Entry 60:
If I cannot move against the current, and am instead bound by the ever-moving water, what prevents me from altering its flow? In continuing with this analogy, one that every iteration of tests seems less and less of a likely parallel, what if instead of reversing the direction of the river, I choose to hasten it? To slow it?
Many have called me mad; but they do not see the truth in the light like I do. Such things are lost to them, and they are unable to grasp the immensity of the knowledge that can be attained simply by asking. For what is an answer without its question?
His elven tunic, of which was one of his finer ones, had been dirtied in the fight with Thorn, leaving him no choice but to change before Roran's wedding. The new tunic had been one he had yet to wear, the fabric soft against his freshly cleaned skin. Despite trying to catch some much-needed rest, Eragon had been unable to sleep more than a few hours. Letting out a yawn, Eragon strode towards the tent which housed Murtagh, nodding to the members of the Varden that he passed on his way.
His brother deserved to know what had happened, as much as Eragon hated to be the one to do it.
Approaching the tent, Eragon could see that four of the elven spellcasters were lingering nearby, their eyes every so often darting towards the tents entrance as though his brother would dart out at any second. Yaela was standing next to another female elf Eragon knew to be Nanve, while the two male elves Eragon knew to be Laufin and Uthinarë lingered on the other side of the tent.
Eragon greeted the two elf-maidens as he stopped next to the entrance, thanking them for their service and asking after them. They replied in kind, stating that they were glad for his and the others safety after the battle with Thorn.
He made to enter the tent before stopping, glancing once more at Yaela. "Where is Blödhgarm?" he asked.
Yaela nodded her head towards the tent, and Eragon ducked through the entrance with a nod of thanks.
Blödhgarm was standing before him, the elf's back facing the entrance. He could see the tension in the elf's figure, and Eragon stepped to the side around him. Blödhgarm was staring intently at his brother before him, who was pacing back and forth while muttering under his breath. Murtagh paid him no mind, not even seeming to notice Eragon's entrance.
Under his breath Eragon greeted the elf next to him, "Blödhgarm." Eragon said. "How are the elves fairing?"
"We sustained no injuries during your battle," Blödhgarm stated, "though a few of us were left weakened after your spell. With a little rest they will recover fully."
"Good," Eragon said. "I am thankful for your help." Gesturing towards his brother, Eragon asked, "And him?"
"One of my spellcasters I left behind reported that Murtagh was agitated during the fight, and had tried to escape his bonds. They had to restrain him temporarily, and I only just released him before you arrived."
"If it were Saphira," Eragon whispered to the elf, "I'm not sure I would have shown as much restraint as Murtagh."
"He has been quite compliant with us until today," Blödhgarm mused, "most unlike the stories we have heard of the Red Rider."
Murtagh stopped his pacing, turning to glare at the two of them. "Do not speak as though I cannot hear you, elf. My patience with you has been wearing thin."
Turning towards Eragon, his brother's features hardening as he continued, "What happened? Was it Thorn? Is he all right?" Murtagh gestured at the elf before him, "He wouldn't tell me what was happening earlier, and it's driving me mad."
The wolfen elf next to him made to speak, but Eragon held up a hand. "It's alright," Eragon said to the elf. "I'll tell him."
Blödhgarm bowed, his hand twisted over his chest, "As you wish, Shur'tugal."
The two siblings waited as the elf left the tent, and Eragon could see his brothers face reddening as the moments ticked by. Once he was sure that they were alone, Eragon strode over to the table Murtagh had been given, settling down on one of the chairs. The table was still ladened with cards, placed around as though a game had been left uncompleted. Gesturing to his brother, Eragon quietly said, "Sit, brother. I will tell you what I can."
Murtagh glared at him, his hands clenched at his side. Eragon turned his gaze towards the cards on the table, his eyes dancing from card to card as he tried to understand the game before him. When Murtagh finally slumped into the seat across from him did Eragon give up trying to decipher the card game, his gaze returning to his brother.
A scowl was still firmly in place on Murtagh's face, though his color had cooled somewhat. "Fine," Murtagh growled. "I'm sitting. Happy?"
Shaking his head, Eragon ignored his brother's jab. "The elves are only doing what they think is best," Eragon tried to explain. "They fear your power, brother, and your enslavement under Galbatorix."
"I have spent the last century being feared," Murtagh spat, "And I have little to show for it. The elves can think what they want, but the only thing I care about is Thorn. So tell me, brother, was it him?"
Eragon nodded. "Yes."
Murtagh's face paled, and he could see him struggle to speak. "Was he-." His brother faltered, unable to ask the question that Eragon knew he needed to know.
"Aye," Eragon said quietly. "He was a Shade."
Even though Murtagh must have known the truth, Eragon surmised that having it spelled out before him must have finally made it real. Murtagh's features collapsed, as though drained of any life. His brother's head fell forward, cradled in his hands. His long deep brown hair that Murtagh kept fell around him, shielding him from Eragon's sight.
Bowing his head, Eragon gave his brother a moment to himself. A sound he thought he never would have heard came softly from Murtagh, barely audible over the Varden's constant noise; a soft sob escaped, and Eragon briefly thought that he imagined it.
Nearly three centuries ago Eragon would have thought Murtagh incapable of such a thing. Still, his brother was not one to openly display his emotions, and Eragon watched as his brother quickly scrubbed at his face as though to clear away any tears.
Reddened eyes finally met Eragon's after a minute, and the pain Eragon saw in them nearly made him avert his gaze. "Tell me what happened," Murtagh commanded.
And so, Eragon told his brother of their fight with Thorn. The whole time Murtagh stared at him, his gaze never faltering, absorbing each word Eragon spoke even if Eragon knew them to cause his brother agony. After he was done, Eragon sat back and plucked one of the cards from the table, fiddling with it between his fingers.
Murtagh was silent for a while, his gaze locked on the table between them. Not knowing what to do, Eragon began to bend the card in his hands, feeling suddenly anxious.
"Your spell," Murtagh said, his voice low and gruff. "What was it supposed to do?"
Eragon shook his head and placed the card back where he had taken it from. "It wasn't my spell," Eragon muttered, "but it was supposedly created to repel spirits. My hope was that it would work on a Shade and force them out of Thorn, but it was never tested for either case."
"And now?" Murtagh scowled, his face hardening. "What will you do, brother, about this Shade?"
"My intent has always been to help Thorn," Eragon stated. Letting out a sigh, Eragon rubbed his hand over his face. "Currently I do not know how, but there is someone who might."
"Who?"
Shaking his head, Eragon regretfully replied, "I cannot say, not so long as Galbatorix's oath still binds you."
The scowl had not left Murtagh's features, but Eragon watched as his brother slowly nodded his understanding. Murtagh looked to the side of the tent, his gaze far away. "When do I leave for Ellesméra? Can you tell me that much?"
"Soon," Eragon promised. "Though the elves have granted you safe passage, getting you there is still a matter of concern. I have some ideas in how I might be able to do so without Galbatorix tracking you, but he isn't my immediate concern."
"And what is?" Murtagh muttered.
"Thorn," Eragon said, before pausing at Murtagh's glare, "the Shade is intent on reclaiming Thorn's Eldunarí. Leaving the Eldunarí with the Varden without both Fírnen and Saphira is too big of a risk."
"So then I will take him with me," Murtagh stated, turning his head back towards Eragon.
"You cannot outrun a dragon on foot," Eragon countered. "So that leaves us with little choice. Saphira and I will have to take you ourselves. Only she is swift enough to outpace the Shade, and I can only hope that the wards in Du Weldenvarden will be up to the task of keeping it out."
Murtagh stared at him, and all Eragon could see still was the anger and pain in his brother's eyes. Saphira gently nudged his mind, alerting him to the fact that he was needed soon for Roran's wedding. Standing from the table, Eragon said, "Duty calls, I'm afraid. Try not to annoy the elves too much."
"Where's the fun in that?" Murtagh muttered half-heartedly.
Shaking his head, Eragon exited the tent. Outside, Blödhgarm was nowhere to be found, though the elves from before were still around. They bowed as he left, and all Eragon could think of was the pain that lingered in Murtagh's eyes.
Standing next to Saphira, Eragon looked out at the small hill they stood on. To his right was the Jiet River, its waters rushing quickly by, the sound of the waves barely audible over the soft chatter of the people at the base of the hill. All of the villagers of Carvahall were in attendance, as well as a number of Varden men. The soldiers held long spears with embroidered pennants of every color, and it seemed that many of them had taken some time to clean their armor, as Eragon caught glimpses of reflected sun light shining into his eyes every so often as the soldiers shifted lightly.
In front of the gathered audience stood Nasuada, Arya, Glenwing, Angela, King Orrin, and a host of other nobles Eragon knew, though he was unsurprised to find that Nar Garzhvog was not in attendance. Indeed, the only Urgal Eragon could spot were those of Nasuada's personal guard, and Eragon could only guess at the difficulty Nasuada must have had in convincing the villagers to allow them to remain.
Fírnen lingered near the back of the group, his long neck towering over the soldiers before him, many of them glancing up at the dragon in awe. The green dragon let out a sudden snort, startling the men below him, and Eragon had to hold in a chuckle when he saw Arya turn and glare at Fírnen. Glenwing must have muttered something to her, his voice too low for Eragon to hear, and he watched as she turned back and elbowed the elf in the ribs.
A rustle of cloth was the only warning Eragon got, and he watched as the villagers and Varden parted, forming a long path from the back of the crowd to the base of the hill. Voices rose, each of them joining together, the ancient wedding songs of Palancar Valley rising and gracing Eragon's ears. He had not heard the songs sung in centuries, his memory of them muted, though a sudden flash of his mother's voice made him shake his head.
From either side at the back Roran and Katrina emerged, their steps steady and sure as they met in the middle. Together they turned towards the hill, neither of them touching the other, their slow gait carrying them towards Eragon. For the first time, Eragon saw his cousin freshly cleaned and groomed, wearing a fine tunic and boots, with his beard and hair trimmed. Katrina, on the other hand, drew nearly all of the attention of the gathered party as she passed; she wore a light blue dress, her features bright and serene, with her copper hair glowing against the pale fabric.
Behind Katrina was two girls, carrying the lace train that followed behind her. Three paces beyond them walked Birgit, one of the women of the village, and similarly Eragon saw that his own father trailed behind Roran.
A pair of white doves suddenly flew out from the trees lining the Jiet River, carrying a circlet of yellow daffodils in their feet. Katrina, having been the first to see them, stopped, gazing up at them curiously. The two birds circled her for a moment before dipping down, gently placing the crown on her head before quickly departing.
Glancing at Arya, Eragon raised a brow. She merely smiled back at him.
When the pair had reached Eragon, he gave them a small grin, the both of them returning it as they waited for the wedding songs to finish. When it was over, Eragon raised his hands and said, "Welcome, everyone. Today we have come together to celebrate the union between the families of Roran Garrowsson and Katrina Ismirasdaughter. They are both of good reputation, and, to my knowledge, no one else has a claim upon their hands. If that is not the case, or if any other reason exists that they should not become husband and wife, then make your objections known before these witnesses, that we may judge the merit of your arguments."
Eragon paused and glanced around. When no one made to speak, he continued, "Who here speaks for Roran Garrowsson?"
Brom stepped forward, and for the first time in weeks Eragon saw was actually smiling. "Roran has neither father nor uncle, so I, Brom Holcombsson, speak for him. Though we may not be of direct blood, Roran and I are related through my late wife Selena, and as such I am one of the few remaining who he may call family."
"And who here speaks for Katrina Ismirasdaughter?"
Birgit stepped forward, "Katrina has neither mother nor aunt, so I, Birgit Mardrasdaughter, speak for her as my blood."
"It is right and proper," Eragon said. "What, then, does Roran Garrowsson bring to this marriage, so that both he and his wife may prosper?"
"He brings his name," Brom stated, "He brings his hammer. He brings the strength of his hands. And he brings the promise of a farm in Carvahall, where they may both live in peace."
Murmurs rippled out among the crowd as realization grew as to what Roran was doing. By publicly declaring his intentions, Roran was stating that the Empire would not stop him from returning to his home with Katrina, staking his marriage on the downfall of the Empire.
"Do you accept this offer, Birgit Mardrasdaughter?"
Birgit nodded. "I do."
"And what does Katrina Ismirasdaughter bring to this marriage, that both she and her husband may prosper?"
"She brings her love and devotion, with which she shall serve Roran Garrowsson. She brings her skills at running a household. And she brings a dowry." Birgit motioned two men forward, who between them carried a metal casket. She opened the casket for all to see, and began to describe each item and lift them for all to see.
Bewildered, Eragon glanced at Nasuada. The Leader of the Varden nodded back at him, a pleased smile on her face. Why Nasuada wished to do something as incredible as this Eragon could only guess at, but he would not begrudge his cousin the station this would afford him.
After Birgit was done, Eragon turned to his father. "Do you accept this offer, Brom Holcombsson?"
"I do."
"Thus your families become one, in accordance with the law of the land." Turning towards Roran and Katrina, he addressed them for the first time directly. "Those who speak for you have agreed upon the terms of your marriage. Roran, are you pleased with how Brom Holcombsson has negotiated on your behalf?"
"I am."
"And, Katrina, are you pleased with how Birgit Mardrasdaughter has negotiated on your behalf?"
"I am."
Nodding, Eragon made them each swear vows to one another, in which they would each uphold the sacred joining that was marriage; Roran was made to swear that he would provide for and protect Katrina, and she would in turn remain faithful to him and care for him, as well as any children they had. When they had repeated his words back to him, Eragon smiled at drew a red ribbon from his sleeve. "Cross your wrists."
Together they extended their arms, doing as he instructed. Laying the middle of the ribbon across their wrists, Eragon would the strip three times around and then tied the ends together with a not. "As is my right as the Leader of the Dragon Riders, I now declare you man and wife!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd, the villagers the loudest of them all. Before them, Roran and Katrina kissed, and Eragon couldn't help the wide grin he wore as the bellows from the crowd continued.
When they separated, Saphira leaned over and gently pressed her snout to each of their brows. Live long, and may your love deepen with every passing year, she said to them.
The couple smiled at Saphira and turned towards the crowd. Raising their joined arms, Roran yelled, "Let the feast begin!"
Following them down the hill, Eragon watched as they pressed through the crowd of shouting onlookers, taking a seat at the two chairs that had been set before a row of tables. Together they sat, where they would remain for the entirety of the feast.
A line was beginning to form in front of them, the guests eager to offer their congratulations and gifts. As he had officiated the ceremony, Eragon was the first to do so, stepping in front of the line and smiling at the wedded couple.
"Thank you, Eragon," Katrina said, which was echoed a moment later by Roran.
"The honor was mine," Eragon said, and pulled two plain golden rings from his belt and handed them to the couple.
Roran examined his ring gingerly, turning it up in the air and squinting at the glyphs Eragon had inscribed onto the inside of the band. "What is it?"
"A way to help protect you against those who would do you harm," Eragon said. They glanced up at him with curiosity clear in their eyes, so Eragon continued. "I enchanted them to do three things: If either of you ever need my help, or Saphira's, twist the ring once around your finger and say, 'Help me, Shadeslayer; help me, Brightscales,' and we will hear you. Also, if either of you is close to death, your ring will alert us, as well as the other, as to who is in peril. And finally, so long as the rings are touching your skin, you will always know how to find each other, no matter how far apart you may be."
Of course, he had enchanted many other aspects into the rings, though he did not think it necessary for them to know. Of a small few, Eragon had cast wards of protection that would replenish themselves so long as Roran or Katrina had the strength to withstand the draw, as well as others that would hide them from those who would seek them harm. All of the spells had been cast in such a way that they would remain long past their natural lifespan, worded in such a way that they would never place either of them in danger from the loss of energy.
Roran blinked heavily. "Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse. "Thank you. I only wish I had these back in Carvahall."
Their hands still bound together, Roran and Katrina took turns sliding their rings into place. Eragon smiled at them and bowed. Glancing at the waiting guests, Eragon smiled at the two of them. "This morning you were poor and without family," Eragon said, "Now, you have your own family, and a small fortune. I wish you both a prosperous marriage, and a happy life to live out together."
Katrina smiled at him, wiping at her watery eyes. "Thank you," she said.
Eragon congratulated them once more before stepping aside, watching as others began to approach the wedded couple. Turning around, Eragon peered into the crowd, looking around for the familiar glint of emerald that always called to him.
Eragon smiled when he spotted her. Arya was seated at one of the tables alone, her back to him, with both Fírnen and Saphira next to her. Glenwing was busy tossing scraps of food at the dragon's, laughing as they caught the pieces out of the air.
Approaching her, Eragon gently placed his hand on her shoulder. Arya tensed at the contact, her head whipping around towards him, though her features relaxed when she saw that it was only him. She gave him a smile as he sat on the bench next to her with his back to the table, their shoulder's brushing lightly.
"That was nice of you," Eragon said quietly in the elven tongue, referring to the doves she had gotten to place the flower crown on Katrina's head.
Arya merely raised a brow, though he saw the edges of her lips tipping upward at his words. Instead of responding to his comment, Arya said, "You spoke most eloquently during the ceremony. Have you officiated many weddings?"
"No," Eragon shook his head. His elbows were resting on the table as he slouched on the bench, his fingers lightly playing with the strands of her hair that fell from their bound place behind her head. "But I attended a few when I was a child, and even more when I finally became a rider." Letting out a sigh, Eragon tilted his head back and gazed up at the cloudless sky above. "Many nobles would lavish gifts upon any Rider who would attend their wedding, and I ended up roped into a few by some of my peers."
Arya chuckled at him, her white teeth flashing at him in her mirth, "Poor Eragon," Arya jested, "having to endure grand feasts and comfortable accommodations. Tell me, where you also forced to partake in the freely provided ale? Perhaps even fight off the advances of a few young maidens?"
Eragon narrowed his eyes at her, though another part of him reveled in the good mood Arya seemed to be in. Despite her people's distaste for marriage, even Arya seemed to enjoy the declarations of love and devotion that were highlighted during such ceremonies. "Maybe I did enjoy the company of 'young maidens,'" Eragon said, shrugging.
Expecting a playful reply, Eragon was surprised when instead her gaze shifted, her head turning away from him slightly. When she remained silent, Eragon tugged on the strand of hair still in his grasp.
"I didn't actually," Eragon confessed after a moment. Arya gaze returned to him, her emerald eyes peering at him. He had spoken in the ancient language, and as such his words were the truth.
After nearly a full minute passed between them, Arya finally offered him a small smile. "We both have a past, Eragon, one that was lived without the other."
"Only mine is longer," Eragon said. The moment the last word left his lips Eragon cringed, and Arya only raised her brow in response.
"As soon as I said it, I regretted it," Eragon sighed.
Arya laughed, washing away any embarrassment Eragon may have felt and making him smile. The sound of her laughter caused the men around them to grow quiet for a moment, and Eragon could feel their lingering stares. A loud cheer rose up suddenly, one dedicated to the newlyweds, drawing the attention away from Eragon and Arya.
For some time Eragon and Arya remained at the table, the conversation between them light as they watched the slow-moving procession of guests waiting to speak with Roran and Katrina. All the while the energy of the crowd grew as more joined in on the feast, the voices growing indistinct as the guests talked louder in order to be heard. Mead was passed around not long after the last group offered their congratulations, though Eragon only sipped lightly at the ale. A few of the elves were in attendance as well, though they mainly lingered near the dragons. Glenwing was as boisterous as ever, moving from group to group as he went, and Eragon was heartened to see that many of the men seemed keen on his company.
The hours passed quickly, and all the while Roran and Katrina remained seated, unable to keep their gazes off the other for longer than a few moments. The table had been pushed aside when the men started testing their prowess with one another, with acts of wrestling, archery, and other feats taking place. Two of the elves even offered to spar, their swift movements and skill leaving the onlookers agape.
Arya surprised him when she stood from the table and sung for them, her voice sending tremors down Eragon's spine. The whole crowd had gone silent when she started, and even remained for some time after she had finished. Her song complete, Arya had sat back down next to him, and Eragon had a challenging time dragging his eyes away from her. She merely offered him a smile in return, though his appraisal of her singing had been interrupted by Glenwing's sudden appearance.
For the rest of the night Eragon enjoyed himself, pushing all thoughts of the war to the back of his mind. Nasuada left long before the sun started to descend past the horizon, the waning light forcing the torches and lanterns to be lit. The moon was high in the night sky when Arya stood from the table, a single glance from her making him jump up as she wadded her way past the rambunctious crowd.
As he passed Saphira she gave him a toothy grin, and Eragon felt the corner of his lips rising as he tried to keep up with Arya's gait. She disappeared around a tent, the darkness swallowing her form as he followed behind. Every so often Eragon would catch a glimpse of her as he made his way back to their tents. Stepping out into the large space that the dragon's used for themselves, Eragon paused as he glanced between his own tent and Arya's.
Which one?
Shaking his head, Eragon chosen instead to enter his own, figuring that Arya knew that he had lost sight of her. His assumption was proven correct when he found her already inside, the lantern he sometimes used in place of a werelight already casting its meager glow on his sparce furnishings.
Arya was seated on his cot, untying her laces, Támerlein placed carefully on the table near Brisingr's usual place. Smiling, Eragon removed the scabbard and place it next to hers. For a moment he admired the two Rider's swords, the sight of them causing a well to form in his heart.
The sound of rustling from behind him drew his attention away, and Eragon turned to face Arya. She had placed her boots at the foot of his cot and was busy undoing the binds in her hair, and it was only when she raised a single brow at him that Eragon realized that he was staring.
Letting out a brief chuckle, Eragon sat heavily next to her and started undoing his own boots. Placing them on the floor next to hers, he murmured to himself, "Wouldn't be a bad idea to get a bigger cot."
Arya had been readying herself for sleep when he had spoken, and her sudden pause in movement made him glance over at her. She was staring at him intently, and Eragon fought to keep himself from shying away from it.
"What?" Eragon asked when she did not cease her gaze.
"Does it bother you?" Arya eventually asked. "That we have found ourselves spending all our time together?"
"Why would it bother me?" Eragon blinked. "We are mates now, are we not?"
Arya's gaze softened, and in its place a small smile appeared. "Yes, we are." She paused for a second, her eyes flickering away from him as she finished removing the knots from her hair.
He felt something unspoken in the air still, and the privateness afforded to them by his tent made him bold enough to ask after it. "Is there something else?"
She was quiet so long that Eragon thought she was going to refuse to answer him, and so when she laid down, he ended up copying her movements. They had to maneuver carefully into place to fit onto the narrow frame, as they had done the previous night spent sharing a tent. Eragon carefully snaked his arms around Arya's waist, pulling her back closer to his chest as they settled in for the night. He pressed his forehead into the back of her head, the scent of freshly crushed pine needles filling his senses. With a simple spell Eragon extinguished the lantern light, leaving the two of them in complete darkness.
Arya's hand intertwined with one of his, and Eragon softly rubbed the back of it with his thumb. Closing his eyes, Eragon was halfway into his waking dream when Arya finally spoke, her voice barely even a whisper. "I find myself inexperienced in such matters as this."
Blinking away the sleep in his eyes, Eragon tightened his arm around her waist. "I know," he whispered quietly back.
She turned her head as much as she was able, and Eragon picked up his own so that she could see him.
Curious as to where she was going with this, Eragon matched her gaze, the swirling depths of her eyes pushing away all thoughts of sleep.
"You were mated once before," Arya stated.
Ah. Now Eragon understood fully what had been plaguing her. Arya was a proud individual, though unlike some Eragon knew she was able to admit to her own faults. Still, she would never have liked to be the one considered inexperienced, and he realized that it must have been difficult for her to tell him. He didn't think she was merely worried about the physical part of a relationship; time spent among humans must have long ago exposed her to such things. No, Eragon believed that she was more concerned over the more emotional side.
"Aye," Eragon acknowledged, "but my past relationships have no bearing on my current ones. It would be wrong of me to compare you to Seril, just as you shouldn't compare me with Fäolin."
She gave him a small nod, her eyes lowering as she thought over his words. She shifted lightly, though she made no move to escape his hold, Instead, Arya seemed to burrow in closer, the space between them diminishing. She returned her head to the pillow they were sharing, and Eragon pushed his nose into her ebony hair. "My worry," Arya murmured, "is how quickly this has developed between us. Ever since we started, I have felt my desire to be near you only grow. I fear that the war is accelerating something that should have instead taken me years to feel. And I am unsure how my people would favor our relationship, even if you are among our most beloved individuals."
"Why?" Eragon returned. "Because we are following our hearts? How others perceive our relationship is a factor because of who we are, and one that we will have to live with and consider for however long we decide to be together. But that does not mean we should allow others to dictate how we feel, or whether it is right or wrong. I know your people are slow to move, and even slower to decide, Arya, but you have spent much of your life outside the forest. Only you can say for certain that what you are doing is in keeping with who you are." Eragon paused for a moment, before continuing, "besides, if you want my opinion, I think even without the war our relationship may have followed a similar path."
The hand that was still intertwined with his own squeezed tightly, and Eragon pressed a light kiss to the back of her head.
"Perhaps," Arya whispered.
Seated at his right was Arya, who was busy studying one of the reports Nasuada had given her to relay to her mother. Brom was across him, a frown firmly in place as he reorganized some of the figures on the map. King Orrin was not in attendance, though Eragon figured the monarch had duties of his own to fulfill. Nasuada was nodding along as one of the scouts recounted his tale, which Eragon had started to tune out. Instead he was rubbing his fingers together as he gazed at Nasuada's map, buried deep into his own thoughts.
Where was the Shade -who had called himself Var'gaz- hiding? Belatona was ash, the fires having long since burnt out, leaving only rubble and half melted stone behind. The people of the city had fled, likely seeking refuge in a number of other cities in the Empire, though Eragon suspected that Nasuada was correct in saying that many would make their way to the Varden.
Eragon's eyes trailed over the Spine, the mountain range in which he had grown up in as a young boy. It had been centuries since he had set foot in his hometown, and part of him longed to see it once more. Pushing his thoughts away, he moved his gaze over to Urû'baen, the city Galbatorix had claimed for his own. Though he had only seen the city from afar when they had ventured to meet the thief Hefring, its once beautiful elven architecture had been taken over by the Empire's more prosaic design. The city he had visited in his youth was covered by Galbatorix's stain, and he felt a keen mournfulness over its loss.
As his eyes lingered on the city, Eragon could not help but wonder what Galbatorix was thinking. Why let Thorn be transformed into a Shade? What possible benefit would it give him to have such a creature roam free? Why cripple his only dragon and Rider pair, one who could have hampered the Varden's movements? Perhaps in creating the Shade Galbatorix hoped to delay the Varden and elven advances, allowing him ample time to complete his search for the Word. If what he knew of the Name of Names was even half true, then Galbatorix would easily be able to undo the spells binding the Shade.
Maybe that was his intention? Eragon rubbed at his forehead, his thoughts spiraling. Trying to figure out the Black King's intentions were impossible, and Eragon did not wish to rely on the Black King to undo Thorn's transformation.
Nasuada dismissed the scout with a wave of her hand, the motion catching Eragon's attention and startling him out of his thoughts.
"Thank you," Nasuada said to the scout, who saluted and left quickly. Nasuada turned her gaze towards Eragon and let out a sigh. "It seems that we have no inclination as to where Thorn is hiding."
"It would be possible to find him," Eragon said, "if we were to search. A creature such as he would leave his mark on the land, and any sufficiently trained magician would be able to track his whereabouts."
"Is that your intention?" Nasuada asked, a frown appearing.
"Not right now," Eragon divulged. "It is my belief that Thorn is after Murtagh, and will continue to attack us so long as he remains here. I have already spoken to Queen Islanzadí, and she has guaranteed safe passage for Murtagh into Ellesméra, where he will be held until such a time that we can properly deal with him."
His lie was simple, but Eragon was unwilling to disclose the truth of the Shade's pursuit. To keep the knowledge of the Eldunarí hidden Eragon thought it best that others believed the Shade after Murtagh instead of Thorn's heart-of-hearts. Eragon glanced at his father, receiving a nod in return. Brom remained silent since Eragon had first entered, instead burying his nose in the mountain of reports that he had to deal with since Belatona fell.
"The dwarves will not be pleased," Nasuada pointed out. "Murtagh slew Hrothgar, and the clans will want justice for their King's death. Do you have a plan to transport him?"
"I have something in mind," Eragon quickly said, brushing off her question, though at the reminder of the dwarves he added, "What of their election? Do we have any news from Orik?"
Too much had been on his mind as of late, and he had not heard any news yet himself. If the dwarves elected a King who did not favor the Varden, then they would lose a powerful ally against Galbatorix.
Nasuada grimaced, and Eragon surmised that it was not as he had hoped. "Narheim assures me that the process is moving apace, but you know as well as I how slowly dwarven politics moves."
Eragon nodded, "Aye, not as slow as elven to be sure, but unfortunately time is not something we have a great abundance of."
"Some, like Orik, know how urgent the matter is, but so far from Tronjheim I have no way of intervening. Nor would they look kindly on someone outside their clans meddling in their affairs."
Eragon reached under his shirt and withdrew the simple chain he had fashioned long ago, which bore the golden ring gifted to him by Hrothgar. On its surface was the emblem of the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, marking him as dwarf-friend. He had kept it close to him ever since, though he had removed it from his hand so as not to damage the fine craftsmanship wrought upon it. Lifting it so that Nasuada could see, Eragon said, "I was named dwarf-friend by Hrothgar himself."
Nasuada frowned, and he realized that no one must have told her. Why Hrothgar would keep that knowledge to himself Eragon was unsure of, though the dwarf King must have had a reason. "That ring only earns you the right to sit at the table, unable to speak at their hall-meets." A calculating look entered Nasuada's eyes, as though she was beginning to understand his reason for showing her it.
"Time is of the essence," Eragon pointed out. "My plan is thus: Saphira and I will fly for Ellesméra with Murtagh, then venture straight for Farthen Dûr. Even with my inability to speak, we may still be able to help in ensuring a sympathetic monarch is chosen."
Brom's eyes left his reports for the first time, staring at Eragon intently. His father said nothing to him about his plan, though a small frown was visible through his white beard.
Nasuada nodded, her eyes shining. "Two birds, one stone, as it were." Her gaze turned towards the map, and Eragon could see her examining the distance between the Varden and the two capitals. "What of Thorn? Will he not give chase? You said it yourself that he seemed intent on Murtagh."
"Saphira is sure that she can outpace him," Eragon attested. "And the wards of Du Weldenvarden are powerful; not even Galbatorix himself would dare try to breach them."
Arya, who had remained silent during their discussion, nodded her head. She had finished reading the report some time ago and had been listening to their conversation. "For centuries, my people have sung their life's essence into the forest. If anyone dared entered its premises with ill intent in their hearts, they would find themselves swallowed in its clutches."
"And what of you, Arya?" Nasuada asked. "Will you remain behind with the Varden? I understand that your position is tenuous, having to contend both with your role as Ambassador to your people and a Rider under Eragon. I must admit my worry in losing both Rider's at once."
Arya glanced at Eragon, who only gave her a nod in response. "I will stay," Arya declared. "If Saphira needs to fly as swiftly as she can, then Fírnen and I will have no chance in keeping pace. And I do not see the dwarves taking favorably to my presence during their elections."
He needed to speak with Arya soon after this. She was probably not pleased that this was the first she was hearing of his desire to escort Murtagh himself, though he knew Arya understood his reasoning and his duty to the races. Still, she would be acting as both Ambassador to the elves and Rider's while he was away, and the balance of power would be difficult enough if a problem were to arise.
Nasuada nodded her head, a pleased smile on her face. "Then it is settled." To Eragon, Nasuada continued, "It's heartening to know that you will attend the dwarven election. I've feared that without a powerful ally at his side Orik has not had an easy time in swaying the other clans. Though I worry that you will not reach the dwarves in time. When will you leave for Ellesméra?"
"Tomorrow morning, if we can," Eragon stated. "What of the Varden? I am unsure how long this journey will take, and I cannot guarantee when I will return."
"There are several things we have decided on," Nasuada said, gesturing to Brom.
His father cleared his throat and started gesturing at the table map before them. "The Varden will march north to the nearest point that we can cross the Jiet River. Once we have done so, we will order troops south to Aroughs while the remainder of our forces will march to Feinster. Belatona's demise has augmented our plans for the future, though we won't be able to judge which path is best until Feinster is liberated."
A sound plan if Eragon had ever heard one. "Who will lead the soldiers on Aroughs?"
Brom glanced at Nasuada, who was the one to answer. "One of our captains, Martland Redbeard. You should know that Roran was placed under his command recently."
"I see," Eragon said. He felt a sliver of worry over his cousin, as well as a sense of sadness. Roran should have been enjoying his time as a newlywed instead of marching alongside soldiers, though Eragon knew his cousin would not be able to abide letting others fight in his stead. Standing, Eragon continued, "If it that is all, I must go and ready myself for the journey."
"That is all," Nasuada said. "In case I do not see you before you leave, safe travels and fair winds to the both of you."
Saphira expressed her thanks through Eragon, who also added his own. With that out of the way Eragon left the tent, Saphira trailing behind him as they made their way to his own dwelling.
I'm going to speak with Roran and Katrina and tell them that we will be leaving soon, Eragon said to her, are you going to go hunt?
I will after, Saphira responded. Fírnen will go with me. There are a few things I need to tell him before we depart. It will be the first time he will be without another dragon at his side.
Nodding, Eragon stretched out his mind towards Blödhgarm, waiting until the elf acknowledged his presence and lowered the shields around his mind.
Shadeslayer.
Prepare a pack for Murtagh, Eragon told him, but do not tell him anything. Tomorrow morning Saphira and I will depart for Ellesméra with him, and I do not wish for Galbatorix to know until we are far enough away from the Varden.
As you say, Blödhgarm acquiesced. The elf paused, before asking, Will you have one of us travel with you?
No, Eragon responded. After I leave Ellesméra, Saphira and I will head for Farthen Dûr. Your people's skills will be of more use here. Arya and Fírnen will remain behind as well.
Very well, Shur'tugal.
They passed through the area that the villagers of Carvahall had called their own, many of those he had met since Roran's arrival greeting him heartily. Outside of Roran and Katrina's tent the two of them found Katrina busy wash some clothes in a bucket of soapy water, her hands pruned as she scrubbed. When Saphira's towering shadow consumed Katrina in its bulk, the newlywed glanced up at them, surprise evident on her face.
"Eragon! Saphira!" She cried, a smile blooming on her face. Standing from her spot, Katrina wiped her wet hands on her dress. "What brings you here?"
Roran stepped out of the tent, blinking against the midday sun. "This is a surprise," his cousin said.
"Aye, forgive me the intrusion," Eragon said. Quickly, Eragon told them of their impending departure, the couple nodding along as he went.
"It seems destiny has a mind its own," Roran said after he had finished. "I am departing soon as well. Heading off to raid some supply trains north of us."
"Aye, I heard you were placed in Captain Redbeard's company," Eragon stated. Stepping forward and placing his hands on both Roran and Katrina's shoulders, he continued, "Before we go our separate ways, I want to place a few more wards of protection on the both of you." Under his breath Eragon began to weave more wards around the pair, his energy reserve dipping slightly from the pull. Though he had placed many wards on the ring's he had gifted them, the new ones would further protect Roran from any severe injury. For Katrina he added many of the same as he did for Roran, though he ensured that the spells would also protect any child she may have been carrying.
"Do not overdo it," Eragon told his cousin. "These wards will protect you, but only so long as they remain powered. Once they are depleted you will be exposed, and only the elves or Arya are capable of refreshing them. Normally, you would not be able to sense when they are no longer active, but I've made it in such a way that your ring will grow warm whenever one is diminished."
"Thank you," Roran said, his hand coming up to grip Eragon's shoulder in return.
Saphira stretched out her neck and pushed her snout against Katrina, nearly knocking the poor women over. And for you, Katrina, do not dwell on that which you cannot change. It will only worsen your distress.
"I will," Katrina responded, bowing to Saphira.
Roran pulled him into an embrace, and as soon as it was over Katrina did the same. Roran ran his hand over Saphira's side, who hummed at the man. "Safe flight," Roran said to Saphira.
Do not hesitate against your enemies, Saphira responded, for they will not.
Giving them a nod, Eragon and Saphira left for his tent. He needed to pack for his journey, and he still needed to speak to a few more people before he would bed down for the rest of the day. His intent was to leave early in the morning, long before the sun would rise and no one but the regular patrols would be awake.
When they neared their tent Eragon turned off and headed for Glenwing's, while Saphira used the clearing to spread her massive wings and take to the sky. In the distance he heard the drum of Fírnen's own, watching as the two dragons spiraled high into the sky before heading east to hunt.
Glenwing's tent was much the same as his own, and Eragon lightly knocked on one of the posts.
A moment later Glenwing stuck his head out of his tent, his face lighting up as he took in Eragon's appearance. "I dare say," his friend commented, "that this is the first time you've ever visited me and not the other way around. Is this what it feels like to have an actual friend?"
Eragon snorted and pushed past the elf into the tent. "Maybe I would seek you out more if every time I turn around you weren't poking your nose into my affairs."
"Ah but then you would forget about me," Glenwing followed him, placing his hand over his heart dramatically.
Eragon shook his head and sat on the lone chair in Glenwing's tent, admiring some of the Fairths the elf had arranged upon it. Many were of the different birds in the elven forest, though a few of them contained faces Eragon did not recognized. When his eyes alighted on the last one, Eragon felt a deep flow of remorse and guilt.
It was a Fairth of Arya, Glenwing, and Fäolin. The three of them were on horseback, with the forest of Ellesméra behind them. Glenwing was grinning brightly, his face eager, while Fäolin head was turned towards Arya. She, meanwhile, was staring straight ahead, her face stoic and unchanging even after all these years since this Fairth must have been made.
"The first time we left for the Varden together," Glenwing commented. A glaze appeared over his eyes. "Arya was the first to join, of course, but eventually she convinced the both of us."
"Seventy years is a long time," Eragon murmured.
"Aye."
Glenwing gazed at the Fairth for some time, only to shake his head. "So, I suppose this is not a social visit?"
Eragon sighed. "If only." Shaking his head, Eragon recounted to the elf his plans, watching as the smile faded from his face.
When he was done speaking Glenwing glanced again towards the Fairth, a frown in place. "If not for the essence of speed I would have liked to go with you."
"There are few enough I trust to watch my back," Eragon commented. "Having you alongside would ease my worry, but your skills are needed here."
"What does Arya think of your plan?"
"She already knows of it," Eragon replied. "Arya knows the importance of what I must do."
"Yes," Glenwing agreed, "she does." The elf held up a finger at him, and Eragon frowned in response. "However, you will have a particularly nasty dragon chasing you across Alagaësia. Some worry is warranted on her behalf. Besides, you two only recently became mates."
"If she has anything to say, then she will say it."
Glenwing nodded his head. The two of them were quiet for some time, the empty air between them comfortable.
After some time a thought struck Eragon, and he asked, "What of Yaela? Has anything changed?"
Glenwing's face contorted, as though stricken. It cleared moments later, though there was a lingering sense of sadness about the elf. "Some. I have taken your advice and acted only with our friendship in mind. It seems that she has accepted my apology. Now it remains to be seen what I will do."
"Sometimes thing happen in their own time," Eragon stated quietly. "They cannot be forced nor swayed, but instead left to grow unimpeded. Enjoy her friendship for who she is, and anything more is only supplemental."
Glenwing smiled at him, but even Eragon could tell that it was forced. He lingered for some time with his friend, putting off leaving to pack until the sun was beginning its descent in the sky. Glenwing had pulled him into a tight embrace when he made to depart, and Eragon knew that he would miss the elf's company.
Stepping through the flap of his tent, Eragon was surprised when he found not only Arya already waiting, but his father as well. The two of them were standing over Glaedr's Eldunarí, which was placed on Eragon's table, their faces steepled in concentration as they communed with the older dragon. He had left the Eldunarí in Saphira's saddlebags, which had been placed inside his tent and secured with wards. It took him a moment to remember that he had allowed Arya to be one of the few capable of opening the bag, and he shook his head at himself for his forgetfulness.
Walking towards them, Eragon stretched out his mind and brushed against their combined consciousness. After a moment, their barriers lowered, and Eragon meddled his mind with theirs. Only Saphira and Fírnen were absent, still off on their hunt.
Arya and Brom have told me of your plan, Glaedr said.
Good, Eragon replied. Have you heard anything back from Ílyae?
Nothing useful, the older dragon grumbled.
There is something I wished to discuss with you all, Eragon said to the group. Arya's brows rose up, while Brom merely grunted and pulled at his pipe. I was able to communicate with Tenga.
The magician who gave you the scrolls? Glaedr clarified.
Aye, Eragon answered. He had given me a means to talk to him, and I asked him if he had any knowledge of Shades.
What did he say? Arya asked.
Eragon recounted his brief correspondence with Tenga, ensuring to leave out a few of the more colorful opinions the old magician had on the elves.
His knowledge is vast, Eragon explained to them. Some of the spells he had were unlike anything I have ever seen. He understands magic on a level that even among the elves few could claim.
We shall see what he has to say, Glaedr responded after taking some time to ponder Eragon's discussion. But I would advise not laying all of our hope in one basket. And telling him of the existence of the Eldunarí is a risk we cannot take, not at this moment.
True, Brom added. We cannot wait for others to solve our problems, and the Eldunarí must remain a secret.
I know, Eragon sighed. But does anyone have any thoughts on how to help Thorn? Tenga did say that Thorn is possibly still unstable, and the longer we wait the worse chance we have of being able to restore him to his former self.
Silence permeated the air around them, and eventually Glaedr huffed and said, I will speak with Oromis over what measures can be taken. I am only glad that none of you were seriously harmed in the battle with the Shade. Such a creature contains power we can hardly comprehend, and if left unchecked will spell the doom of my race.
Glaedr's mind made to pull away, but Eragon quickly said, Wait, Glaedr-elda. There is something I must ask of you.
Of course, Skörungr.
I ask if your Eldunarí can be entrusted to Arya for the time being.
Arya glanced at him, and Eragon could see the surprise on her face. She said nothing, even as Glaedr thought over his request.
I will allow it, Glaedr stated. Take heed, Arya. Being the guardian of an Eldunarí is no easy task, but do not sacrifice yourself for me. Oromis and I have already come to an agreement on this; if it is your life or mine, you must choose your own. Do you understand me?
Yes, Ebrithil. Arya said.
Good. To Eragon, he said, you will be without my aid until you reach the forest. Are you sure this is the path you wish to take?
Aye, Eragon said. At least this way, for the time we are in the forest we will be able to communicate. Providing, of course, you are willing, Glaedr-elda.
Amusement flowed through the older dragon, but of course, Skörungr.
Glaedr's mind retreated, leaving them alone in the tent. Brom let out a sigh and turned to face Eragon, his face drawn. "I will see you off in the morning."
Nodding, Eragon bade goodnight to his father, a frown on his face. He worried over Brom, and how much his father put on his own shoulders. "The old man needs some rest," Eragon muttered to himself.
"He is only worried over recent events," Arya told him. "And over you. Much of his day is spent dealing with the Varden's affairs, and if weren't for him our army wouldn't be half as ready as they are."
"I know," Eragon replied. Gently he picked up the Eldunarí from the table and placed it back in its sack, Glaedr's mind brushing against his as he did so. Sealing the bag, Eragon turned and presented it to Arya.
She stared at him for a moment before accepting it, only to place it back down on the table again. Eragon blinked at her in surprise, only to stumble when she grasped his tunic and pulled him in to her.
Her lips connected with his own, and Eragon wound his arms tightly around her waist. His heart thundered in his chest as the heat between them grew, and fire ran through his veins as their mouths glided over one another. One of her hands wound its way into his hair and tugged, the sensation drawing out a groan from him.
The sound seemed to spur Arya on, for he could only feel her passion growing. Their torso's pressed hard against one another, and the space between them diminished quickly. One of his hands trailed over her back before moving to her sides, brushing near her chest only to move away again. He could feel a shiver run down her body every time he trailed his hand close, all their while their lips continuing their soft caressing dance.
It was when Arya's lower body brushed against his that she froze, the sudden lack of movement from her drawing Eragon's attention away.
He could feel it now, that his length was pressed against her body, the fire she had started growing in his loins. Drawing back, Eragon closed his eyes and said, "Sorry."
Her forehead connected with his own, and Eragon could feel her shaking her head at him through the contact. "Eragon."
Blinking, he opened his eyes, only to succumb to the dark hue her emerald eyes had taken on. She was staring at him intently with her lips slightly swollen, and Eragon fought back another groan.
Smiling, Eragon said to her, "Got a little carried away there."
Again she shook her head at him, though he still did not know what she meant over it. "It's alright," she breathed.
Eragon exhaled, his frame racking with tremors from the feel of her close to him. Her hands trailed down his arms, and he lightly squeezed her waist as they stood together. Arya's breathing was nearly as chaotic as his own, though eventually the two of them calmed as they stayed in the moment together.
He let out a soft chuckle, his heartrate slowing. "What was that for?"
Arya huffed lightly, the puff of air tingling his lips. She did not respond to him, instead pulling back and tugging lightly on his wrist. He went willingly as she moved him towards his cot, and when they were settled together Eragon let himself bask in her presence.
Tomorrow he would be leagues away from her, and he was eager to get any time he could with her. She seemed to be of the same mind, her head pillowed against his shoulder and her arms wrapped tight around his waist.
His waking-dreams were filled with Arya, the touch of her skin seared into his mind.