Entry 54:
It seems apparent to me that my current approach to the question is flawed. All attempts at discovering a way to reverse the flow of time have been for naught, and each subsequent trial has only left me with more questions than I started with. Perhaps my way of thinking is itself the problem?
Time, as we know it, flows in one direction, unmoving, unchanging, undisturbed by the world. How can I change the course of history when I am only a pebble against the raging river?
For once, Eragon's presence at a meeting was not required, and he found himself strangely with some time on his hands. He had spent some time reading Tenga's book, though from what he could tell the beginning entries were merely Tenga's rambling thoughts. Some entries were incredibly detailed, listing out each step the hermit took in his attempts to control time, while others were short and lacked any true explanation. Still, the magician had given him the books, and so Eragon would continue to read them.
It was before noon when he left his tent, and he blinked against the bright sun that shined on him. Saphira was gone, having left sometime early before he had awoken. Where she was, he didn't know, but he could feel her presence on the other side of the Varden. As he walked around his tent, Eragon spotted the green dragon besides Arya's tent, and he caught the flash of an amber eye.
A mind pressed against his, and only when he recognized it as Fírnen did he lower his barriers.
Eragon-elda, might I speak with you?
Eragon smiled, striding over to the dragon. Of course, Fírnen. And there is no reason to be so formal anymore. Where is Arya? Is she in her tent?
The dragon lifted his head, turning to face Eragon. As you wish, Eragon. And no, Arya is at a meeting with Nasuada and the Queen. They are discussing logistics of elven supply lines, and I find myself bored of the talks.
Even after having known the dragon for months, Eragon was still not used to how deep his voice was. He stopped next to the dragon, placing his hand against the side of Fírnen's head. They are indeed a tiring conversation, but a necessary one. What did you need?
The dragon blinked at him. Arya has told me that the two of you are now mates, yes?
Eragon swallowed, unsure where this conversation was going. We are. Was this what you wish to speak with me of?
No, Fírnen said quickly, then after a moment of pause he said, yes.
Whatever was on the dragon's mind, Eragon did not know. Fírnen?
Fírnen was quiet for a moment, and the dragon turned his head away to gaze in the direction of Nasuada's tent. Arya and I have not been bonded for long.
No, you haven't.
You've known her for longer than I have.
Only by a few more months, Eragon corrected. He paused when a thought crossed his mind. Fírnen, he asked gently, are you worried about how our new relationship will affect yours with her?
The dragon turned back to him, and Eragon had to step back to avoid losing his eye to one of Fírnen's head spikes. The dragon growled, is it so obvious?
Not to anyone else, Eragon soothed, but this isn't the first time I've heard of this. I may be her mate, Fírnen, but you and her share a bond deeper than we ever will. Trust that she knows what she is doing.
I do, Fírnen adamantly stated, before his tone softened. I only find myself envious of what she has.
Eragon's ears reddened, and he fought to keep his own voice neutral, we only just became mates. I think it might be a bit too early to be jealous of us.
Fírnen stared at him for a long moment, the dragon's tail swishing back and forth against the dirt, and Eragon got the sense that he was agitated. I pushed her to talk to you, the day you left for Helgrind.
Eragon felt a frown forming on his face, Fírnen…
She was unsure of what she should do, Fírnen continued, ignoring Eragon's warning, she warred against herself the whole time, in whether to give into the feelings she held for you, or to follow what she thought her duty was. I told her that she needed to speak with you, and that you would know how to balance those two parts of her. She didn't think you held the answer.
Eragon stayed silent, though he sat down facing Fírnen, his hands resting on his knees as he crossed his legs.
But you did. Your words soothed something inside of her that I was unable to.
That, Eragon said softly, is not true.
But it is, Fírnen retorted, lowering his snout down to push against Eragon's chest. The depth of her feelings for you… The dragon snorted. I have never felt anything like it before, and it confuses me.
Eragon's ears felt like they were practically on fire, and he rubbed at one of them gingerly. Why are you telling me this?
So that you understand the power you wield over her.
The power I wield? Eragon thought to himself.
She is the one with power over me, Eragon said to Fírnen. He thought of all the times he was flustered around her, and he let the memories flow quickly between the two of them. Fírnen's mind lingered on the memories of Arya before he had hatched, and Eragon felt something stir inside the dragon when a particular memory of Arya and Saphira together flashed by.
You both have a hold over the other, Fírnen stated as Eragon let the memories fade. I only ask that you are careful with her heart, Eragon.
I promise to be, Eragon said, reaching out his hand to the dragon. Fírnen pressed his nose against his Gedwëy Ignasia. And Eragon felt a cold sensation rush up his arm. To the best of my abilities.
That is all I ask, Fírnen hummed.
Eragon withdrew his hand, letting out a sigh.
The two of them sat quietly for a while, until Fírnen lowered his head and nudged Eragon's leg lightly. Has… Saphira talked about me to you?
What? Eragon said, surprise filling his voice. About what?
Nothing, the dragon snorted, averting his gaze. Eragon eyed Fírnen, trying to see what the dragon was asking after. The green dragon lifted his gaze to the sky, as though to avoid Eragon's eyes.
Ahh, Eragon thought to himself. Now he understood. Fírnen still wished to pursue Saphira, though he had thought the matter laid to rest long ago in Du Weldenvarden.
She has not, Eragon admitted after a few moments, but Saphira doesn't speak much of these things. It's been a long time since she was around others of her kind, and she has had much on her mind of late.
I see.
Saphira would not like that you asked me this, Eragon continued, and she would not like me to tell you this, but you told me quite a bit about Arya that I didn't know. If both knew of our conversation we would pay dearly, but as well hanged for a sheep as a lamb, eh?
Fírnen rumbled, and Eragon felt the ground vibrate from the dragon's laughter. Indeed.
If you want to pursue Saphira, show her that you are no longer the hatchling she helped raise. You are a fierce dragon, Fírnen, but to her right now you are her prior student. Change that. After a second, Eragon continued, but don't do anything rash or impulsive. I've gotten scolded enough over the years to know that Saphira really doesn't like that trait.
I see, the dragon said.
"And what do we have here?" came suddenly, causing both Fírnen and Eragon jump. The dragon growled, though he stopped once he saw who it was. The elf that ambled up to them smirked, and Eragon sighed.
"Glenwing," Eragon greeted, rubbing a hand over his face. "Your timing, like always, is impeccable."
Glenwing sat down heavily next to Fírnen, leaning his weight on the dragon. The green dragon huffed, though he did not dissuade the elf. "I try," the elf said, placing a hand against his chest. "It's a skill, you know."
"One that you would do better off to lose," Eragon muttered, though there was no real heat behind his words.
The elf laughed, his trilling voice causing a few nearby members of the Varden to pause in their work. Eragon waved the men on, though he noticed how a few of the women continued to stare at the two of them. He ignored them, though he saw how Glenwing barely even acknowledged the glances he drew.
"So," Glenwing said, clapping his hands, "What were the two of you discussing? And how can I join in?"
We were discussing matters of the heart, Fírnen said, and Eragon was unable to place the timber of his voice, and I think it's time for you to tell Eragon all that occurred while he was away.
"Right," Glenwing said, standing. "I just remembered! Arya asked me to deliver a message, and I really must be going…"
The elf tried to move away, only to collapse when Fírnen knocked him to the ground with a swish of his tail. Glenwing cried out in surprise and tried to stand, but Fírnen pinned him to the ground with a foreleg, the dragon half standing to reach the elf.
No more running for you, elf.
Eragon smirked and strode up to the elf, having jumped back from Fírnen's sudden movements. He knelt next to Glenwing, watching as the elf struggled in vain against the strength of a dragon. "You know," Eragon said, picking lightly at a rock in the dirt next to Glenwing's head, "You did promise me that you would tell me, and I think this is a perfect opportunity to catch me up on all that I missed."
Glenwing scowled, slapping a hand against Fírnen's clawed appendage. "Fine! Fine. Now let me up you blasted lizard."
Fírnen didn't budge, lowering his head down next to the elf and sniffed him lightly. You would make a poor snack.
Glenwing laughed, "I would. So please, let us get on with it."
Fine. The dragon withdrew, letting Glenwing go. The elf stood and brushed himself off and glared at them, all the while Eragon held in his laugh. Eragon drew out the rock he had been picking at, flicking his wrist towards the elf.
The rock smacked straight into the elf's chest, and Glenwing glared at Eragon.
"Rude," the elf sighed, retaking his spot next to Fírnen. The dragon did not protest this time, having settled back down. Most of the spectators that they had drawn had left, though he could still see some of them glancing curiously at Fírnen and Glenwing.
With another glance around them to ensure that the subject of their talk was not nearby, Eragon asked, "So what did happen while I was away? It was only a few days, and I can't imagine it could have been much."
Glenwing's expression drew inward, and Eragon worried that his friend would not speak. "During the Blood-oath celebration," the elf began quietly, "we spent a fair bit of time together. I thought that perhaps something was being built between us, but it seemed I was wrong."
"Oh?" Eragon said, glancing at Fírnen. The dragon blinked in response, and Eragon returned his gaze to Glenwing. Eragon sat next to the elf, placing his hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to actually tell me, you know. I was only trying to return your teasing remarks about Arya and I."
Glenwing smiled at Eragon, though he could see how forced it was. "No, I want to. If there is one thing I've learned from Arya, it's that I do not wish to bottle up my emotions and keep everyone at arm's length."
Eragon let the comment about Arya pass by, squeezing the elf's shoulder. "So, the two of you spoke in Ellesméra. And then she arrived at the Varden."
"Aye," Glenwing said to him, turning his head up to the sky. "When she arrived, I tried to speak to her about what was between us. I tried to follow in your stead, you see, in how you handled your confession to Arya."
Oh no, Eragon thought.
"Please tell me you didn't make a spectacle about it," Eragon asked, already fearing the worst. For a brief moment he imagined what it would have looked like: Glenwing, kneeling before the silver haired Yaela, waxing poetry for all the Varden to hear. Arya's face flashed in his mind as well, her expression mixed between amusement and pity. He let his imagined encounter fade, returning his attention to Glenwing.
"Nothing of the sort," Glenwing snorted. "But I did speak with her after Blödhgarm and the others had settled in, and they did end up hearing our conversation."
As did Arya and I, Fírnen added, his head curled around to gaze at them. I have to admit, I thought your words quite elegant and well spoken.
The elf glanced up at Fírnen, his face twisted. "Thanks, I think."
"And what did she say?" Eragon asked gently.
"That I was too young for her," Glenwing murmured, meeting Eragon's gaze. "And that she did not want to start something in the middle of the war. Her remarks were quite… biting."
"I see," Eragon commented lightly.
A sense of sadness washed over him when he placed himself in the elf's position. If Arya had denied his affection for her, even back during their time in Ellesméra, he knew that he would have been heart broken.
Glenwing let out a sigh, turning his head away to watch the Varden as they went about their tasks. Eragon followed his gaze, and for a moment he thought he caught a flash of silver in between the tents of the camp. "You are older than Arya by nearly two centuries, and Arya is barely considered an adult by elven standards, and yet it doesn't seem to matter to the two of you."
"I'm not also an elf," Eragon pointed out, "though I have lived as long as some of them." His hand fell away from Glenwing's shoulder, and he picked lightly at another rock in the dirt beneath him. "My sense of time is quite skewed compared to your kinds because I'm a human."
Or was, Eragon thought to himself. Even two centuries after the dragon's had changed him to resemble more of an elf, Eragon was still unsure how human he truly remained.
Fírnen blinked an amber eye at them and said, Arya held the same fear about the war as Yaela.
"And how did she get over it?" Glenwing asked, though he did not turn to look at the dragon.
She didn't, Fírnen answered, and he saw the hint of a toothy grin appear when Glenwing glanced at him in surprise. Even Eragon felt himself listening carefully, though it was still strange to him for Fírnen to speak so freely about Arya. It seems Eragon has a way with words.
When the elf looked at him searchingly, Eragon held up his hands. "I don't know what I said that convinced her," Eragon admitted softly, "only that I spoke from my heart."
Still the elf stared him, long enough that Eragon began to feel uncomfortable. He shifted his weight lightly, and pulled the rock from the ground he had been fiddling with. Turning the rock over between his fingers, Eragon said, "I only told her I could never regret something that formed between us, and that I knew how I felt. Anything else was her decision alone."
"Interesting," Glenwing muttered, "but unhelpful."
"I am sorry, my friend," Eragon said, and he flicked the rock he was holding against the ground, watching as it skipped atop the dirt. "I wish I could tell you more, but I do not know Yaela enough to tell you how to proceed. My only advice would be to give her space, and not pursue any further than she would like."
"So I will have to endure just her friendship then?" Glenwing asked, and Eragon sensed frustration in his lowered voice. "I do not know if I can bear such a thing."
"If you value her friendship over your own desires, then yes," Eragon answered.
Glenwing sighed heavily, as though a great weight had settled on him.
Eragon patted his friend on the shoulder lightly, and the three of them sat together for some time.
Roran was throwing a feast, at Nasuada's behest, in celebration of their successful return from Helgrind. From what Eragon had heard so far, he knew that many of the villagers were to attend. From what he had guessed, Eragon assumed Roran wanted the villagers to get to know him better, but he had been surprised when Roran and Katrina had asked after Glenwing and Arya. Glenwing, he knew, was never one to turn down such an offer, but the matter had yet to come up with Arya, even when they had eaten breakfast together with his cousin this morning.
Now, as the sun trekked across the sky, casting the sky in red, Eragon pushed aside the flap of Arya's tent, and strode into the space. She was not inside, as Fírnen had told him earlier, still caught up in discussions with the others. Though he figured that the talks should be ending soon, given that they had continued on for hours.
Her small tent was arranged similarly to his own, with nothing but a cot for a bed, and a simple table that held various scrolls neatly arranged, and the single large mirror that Arya used for her scrying. What gave him pause, however, was the wooden figurine he knew so well. It was placed meticulously on the table, with nothing next to it, and to Eragon's eyes appeared to be in better shape than when he had given it to her.
He picked up the small wooden carving he had made of Saphira, his fingers delicate as he traced over the small scales he had carved so long ago. The paint, which had long since faded, had been restored, the color nearly exact to that of Saphira's scales, even down to how her color lightened on her belly and darkened near her spine. Eragon marveled at it, his fingers running over the white teeth in Saphira's mouth, stuck forever open in a fierce roar.
So consumed was he in admiring the restored paint of his carving that he didn't notice the tent flap moving, only realizing he was not alone when a throat cleared suddenly behind him. Eragon jumped, nearly dropping the carving in surprise, and turned around quickly.
Arya was staring at him, one of her eyebrows raised. He saw a hint of mirth on her face, with the tips of her mouth rising as he tried to steady his racing heartbeat.
"You startled me," Eragon said, placing one hand over his heart even as the other held the carving.
"So it seems," Arya said, her emerald eyes moving over him. When she saw the carving in his hands her expression shifted, her eyes softening as they fell upon his old work. His hand dropped from his chest, though his heart still continued it incessant pounding.
Eragon's eyes flicked between her own, and after a moment he gently offered the carving up to Arya. She took it from him carefully, her fingers brushing against his own and sending a shiver running down his arm.
He watched as she gazed at the statue of Saphira, her fingers running over the scales, and even the slight imperfections that he had wrought into the wood in his inexperience. She handled it with a such a reverence that it surprised Eragon.
"I didn't know you still had this," Eragon stated, his words soft between them.
Her eyes met his own, the green taking on a darker hue. "It was a gift you gave me, was it not?"
Eragon nodded his head, unsure of the tone of her voice. "Of course it was."
"Then why would I discard it?" Arya asked, even as she set the carving back down gently on the table from where he had removed it. Her eyes were intent on him, and Eragon had to suppress the urge to look away from her.
"I just-." Eragon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just meant that I didn't know it meant so much to you."
Arya said nothing at first, though her features had softened some. Her hair was pulled back, in its usual style, though the long hours of the day seemed to have pulled a few strands from their confines. Slowly, and making sure that Arya did not reproach him, Eragon raised one of his hands, brushing back the soft hair to rest behind her pointed ear. A hand came to rest on his chest, though Arya did not push him away.
Instead, she fiddled with his tunic, her fingers plucking at some of the threading that had come loose. "Of course it means much to me. You gave it to me as a gesture of our friendship, and that is something I hold in high regard."
"I think we are more than just friends," Eragon jested, one of his hands coming up to cup her elbow.
Arya graced him with a smile, even as a light chuckle left her lips. "Is that why you are here, waiting in my tent?"
Eragon blinked, feeling heat rising up the back of his neck. He cleared his throat, and he saw a flash of amusement on Arya's face. She seemed to like that she could make him so off balanced, and he had to stop himself from playing the fool in front of her.
"I came here," Eragon began, his fingers tracing the skin of her exposed arm lightly, "to invite you to the feast Roran is holding tonight."
Arya's brow dipped slightly, "For what purpose?"
"To celebrate the people of Carvahall making it to the Varden," Eragon explained. The light of the sun was beginning to wane further, and Arya cast a spell for a werelight as he spoke. The emerald light hovered over her shoulder, its soft glow illuminating her skin and making her eyes glow. "And to our successful return from Helgrind," Eragon finished.
"Ah." Arya said. Her eyes turned away from him, and he could see that she was deep in thought over his words.
"You don't have to go if you don't wish to," Eragon said quickly, thinking that she might turn him down. She was not like Glenwing, often refraining from spending time with others. Still, Eragon wanted to spend time with her, though he had to fight down the desperation he felt to consume all her available time.
Arya's gaze snapped back it his own, and she asked, "Do you not wish for me to attend?"
Eragon smiled at her, and he saw a small one returned to him. "I am always glad of your company, in any way that you allow me."
Her eyes flicked between his own, though she did not seem to be searching for anything in them. "Who will all be there?" she asked, though he already suspected that she was beginning to think of going with him.
"Roran and Katrina, obviously," Eragon said, a small chuckle escaping when Arya frowned at him. "The villagers of Carvahall. Glenwing said he was going, and even my father said he might stop by. I think Angela might have heard of it, and I suspect that it's very possible she might already be waiting for the others to set up."
Arya was quiet for a moment, before nodding slowly. "I will attend."
The joy he felt at her agreement made him smile hugely, though he could still see something bothering her, from the way her brow was slightly furrowed. "What is it?" he asked softly, his fingers freezing against her skin.
Arya shook her head, her face clearing. "Nothing."
When he gazed at her intently, Arya quirked an eyebrow at him in return, though she finally relented and said, "I promise, its nothing, Eragon."
"If you're sure," Eragon responded. They spoke as they always did in the elven language, so her assurances meant more to him then they would have otherwise.
Instead of responding with words, Arya reached up her other hand and lightly grabbed the back of his neck, her own tilting to meet him as she pulled him forward.
When their lips finally touched, Eragon felt as though he would melt into her embrace. For some time they stayed there, their mouths moving against one another, and their bodies drawing in close. The soft press of her breasts against his own stirred something inside of Eragon, and he wound one of his arms behind her back to pull her in tighter.
He could feel the heat rising between them, Arya's hand on the back of his neck strong, even as her other hand snaked its way out from between them and rested on his waist. They continued on for so long that Eragon hardly noticed the setting sun, even as the soft glow of the werelight became the only light to pass through his closed eyelids.
With a groan Eragon separated them, pulling his hips away from Arya as he rested his forehead against her own. The air between them was heavy from their panting, both of them out of breath. Arya pulled at his neck, as though to lock their lips once more, but Eragon resisted the movement as he opened his eyes.
Dark green stared back at him, and Eragon felt a hot rush flow down his spine. Her cheeks were flushed, much like he suspected his own were, and he felt a sense of astonishment rise inside of him at the intense passion Arya was displaying.
"Shit," Eragon murmured, his words low and mostly to himself.
A huff left Arya's lips, though he could see her begin to reel herself in. "Something wrong?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper between them.
He was captivated by her eyes, and it took him a moment to respond. "Any more of that," Eragon said eventually, "And I don't know if I would be able to contain myself."
White teeth flash at him briefly as she smiled, and Eragon fought to contain a groan. Their foreheads separated when Arya pulled back, though she surprised him by quickly darting in and pecking his lips with her own. He chased after her, but she was already gone, having retreated back a safe distance.
"It is a lot, isn't it?" Arya breathed, but Eragon's mind had already blanked, unable to comprehend her words.
"What is?" he asked, and he heard Arya chuckle lightly.
"This," she said, her hand on the back of his neck falling to gesture between them.
Eragon swallowed, worried that she might have felt pressured, but the small smile on her lips gave Eragon some sense of relief. "It is," Eragon agreed.
They gazed at each other for a moment, and he watched as the flush on her cheeks slowly receded, though the dark hue of her eyes remained. After a few minutes had passed, in which both of them were able to recover their bearings, Eragon finally let out a small laugh.
Arya's face showed her question plainly, even if she did not give it voice.
"It's just," Eragon began, trying to stem his chuckling, "I half expect Glenwing to barge in at any moment."
Arya frowned at him, before a laugh escaped her lips. The sound of her drew at him, and Eragon squeezed his hand still holding lightly to her arm. "He does have the most terrible sense of timing, doesn't he?"
"Aye."
She pulled away from him, and Eragon tried not to despair at the distance between them. His arms fell to his side as Arya stepped away from him, her own rising to the back of her head. She undid the tie that held up her long black hair, letting it flow down around her face. He marveled at the sight, and it was only the strong sting on his hand from Arya that let him know he had been reaching out to grasp at it.
She said nothing, only leveling him with a brief look as she re-tied her hair. He watched her movements, the black hair reflecting the green light from the werelight and captivating Eragon.
"Have you spoken to him?" Arya asked, her fingers quick as they finished the tie. Eragon had to recall their conversation to know who she was speaking of, so lost was he in his stupor.
"Of us?" Eragon responded, "I did."
"What did he say?"
Eragon chuckled, "What do you think? He was overjoyed, and claimed it was all his doing."
Arya huffed, her gaze moving away from him before returning. "He has been an annoyance," she affirmed, though he could sense a chord of fondness in her.
"Aye," Eragon said, "But he is a good friend."
She nodded her agreement, stepping over to entrance to her tent and beckoned at him. "I think we've tarried long enough."
Eragon smiled, and followed Arya as she stepped out of the tent.
She waited for him outside the tent, and Eragon began to lead them towards the large area Roran had said they were going to use. "Is that what we're calling it now? Tarrying?"
Arya flashed him an unamused look, causing Eragon to chuckle. They waded through the tents, their steps light as the moved. Many of the Varden had already retired for the night, though a few soldiers were walking about as they completed their rounds. Eragon and Arya nodded at those that saluted them, and Eragon could see the men's lingering gazes on Arya as they passed them by.
Arya did not give in to his teasing, instead asking, "Is Saphira going to attend? I cannot imagine the villagers being used to a dragon's presence."
"Aye, she will," Eragon answered. "She's never been one to turn down food or ale, especially when its free."
Arya's face glazed over for a moment, and Eragon knew she was talking to Fírnen. He said nothing as they walked, and he waited patiently for their conversation to end. When they were done, Arya turned to him, her eyebrow quirked. "Fírnen is already there."
Eragon smiled at her, "It seems our dragons are of similar minds."
She nodded at him, and as Eragon steered them around one of the tents he could see the two lingering figures of said dragons, their bulk easily visible over the tops of the tents. Ahead of him and slightly off to the side, Eragon also saw shadows lingering around a lone tent, and his pace slowed as they passed the area Murtagh was housed in.
An elf stepped out from around the tent, her hand on her sword, though when she spotted them Eragon could see her relax slightly. "Shur'tugalar."
"Yaela," Eragon greeted, and he watched as the elf touched her fingers to her lips in the tradition elven greeting. She did it first to Eragon, then to Arya, and they responded in kind. For a moment Eragon wondered who between the two of them would be considered higher than the other; Arya, the princess of the elves, and Rider in her own right, or Eragon, Grandmaster of the Riders. In the end, he knew that the elves were unwilling to divulge Arya's secret, and so they would greet him first, as tradition demanded.
He could see the silver haired elf hesitate for a moment before her eyes swept across to Murtagh's tent. "Are you here for your brother, Shur'tugal?"
"No," Eragon replied, and his gaze followed the elf's, "We are not. Has he given you any trouble?"
Yaela shook her head at him, though he could still see her glance around them often. "It is not the Fyrir Neðan that we are weary of. He has remained compliant with us, and has not even tried to use the simplest of spells. He spends most his time deep in his meditations."
Eragon frowned, his gaze refocusing on the elf before him, "Who has given you trouble, then?"
The elf held his gaze for a moment, her eyes flickering behind him as though looking for something. "The people of the Varden," Yaela whispered, low enough that no human could hear. "Often, we have to turn away those who hold ill contempt in their hearts, and even a few of the human magicians have tried their hand at slipping passed our wards."
Eragon sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew that having Murtagh here would cause trouble, and he was grateful that Blödhgarm and his elven spellcasters were here with him. So long as a mob did not form and rush them, he was certain that the elves could hold off for the time being.
"If any of you need anything," Eragon said after a moment, "Let me know. And tell Blödhgarm and the others that I appreciate all that you are doing for me."
Yaela twisted her hand over her sternum, in the traditional elven way of expressing fealty. "It is our honor to serve, Shur'tugal. I will relay your words to the others."
For a brief moment Eragon thought about asking the elf about Glenwing, but he decided against it. I would probably make things worse for him¸ Eragon thought. Better to leave it alone.
Arya's hand tugged at his arm, and Eragon broke off from his train of thought. "Goodnight, Yaela," Eragon said to the elven spellcaster. She nodded at them, slipping away towards Murtagh's tent. He could see a few other elves nearby, and they nodded at them even as they kept a watchful eye on their surroundings.
Eragon lingered on the spot, his gaze stuck on Murtagh's tent. It was not like his brother to comply so easily with others, and Eragon worried over what Murtagh might be thinking. Whatever was wrong with Thorn did not seem to affect Murtagh the same way, though he suspected that Murtagh must have still felt the loss of his dragon.
When he was finally able to tear his eyes away, he found two emerald ones peering intently at him. Arya studied him for a moment, until she finally tilted her chin and gestured in the direction of their dragons, their forms illuminated by the torch lights the Varden kept lit for their patrols.
As they walked towards the festivities, Eragon tried to banish the thoughts of his brother that plagued him. In the end, it was Arya who was able to turn his mind away, her shoulder brushing lightly against his as they walked. When he turned his attention towards her, he could see Arya still studying him closely.
"What?" Eragon asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.
"You worry too much over others," Arya answered shortly.
"Hmm."
She shook her head at him, and Eragon was grateful that she allowed the subject to die.
Ahead, he could see the pavilion that Roran had gotten permission to use. It was nearly as large as Nasuada's command tent, though it lacked the same décor and markings on it outside. A large fold of fabric had been parted, opening the inside for all to see, displaying the long tables that lined its interior. Saphira and Fírnen sat on either side of the opening, and Eragon was glad that Roran and Katrina had thought ahead to include the dragons in the feast.
As they approached Eragon could see many of the villagers of Carvahall already in attendance, though many shied away from the two dragons. Saphira was busy drinking heavily from a barrel of ale, while Fírnen was tearing into some of the meat that Glenwing was offering him. Behind him, Eragon could see the stares that the women were giving him, though as usual Glenwing paid them no mind.
The elf was the first to see them, and he saw Glenwing's eyes widen with surprise at the sight of Arya. He offered them a wave, though his attention was turned away when Fírnen snapped at him impatiently.
He saw the hint of a smile rise on Arya's face at her dragon, though it dropped when she spotted a familiar figure striding forward to meet them.
Roran smiled at them, gripping Eragon's forearm tight. "Ho, cousin! I'm glad you could make it."
Eragon clapped Roran on the shoulder, a returning grin appearing on his face. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything."
Roran nodded at him, before turning towards Arya. His cousin hesitated, and Eragon realized that though the two of them may been around each other often enough since his cousin had joined the Varden, they may never have directly spoken. "Ambassador," Roran finally managed, "Please, enjoy the feast we have set up. I was told that you do not partake meat, and Katrina has had a few dishes made for any elves that wanted to attend just in case."
Arya inclined her head at his cousin, and though she didn't openly display her gratitude, Eragon could still tell that she was touched by the gesture. "Thank you, Roran."
"Of course," Roran said, and his cousin led the two of them past the dragons and into the tent.
As he passed Saphira, Eragon trailed his hand along her scales, watching as she lapped at the barrel someone had graciously provided her. She winked her sapphire eye at him, and Eragon grinned at her as they entered the tent.
A cry of welcome met his ears as the two Riders entered the tent, though he could still see both the lingering awe and the trepidation that they held.
Unsurprisingly, Eragon spied Angela in the far corner of the tent, seemingly already drinking a few unsuspecting poor men under the table. She raised her tankard to him, and Eragon gave her nod in greeting.
Katrina, who had been seated at one of the tables near some villagers stood, and made her way around towards Roran quickly. His cousin quickly hooked his arm around her waist, as though he loathed the time spent apart. "Welcome!" Katrina curtsied, and Eragon had to fight the urge to bow. "I am so glad that both of you were able to come. That elf-friend of yours arrived with Saphira and Fírnen, and I've already had to shew a few wandering eyes away from him."
Eragon glanced over at Glenwing, who was quickly making his way over to them. "He's mostly harmless," Eragon assured her.
"Mostly?" Roran groaned.
"Mostly?" Glenwing glowered, and Eragon slapped his friend on the back.
Another cheer rose from the villagers, and the small group turned towards the entrance as Nasuada walked in. She wore a fine dress, her bandages on her arms still clearly visible, and Eragon had to admire her courage in displaying such a thing openly.
"Excuse me," Katrina said, slipping away towards the Varden leader. From the corner of his eye, Eragon could see her greeting Nasuada, though their conversation was undecipherable to him over the noise of the villagers.
Roran looked as though he longed to follow her, but instead he turned towards the table and gestured for them to sit.
Eragon did so, and Arya quickly sat to his left while Glenwing took his right. Roran moved around the table and sat next to a hulking man with a wild mane of black hair, who nodded at them in greeting. Next to him was blonde haired woman who was heavily pregnant, and Eragon returned her kind smile with one of his own.
"This is Horst," Roran said, patting the man on the shoulder. "He is Carvahall's blacksmith, and this is his wife, Elain."
"I am Eragon Bromson," Eragon introduced himself, then gestured first towards Arya then Glenwing. "This is Arya, Ambassador to the elves and Rider of Fírnen, and this is Glenwing, who works alongside Arya."
"So it's true," Horst said, peering at Eragon closely. "You are the storytellers son."
Storyteller?
"Aye tis him," Roran answered. "I was as surprised as anyone when I learned Brom had a son, and a Rider at that!"
"Tell me," Elain joined in, though she quickly offered them some ale as she spoke, "Are you from Carvahall as well?"
Eragon accepted the tankard of ale, as did the others, though he saw Arya peering curiously at the draft even as Glenwing took a sip. "I was born in Carvahall near three-hundred years ago, when the town was first settled, but my memory of such a time is hazy at best. My earliest memories are of my mother, Selena, of when I was a child."
"Three-hundred years," Horst breathed, his eyes wide. "If it weren't for your pointed ears, or the dragon's sitting just outside this tent, I would scarcely believe it to be true."
Even Elain seemed stunned, and Eragon let them have a moment as he gingerly took a sip of the ale. It was fine ale, perhaps some of the best the Varden had, and Eragon was surprised that Nasuada had allowed the villagers to use it for the evening.
"What is like, to have lived for so long?" Elain asked, her hand stroking her distended belly.
Eragon set the tankard down on the table, his eyes following it. At first, he didn't know how to respond, but eventually he said, "Lonely, most of the time. I've been luckily to have Saphira at my side, but the home I left so long ago looks nothing like the one I returned to find."
The others glanced down at that, as though in thought, and he could see both Glenwing and Arya watching him carefully. Clearing his throat, Eragon asked, "Is it your first?"
He had gestured at Elain's belly, and he watched as a smile lit upon both father and mother at the mention. "Nay," Horst answered. "We have two sons already. Albriech and Baldor."
Horst motioned to the two men who were seated at another table, deep in discussion with an older woman near Elain's age. The blond-haired man, who Eragon assumed was Albriech, nodded at them, gaining the attention of his brother Baldor. Baldor was thinner than his brother, with dark hair like his father, and he seemed to Eragon a very spirited man.
"The elves," Arya said, though her words were quiet, "prize children above all. May your new one be a joy to all your family."
Horst and Elain stared at Arya, as though they had forgotten she was there. Horst stuttered out a thanks, as did Elain, but he could still sense the lingering suspicion that all humans held over elves. Some believed during his time that the elves would steal their children and make them into changelings, and it seemed that the belief was still alive nearly three-hundred years later.
Elain was the first to recover fully, turning towards Eragon with her eyes brimming. "Do you have children of your own?"
Eragon spat out the ale he had taken a sip of, and he could hear Glenwing laughing next to him. Roran was grinning as well, slapping the table in his amusement. He felt an intense heat on the left side of his face, and Eragon fought the urge to cower under Arya's stare. Wiping his mouth, Eragon managed to get out a "no."
"Thank Gûntera," Glenwing muttered.
The others glanced at the elf questioningly, and Eragon elbowed his friend in the side. Glenwing huffed, but Eragon ignored his protests.
"Are you married, then?" Horst asked, glancing between him and Arya. Neither of them gave anything away, though he could sense Arya next to him stiffen slightly.
"I'm afraid not," Eragon answered.
"No woman in your life?" Elain asked, and he could hear Glenwing choking back laughter. "Surely one such as yourself could easily find a fitting partner. I could hardly imagine any woman turning you away."
Eragon smiled at her. "'Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.'"
When nothing but silence met his ears, Eragon glanced around the table. Horst and Elain were frowning, as though working through his words, but both Arya and Glenwing were staring at him curiously.
"Did you just come up with that?" Roran asked.
"Something I heard from a wandering scholar long ago, and it has stuck with me since."
"Wise words," Glenwing remarked.
"Aye," Eragon responded, a small smile rising.
The night continued on, with Eragon slowly meeting the other villagers. Katrina was more often than not the one to introduce them, but as the ale flowed Eragon could see the people of Carvahall begin to accept their presence among them. Glenwing, as usual, was the more social of the three, already deep into conversations with a few of the younger villagers who were eager to meet an elf. Many of the older villagers, Eragon noted, often refrained from speaking to them unless already accompanied by Roran or Katrina. Even then they were reserved, though Eragon did not hold it against them.
Still, Eragon enjoyed the festivities, and he even though he spotted a soft smile on Arya's face when some of the children finally overcame their fear and started clambering atop the dragons. Many hung on their spikes, fighting imaginary foes in an attempt to prove themselves Riders, and it heartened Eragon to see his people so fondly remembered.
Saphira and Fírnen were clearly well into their barrels, and the villagers were eager to offer more ale and meat for the dragons, who snapped them up quickly to the pleasure of the laughing children.
Nasuada joined Eragon and the others at the table not long after, and he found that he enjoyed her presence outside of the politics the two of them had to delve into so often. She was laughing at a story Roran was telling, who stood at the front of the table and gestured accordingly along with story. He was spelling on about their venture towards the Varden, in which they had to commandeer the Dragon Wing, and though many of the villagers had been present, it seemed that they enjoyed Roran's retelling.
Arya was still seated next to him, and for a moment he wondered when Angela had joined them at the table. The two of them were deep into conversation, though Eragon still wasn't able to decern the topic of choice. Something about toads? Eragon wasn't sure, and he knew how twisted his mind could get if he tried to make sense of Angela's words.
A hand on his shoulder drew his attention, and he turned to find his father standing behind him, his face drawn. Brom gestured at Eragon, and asked, "A moment, if you will."
Eragon nodded and stood from the table, though he quickly grabbed the tankard of ale that he was still nursing. Brom moved away from the group and into one of the corners of the tent, even as a few called out to him in greeting. Brom nodded at them, not letting their greetings slow his pace. His father had grabbed two chairs, and he moved them away from the others before taking a seat.
As Eragon joined his father, he could see that something was weighing on the man; Brom's face was marred with a frown, his eyes moving around carefully as though to ensure their conversation was unheard.
"What is it?" Eragon asked as he sat down.
Brom didn't answer right away, his eyes still roaming over the villagers gathered in the pavilion. He saw Brom's gaze linger on Nasuada, and Eragon wondered if his father was keeping this from her as well. When his own gaze swept across, he could see two emerald eyes peering at him curiously, though Arya made no move to join them.
"The two of you have gotten serious, haven't you?"
Eragon startled, tearing his gaze away from Arya. Brom was examining his face carefully, though his expression hadn't much changed from the upset look he wore moments ago.
"Aye," Eragon answered, "but I don't think that's what you wanted to talk about."
"No," his father answered. Brom took out his pipe and lit it, before taking a heavy draw. Brom exhaled, the sharp scent of smoke filling the air around him, and his father offered him the pipe.
After a moment of hesitation, Eragon took the pipe, pulling softly and filling his lungs with the heavy substance. He held it for a moment before releasing, though he couldn't fully suppress the light cough that left him. It had been decades since he last partook in smoking, and he could feel the sudden awareness and high as the substance worked its way through his body.
Brom pulled once more at the pipe, his eyes moving away from Eragon and lingering this time on the side of the tent. "Have you spoken with your brother?"
Eragon looked sharply at his father, though as usual Brom gave nothing away. "Only the once since his capture," Eragon admitted.
Brom nodded his head, "And?"
"He said nothing." Eragon took a sip of his ale, letting the flavor wash away the lingering taste from his father's pipe. "Murtagh has never been one to talk freely, and I doubt he will now that he is a captive."
Brom drew silent again, and he could see his father's features tighten.
"Have you?" Eragon asked quietly.
From what he could remember, Brom and Murtagh used to have at the very least a cordial relationship, even after his mother had passed. If they had spoken at all after he and Saphira had left Alagaësia all those years ago, his father had never said. He knew that Brom cared for Murtagh, but it seemed that his father never knew exactly how to handle the fact that Morzan's son had lived with his own.
His father's answer was a barely discernable nod, and Eragon wondered for a moment how that conversation had gone.
Not well, Eragon hazard a guess.
"Did he tell you anything?" Eragon asked finally.
"No," Brom answered, "But Murtagh has often been one to say much without saying a word."
"True," Eragon said. His fingers scratched at the tankard he held, a sudden sense of foreboding rising inside of him.
"There have been reports coming from Belatona," Brom said, and Eragon's curiosity rose at the sudden change in conversation. "They are from some of spies the Varden has placed around the Empire, as well as a few of my own, small though they may be. They reported that Murtagh and Thorn arrived at the city, though their reasoning for being there is unknown."
Eragon frowned. "How old are these reports?"
"A few days at least," Brom allowed. "They do not communicate magically, so the timing of them may be off."
"Murtagh and Thorn were in Belatona a few days ago, then suddenly Murtagh was a few leagues south of Feinster." Eragon recounted quietly, his mind racing. "Something must have happened, and then Murtagh was transported outside the city by Thorn."
Brom nodded. "Do you remember the message I sent you during your stay in Ellesméra?"
The memory of the message drew up heavily in his mind: rumors of magicians in the Empire who have studied Spirit magic looking to the events of your past…. look into the matters concerning hearts and shades….
The sense of foreboding gave way to dread, and Eragon's eyes widened when he understood his father's message. "I do," Eragon swallowed heavily.
Brom reached out and gripped Eragon's shoulder, the strength of it surprising Eragon even under the fear that lanced his heart. "There other reports," Brom continued, his words dropping low, "that speak of this group being active in Belatona."
"No," Eragon whispered, horrified. "Please don't tell me…"
Brom shook his head, not letting go of Eragon's shoulder. "I don't know anything more, and this all may be just speculation right now anyway."
"If it isn't," Eragon said, his grip on his tankard growing so tense that he could feel the wood begin to splinter in his hands, "then something terrible has happened."
"Aye."
Eragon shook his head, releasing the tightly held tankard in his hands. The tankard clattered to the floor, but the noise of the villagers blocked out the sound. He could feel his hands shaking, and his heart raced harshly in his chest.
Please, no.
Anything but this.
Saphira must have felt something emanating from him, for he could feel her presence pushing at the bond between them. Her mind was too fluid, the barrels of ale she had drank making her thoughts indistinct, so Eragon closed himself off from her. It would be better for him to tell her in the morning, when her reaction to his suspicion and horror wouldn't cause a panic among the villagers.
His memory of that night rose sharply, and the howling cry of the purple hatchling pierced his ears, even as the weight of his sword grew heavy in his hand…
"Are you alright?" His father asked, shaking Eragon out of it.
Eragon rubbed at his temples, before letting out a sigh. Saphira pressed her mind harder against his own, and he felt himself calming from her presence, even as he kept her from his thoughts. In the distance, he could see Arya turn sharply, first to Saphira then to him, her gaze sharp and full of worry.
"I don't know," he finally answered. Keeping his voice low, Eragon asked his father, "Have you told anyone else your suspicion yet?"
"No," Brom said, and Eragon saw his eyes tracking a figure that was approaching them. His father's hand slipped from his shoulder, leaving Eragon feeling bereft for a moment. "And I think its best that we don't until we know more. Wild speculation such as this will only cause panic, and that is something even Nasuada cannot avoid herself."
Eragon nodded, his eyes moving to fixate on the tankard he had dropped. The two of them were silent, until a hand strongly gripped his wrist, pulling his hand away from his head. His gaze slowly rose up, but he already knew who stood in front of him, for the scent of freshly crushed pine-needles had given her away; Arya was peering at him, her emerald eyes piercing as she took in his slumped posture.
"What happened?" she whispered sharply in the ancient language.
Eragon glanced at his father, who returned his stare. When Eragon did not back down, Brom let out a sigh and waved his hand at him, "Not here. We've already gained too much attention."
Indeed, his father had spoken true, and Eragon could see the others attention having followed Arya. Nodding, Eragon stood, picking up the tankard from the ground. "Later," Eragon promised Arya, though he could see that his words had not quelled her worry.
She offered him a reluctant nod before pulling him back towards the others, and Eragon shared one last glance with his father. Brom's face had never looked older in that moment to Eragon, the grief his father held making him truly in that moment appear his age.