh wearily asked.
"To the elves," Eragon answered. When Murtagh's features stiffened, Eragon explained, "I have already gained the Queen's permission. You will be held as my prisoner, not theirs."
Murtagh scowled, but did not contest against his fate. After all, even he knew that both the people of the Varden and the dwarves wanted him dead. Only the elves knew the truth of his servitude, though Eragon never exactly learned how they learned that truth. It was something he had forgotten to ask Oromis and Glaedr, though he supposed Brom might have been the one to gather that knowledge.
"And Thorn?" Murtagh implored. "What of him? Unless your two centuries away has given you knowledge that even the Riders knew not, then there is nothing you can do for him."
Eragon shifted uneasily. "I will do all that is in my power to save Thorn, brother."
A glint appeared in Murtagh's eyes, one that Eragon had never truly seen before. "And if you cannot? Will you slay him? As you did that hatchling?"
"Do not speak of things you do not know," Arya scolded, surprising Eragon with the ferocity in which she came to his defense.
Before Murtagh's sharp tongue could make another entrance to their discussion, Eragon quickly interceded. "The hatchling survived."
His brother's puzzlement was obvious, especially in which the way his eyebrows shot up. "What?" Murtagh questioned, "but that's…"
"The hatchling managed to flee into its Eldunarí," Eragon murmured, "before the transformation could fully take hold. Only, the young one was not strong enough to severe the bond between his body and heart, and was driven mad from the experience."
"Do not play with me, Eragon," Murtagh insisted.
"I believe that Thorn may have fled into his Eldunarí after he transported you," Eragon explained. "And as such, remains untainted by the Spirits who inhabit his body. There must remain some form of connection that Thorn is fighting, otherwise Saphira believes that his mind should not be as it currently is."
Murtagh blinked at him in shock, and he could see his brother struggling to keep his composure.
Glancing at Arya, Eragon nodded towards the exit. To his brother, Eragon said, "I do not know how or when we will transport you to the elves, but it will be done soon enough. Until then, if Thorn manages to show himself, I cannot guarantee either his or your safety."
"I will not die cowering behind the Varden's defenses, imprisoned in a tent that is no bigger than any other cell."
As Eragon and Arya exited the tent, Eragon said quietly, "No, I don't expect that you would."
With a nod of thanks to Wyrden, the two of them walked back to their tents, neither saying a word. The passed through the tents quickly, many of the Varden watching them as they trekked. As they neared the area in which their tents were situated, Eragon could already see Saphira, her head resting on the ground in front of his tent, her saddle still strapped on from their flight earlier in the day.
Eragon sat heavily against Saphira's side, leaning into the warmth and comfort she willingly provided him. She curled herself around him, a soft hum emanated from her, the sensation helping to ease the tension that was a constant companion to him these past few days. It was the evening now, the sun a few hands above the horizon, spurring the people ambling about to complete their tasks before the dark of night settled over them. Saphira's bulk, and his own tent, shielded him from prying eyes, and Eragon let out a world-weary sigh.
Someone settled down next to him, their shoulder pressing warmly into his own. If it wasn't for the fact that Arya had followed him from Murtagh's tent, the scent of freshly crushed pine-needles would have been indication enough of her presence. Eragon leaned his head back against Saphira's warm scales, tilting his head towards Arya. He was pleasantly surprised when she did the same, allowing Eragon to rest his head atop her own. Arya's hand that was closest to him trailed down his arm softly, before slowly twining together inside his own.
Eragon squeezed her hand, drawing comfort from the two of the most important people in his life.
Little-one…
I'll be alright, Saphira, he said to her.
She didn't seem to believe him, a snort rising from her.
The next day found Eragon readying himself with an eagerness that surprised him, his movements swift and sure as he pulled on some of the finest elven garments he had. Today, after all, he would take part in a ceremony in which he was honored to lead; though he was accustomed to the elven tradition of mates, some part of him still longed for practices of men, even if he knew that it was something Arya would never want for them. He did understand the elven reasoning against marriage, though he sincerely doubted that his own feelings for Arya would ever truly fade.
Still, if this was something that Roran and Katrina wanted from him, then he would gladly put aside his own feelings for them. From what he understood, much of the Varden would be in attendance of the actual wedding, both because of himself and Roran's own growing legend. Any reason to celebrate and potentially increase the moral of the people was something Nasuada was keen to introduce, and Eragon couldn't fault her for that; after all, if the troops lost all hope, this war would be over sooner than anyone would think.
As he left his tent Eragon nearly collided with the figure clearly trying to enter, both of them grabbing onto the other to halt their mutual fall. When Eragon glanced at the person whose arms he gripped, he felt a small chuckle rise up.
"Nice to see you too," Glenwing muttered.
"Come to see if I wasn't alone?" Eragon asked, watching as Glenwing tried to peer around him into his tent. He let the elf look, knowing that he would find nothing inside.
The elf smiled at him, "Something like that. So tell me, where is our dear Arya? I hardly caught a glance of either of you yesterday."
Eragon eyed the elf as they both headed off towards where the villagers of Carvahall were preparing for the wedding. "She's busy performing some of her duties, but promised that she would be there for the ceremony. What of you yesterday?"
"After spending the morning recovering from the night drinking the human's dry," Glenwing chuckled, "I volunteered to help Blödhgarm and his ilk with their patrols. Caught a few miscreants trying to sneak into your half-brother's tent, though they hardly seemed dangerous."
"Oh? Arya and I must have missed you, seeing as we went to speak with Murtagh."
"I did see the both of you leave," Glenwing admitted quietly. "I was going to ask after you, but your expression told me otherwise. Plus, there was the fact that Arya practically glared at me when I started to approach the both of you, so I figured I would be better off letting her handle it."
By it, Eragon figured Glenwing meant himself. Still, he was surprised at how vehemently Arya always came to his defense. "There was a lot on my mind," Eragon confirmed.
"Indeed." Glenwing did not seem eager to continue this line of discussion any more than Eragon was, and he was glad when the elf instead said, "Word on the grape-vine is that you are to head up this ceremony."
"Aye," Eragon answered. "Roran and Katrina asked me the night of the feast, and I could hardly turn them down."
"No," Glenwing commented, "I don't suppose you could have. In any case, I must admit that these particular human customs always escaped me."
"Dwarves marry much the same as humans," Eragon pointed out. "And though Urgal's don't consider it marriage per say, they do have similar customs."
"True," Glenwing allowed. A sudden thought must have occurred to the elf, for he stopped his walk and grabbed Eragon's arm, dragging him to a halt as well. "Wait," the elf continued, his eyes wide. "Do you want to marry Arya?"
Eragon gaped at the elf before pulling his arm away from Glenwing's grasp. "No," Eragon grounded out, half feeling like his face was moments from catching fire. "And even if I did, I'm pretty sure that Arya feels much the same as you do about that particular tradition."
The elf hummed at him noncommittally, and Eragon pushed against the elf's shoulder to start him walking again. "Well you didn't lie," the elf said, pointing out the fact that their conversation was in the elven tongue, "but I suppose thoughts like that are something that would be ingrained in you, even after all these centuries."
"I am perfectly happy with being Arya's mate," Eragon quietly said, his words low enough that only an elf could hear them. "Anything else isn't necessary."
Glenwing eyed him as they continued their walk, and said nothing else on the subject. It was as they were approaching Roran and the others that Eragon whispered, "Don't say any of this to Arya."
Glenwing blanched, and whispered back, "I wouldn't even dare. She already wants to skin me alive after my last few comments, so on this I will gladly stay mute."
The idea that Glenwing was terrified of Arya always made him smile. Though Arya might not admit it, Eragon knew that despite her annoyance with the elf, she considered him to be a dear friend.
They arrived in the clearing, the early morning sun shining down on them as they gazed at the villagers of Carvahall hard at work. There were rows of spits and cauldrons sitting over beds of coals, men butchering the hogs meant for the feast, large makeshift ovens made of stone and mud, and somehow even more kegs of ale. In the distance, past all of the villagers, Eragon could see six women using a line of plank as a counter and working quickly with dough.
A great rising gale of wind announced Saphira's presence as she landed next to the pair, the ground shaking briefly from the force of her landing. As Saphira neatly folded her wings on her back, she snaked her head around to face them. A large sapphire eye blinked at them in greeting, and Eragon watched as Glenwing smiled at Saphira and began to talk with her lightly. She was wearing her saddle this morning, Eragon having placed it on her before he left for the day. Now that they knew about Thorn, Eragon did not want to chance being caught off guard.
Glancing around, Eragon tried to spot Roran, and it took him near a whole minute to find his cousin. He was near the center of the clearing, surrounded by all the people of the Varden, shouting at a mule-driver over something Eragon couldn't quite make out. Leaving the elf and Saphira behind, Eragon began to twist through the villagers, many of whom stopped at greeted him eagerly. Smiling at them, Eragon returned their words and continued past.
Roran had grabbed one of the mule's harnesses and began tugging on it, his face red and sweaty despite the cool morning. The mule refused to budge, and Eragon halted Roran's attempts with a hand on his arm.
"Everything alright?" Eragon asked.
Roran's face twisted, before he let out a sigh. The mule-driver was staring at Eragon, mouth agape, so Eragon ignored him and looked at his cousin, an eyebrow raised in question.
Instead of answering him, Roran gestured at the mules, seemingly giving up on getting the stubborn creatures to move. Chuckling, Eragon whispered a few words in the ancient language to the animals, watching as each of their ears turned to him before beginning their slow trot out of the clearing.
"How did you…" Roran began to mumble, before shaking his head as though thinking better of it. "Never mind."
Eragon smiled at the man, clapping him on the shoulder as the two of them watched the worried mule-driver follow after his animals. "Nervous?" Eragon asked.
"Aye," Roran answered.
"You'll do fine," Eragon said, squeezing his cousin's broad shoulder. "You've already done the hard part, you know." When Roran looked at him questioningly, Eragon explained, "Asking her to marry you, dunderhead."
Finally a smile broke out over Roran's face, and Eragon had to admit that the man was smitten. "I did, didn't I?"
"That's the spirit."
"Sometimes I can hardly believe it," Roran admitted softly. His cousin gestured around him at the villagers, then to Eragon himself. "A few months ago, I was nothing more than the son of a farmer, not knowing that all this would happen to me. Then I find out not only do I have a long-lost relative, who is centuries older than I am, but that my very world would be changed as well."
"Such is the way of life," Eragon remarked. "It is often filled with surprising moments."
It was as if his words themselves spurred the world on from this moment, as the second they left his lips a terrible sound reached their ears; a roar so familiar to Eragon that his entire body nearly jerked alongside it.
Roran looked at him with fear and determination in his eyes, and Eragon turned to sprint straight for Saphira.
He's here, Saphira growled, her tail twitching with agitation as Eragon clambered up and into the saddle.
Eragon turned to Glenwing, shaking his head when the elf made to follow him. "Join with the others," Eragon said to him. "This is a fight only a Rider can handle."
The elf nodded at him, and Eragon could see the worry in his friends' eyes.
Two large sapphire wings spread wide, and with a single bound Saphira launched herself into the air. As she wheeled around towards the direction the roar came from, Eragon could see a glint of red shining dimly back at him.
His worst fear had been made reality, and the Shade finally arrived.