6

Back so soon, child?

With more than a century of age, hearing Glaedr calling her child felt strange, but also heartwarming.

Eragon had brought her to the Hall of Colors earlier that day, but she didn't have enough time to enjoy her time there, because the second day of the Games was about to start, so she came back later that night. The sword fighting was the biggest attraction of the day, and she was anxious to watch it. Indeed, it was a spectacle of ability and swordsmanship from all races. The fighters were separated into categories, one for each race and a general one, in which anyone could compete, at the risk of facing someone much stronger.

The most impressive combats were the ones between elves and Riders, for their superiority in strength and agility, but she was delightfully surprised with the human fighters, especially the residents of Arngor, who demonstrated such eagerness that raised the audience in feverous cheering several times. To be fair, all the residents of Arngor who fought in the Games were taken by a strong determination in all the tasks, not only the human population. Arya wondered why that was. What kind of training did they have there and how much Eragon had to do with it? She suspected he had a lot to do with such a memorable display of bravery, as it was so like his own.

I was in awe when Eragon brought me here this morning, so I figured I should stop by with more time to fully enjoy the wonders of this place. He said I could come here whenever I wanted, I hope it is all right by you.

Of course, Arya. You will always be welcome in our chambers. And if Eragon said you could, you don't need to ask us, Umaroth resounded in her mind.

Arya perceived the tone of admiration in his voice toward Eragon. The more she knew about the dynamics of Fell Thindarë, the more she realized how much her friend inspired devotion. Saphira too, but that was already expected since she was a dragon, respected by others just for being what she was.

Your mind holds the same impressive control as I came to know once, Dröttning, Umaroth observed. I sense you dwelling on a specific matter, but you don't let it slip through your barriers.

The old dragon was clearly inquiring about her reflections. She decided to be honest.

I was just thinking that everyone here seems to hold Eragon to the highest consideration.

And you find it odd?

Arya hesitated. She went to sit down on the floor by the Eldunarí.

Not odd. Just… I've seen people revering him before, but it was different, almost all of them were humans who had never seen someone with his powers before and had the highest hopes in him. Now, people here admire him without the same reverence. It's different. Even you, who are the watchers of our world, who have seen it all, seem to treat him as your equal.

Umaroth sounded amused when he spoke again.

Of all people, I would think you would be the most capable of understanding such admiration. Or was I so wrong, and you, in fact, cannot see any reason to hold Eragon in such high esteem?

What kind of question was that? She had plenty of reasons to esteem and admire Eragon, and she had voiced them before on more than one occasion. If she weren't speaking to an elder, she would've lost her patience.

I see my reasons to admire him. But I can't possibly know for sure what people's reasons are when it comes to this place.

The dragons didn't say anything for a minute or two, which made the elf feel uncomfortable. She took the moment to glance around and marvel at the place's beauty one more time, shaking the feeling away.

It was a large hall. If Fírnen had chosen to accompany her as he did in the morning, he would be sitting by her side with room to spare. Eragon had explained to her and the other leaders that the plan for Fell Thindarë was to make all the halls, corridors, passageways, and staircases big enough for the dragons to move with tranquility, the exception being the personal quarters.

Indeed, her room could not fit Fírnen, such as the room where Eragon himself was staying, since he decided to indulge Saphira and Fírnen their alone time in the eyrie. The Riders had special apartments located by the niches crafted right below the eyrie to house their dragons. Those niches could be accessed not only by the stairwell but also through openings to the exterior carefully dug and protected with spells to prevent from collapsing, and also from intruders.

She suspected Murtagh had chosen to take one of those apartments since she had seen Thorn entering through one of the openings the day before. It was tricky work to design and build something like that, and she suspected elves and dwarves had to collaborate to succeed in the endeavor, and maybe even quarrel with each other occasionally.

He inspires them, Glaedr spoke to break the silence. Inspires us all.

When she was ready to ask for the dragon to expand on his statement, Arya felt her mind being flooded with images, that she recognized as being memories. The feeling was overwhelming, pushing aside her thoughts to make room for not only Glaedr's memories, but the others' too. So, that's how Eragon felt when the Eldunarí decided to share their knowledge with him? No wonder he had changed, it was a powerful feeling.

The memories contemplated several moments of the building of their new home. She saw people coming from the west and joining Eragon, Saphira, and the first elves. The visions were fast, she couldn't analyze each one of them separately, so decided to apprehend the general feeling the dragons were trying to show her, for she could sense at least five dragons communicating their thoughts inside her mind.

Arya watched as they dug tunnels and used magic to keep them from collapsing, as the elves and dwarves debated the best way to design the halls and as the urgals worked the enormous rocks into smaller ones, used to raise walls and pave the floors. She saw human men chopping wood and crafting chairs, tables, beds, and other pieces of furniture, at the same time at the women would tend the gardens for fruits and vegetables, their dresses covered in dirt, although they didn't seem to mind. She saw all that and more. Suddenly, the already fast passing scenes started to speed up even more, and from them emanated a sense of purpose, like she was capable of entering the minds, no… Not the minds, the hearts of those people, and see that they had been instructed and motivated with a lot of direction and gentleness. They felt that they belonged, that they had found a meaning in life. They were inspired.

The memories began to change. They were the same memories, but expanded, like a piece of it had been covered before with a veil and now was clear to see. Digging the tunnels with the dwarves, she saw Eragon, pickaxe in hand, pounding the walls, singing along to their songs. Carrying the rocks the urgals had just shattered into small blocks, Rider and dragon worked side by side, relentlessly, to load the wagons. He also knelt on the ground to pick potatoes while a short and chubby middle-aged woman held a basket for him to collect the fresh harvest. She was talking, teaching him a soup recipe as he listened carefully while his hands were busy. Arya understood, then. Eragon wasn't only a hero, a praised warrior to his people. He was their comrade, he worked as hard as any one of them, even harder. He taught, instructed, listened, cried, laughed. Eragon was their role model, but mostly, one of them, a friend. No one there needed to sing songs about his great deeds, they shared his everyday life, and it was enough inspiration for them to admire him. Did her people saw her the same way? Arya doubted.

Slowly, the memories started to fade, and Arya saw herself alone inside her mind. She didn't say anything, just felt content to be there, surrounded by the overwhelming energy that emanated from the dragon stones.

The Eldunarí were placed on a dais in circles, the small ones on the outside around the bigger ones. The hall was lit by encrusted crystals on the walls; they cast beams of light all around and, combined with the rainbow of the Eldunarí, gave the place a spectacle of colors. Arya felt like staying there forever.

But she couldn't. She had been away from home for a couple of weeks, and already she felt guilty for leaving her position. She felt like an irresponsible child, going on an adventure when she was needed somewhere else. Fírnen would probably say she was being too hard on herself, but she knew that her opposition would take her absence as a chance to move their pieces on the board. But how could she not come to Fell Thindarë, or Mount Arngor how Eragon preferred to call, when asked by Nasuada? She had argued with her council that, if she declined the invitation to attend the Games of Arngor, she would be putting at risk the good diplomatic relations the elves held with the other territories.

At that point, she was heavily supported by Vanir, the Elven Ambassador and spokesperson. With such an argument, the Lords and Ladies had only one alternative, to agree with her decision to join Queen Nasuada and the others at the home of the dragons and Riders. What would she do if they had not agreed with the decision? Well, she would probably go anyway on a selfish impulse, but her concerns would be even deeper, for her opposition was sure to receive some new supporters.

Arya took a deep breath and tried to calm her thoughts. After all, what was done was done, and she was finally there, among friends and students, getting to know the place that was also hers by right, part of her inheritance as a Rider. She was watching history being made right before her eyes. So, if seeing a few frowns and hearing a few unpleasant whispers behind her back was the price for that special moment, then she would pay, gladly. But still, as content as she tried to be, her crown weighed ten times more than usual when she remembered what her friend and advisor Lord Däthedr had said to her before she jumped to Fírnen's saddle to meet Nasuada in Hedarth, the dwarf trading post, and sail alongside her and the others to the east.

"You know I speak with only your well-being in mind, my queen," he started to say, and Arya noticed he used "my queen", a vocative that no one else used when addressing her, being Dröttning or your majesty the most common ones, and for some reason, it bothered her because it sounded too intimate. "I suggest you don't get too acquainted with the matters of the East. People already talk too much, and I would hate to see you having to explain yourself in front of those who clearly would not understand."

To such vague advice, she only nodded and bid him farewell. It was vague, but she knew very well what he was talking about.

Her proximity to the Blue Rider during the war wasn't exactly a secret, and she knew that the rumors running on the streets of Ellesméra traveled fast to the ears of the good citizens of Sílthrim and back to Osilon, reaching every inch of Du Weldenvarden. Her kind talked quietly behind her back, too low for her ears to pick up, but she knew they did and what they were saying. It made her blood boil to think that her life was entertainment to people, that they enjoyed speculating about her personal affairs.

They were all wrong, of course, Eragon was only a friend after all, and as long as she was the queen and he was the Head Rider, they could never be more than that. She hoped he knew about their prospects and that he made peace with it. It appeared to her, though, that he still struggled with his feelings, being himself so helplessly swept away by her smile or so propelled to lay down his affection whenever he had the chance, like that morning, when he touched her face with incredible tenderness, making it hard for her to hide behind a cold façade. Perhaps, she too was facing difficulties in concealing her feelings.

Arya let out a sigh.

You seem troubled, Glaedr observed. Do you need help with something?

I feel like I will be forever troubled, it's not like my position as the queen allows me much tranquility.

No, it is a constant worry, I'm afraid. Your mother would come to the Crags of Tel'naeír trying to escape the overwhelming burden of being the monarch.

I know. I remember. Did she succeed?

Glaedr fell silent for a while and Arya noticed he was dealing with a memory. Not long after, he showed it to her.

It was a bright winter morning on the Crags, and Arya received the information that it was the last day of winter, and she was one day away from turning sixteen years old. Her mother Islanzadí was sitting with Oromis outside his hut sipping on her tea. Her gaze seemed tired and empty toward the horizon. Oromis poured himself another cup of tea and studied his queen's expression. From Gleadr's point of view, it seemed she was battling with a sour thought, her lips curving slightly downward. Arya already knew what thought that was, and the sour taste came to her mouth as well, remembering the argument she had with her mother the night before.

"Will she ever forgive me, Oromis?" Her voice came out faint, almost ethereal. Islanzadí never changed her position, looking away, a teacup in her hands.

"Arya is still very young and full of idealism. She opposes you because it is the nature of youthful souls, to go against every decision made by their parents," Oromis stated with caution.

"That doesn't answer my question, for as true as it is."

"No, it does not. But how will I be so sure of what you ask?"

The queen sighed. She placed the cup on the table and looked at the old Rider, coming out of her trance.

"I fear our relationship will always be this complicated. She resents me for staying back when I should be moving our armies against Galbatorix. She thinks this is the right thing to do. And it saddens me that at such a young age she must deal with these thoughts of war and vengeance. And Brom's intentions of an uprising don't help either."

"She wishes to join the cause."

"As soon as possible! Can you think of something more absurd? She's just a child!" Her calm seemed to be ruined with the thought of her daughter fighting in a rebellion.

"In fact, I can't think of anything more coherent than that. She has lost her father, she hears of all kinds of horrors throughout the land, it's only natural that she feels the need to do something. Anything. But as I said before, she's still too young, but her reason is strong, she knows there's nothing she can do for now. There's a lot to learn, and her training is just in the beginning. She knows that."

Arya's heart clenched. Her rebellious youth cost her closest ones to worry for her safety. Being much older and experienced now allowed her to see how straining to others must have been to deal with her impetuous behavior. Of course, her mother had her great share of guilt in their never-ending conflicts, by being so passive and resentful of the world, remaining shut inside her prejudices. They couldn't be more different. Yet, there was Arya, resorting to the same way of unwinding from her concerns, by seeking advice from the elders.

"It's her birthday tomorrow, is it not? Do you have anything planned for her?" Oromis resumed speaking seeing that the queen remained silent to his last speech.

"It is. You know she loathes having that kind of attention, so probably she will stay inside her room, or here, training with you."

"That doesn't answer my question." Oromis smiled kindly.

"No, it does not." Islanzadí smiled back at him, but much less humorously. "I will try mending things between us, with a present maybe. At least until next time."

Oromis nodded and downed his tea.

Islanzadí did the same and stood up to leave.

"But that isn't the only thing on your mind, is it, your majesty? How was the council meeting?"

The queen's eyes were fiery just for remembering said meeting.

"You don't want to know, do you, Oromis?"

"Well, no, but you can give me the general idea."

At that moment, Arya recalled Eragon's distant approach to her political affairs as the queen. Whenever they talked via scrying, he would grasp only the superficial aspects of the politics of her people, deciding to stay as impartial as possible. She would've told him everything, if she could, since there was no one in the entire world she trusted more than him, except for Fírnen. Instead, their conversations were essentially practical, concerning the matters of their duty as Riders or the details of supply shipments only. Rarely, though, they would get personal, but only briefly.

Focusing on the memory, Arya saw her mother pacing back and forth twice before answering.

"The opposition is forcing us to stay back, hidden here even more. They play with Evandar's death each time, and each time my response is to go forward, to march until my sword is deep inside the traitor's heart. They know it, so they provoke my reaction, causing fear in the others, fear of starting a war we can't win." Her voice was trembling with anger.

Oromis didn't seem surprised.

"Oh, the usual then."

Islanzadí pursed her lips, breathing back to calm.

"Yes, the usual."

"It seems to me that there are only two choices here. To inflame people's hearts to march into war, or to comply with the opposition's wishes and stay back, waiting for the right moment. The way I see it, both decisions bring benefits and drawbacks."

She stared at him with great interest.

"And they are…?"

"The benefit of going into war right now, after fifteen years of the Fall, after fifteen years of isolation, is more personal to you I'm afraid than good for everybody. Revenging Evandar's death and siding with Arya on her will to fight being the only ones. I can't think of anything else. The drawbacks are… well… war itself. Exposing ourselves to the Mad King. Being slain by the thousands."

Once again, Islanzadí looked away to the horizon, her voice back to the emotionless tone of before. "On the other hand, if we stay back, our people won't die, our forest won't burn and my opposition will be satisfied."

Oromis nodded.

"I don't believe this is a matter of choosing whatsoever. The choice is already made, and I fear it will break my relationship with my daughter forever." Islanzadí sounded determined but terribly sad.

"I am truly sorry, your majesty."

Glaedr let the memory fade and waited until Arya was ready to speak again.

Her head was spinning. Of all their differences, this one was the biggest, her desire to fight opposed her mother's decision to stay hidden. And after all this time, she found out that it wasn't her decision at all.

Arya got up to her feet and threw her hands to her head. Why didn't she tell Arya about this? Why didn't Oromis or Glaedr tell her about this? She felt like a fool.

Before you ask why we didn't tell you before, remember your struggles as queen. Do you think Islanzadí made a bad choice by staying in Du Weldenvarden all that time without clearly opposing Galbatorix? And were you ready to know the truth before becoming the queen yourself?

The bad taste she felt in her mouth before started again. By doing something so against Arya's beliefs, Islanzadí became exactly someone her daughter would approve of. Except the timing was wrong. She wished she had the same understanding before. But children usually only understand their parents' motives for taking a decision long after the decision is taken. Long after they could support their parents' actions and tell them they forgive any unpleasant outcomes.

Arya could only understand not fighting Galbatorix because her mother decided not to, saving her and thousands of people from dying prematurely. She could only see the rebirth of the dragons and the new age of Riders because her mother took the selfless road, without ever seeing the king defeated and her mate avenged. Arya understood now why her mother tried to manipulate her and stir her in the direction Arya would never go by herself, risking never have her love ever again.

What had she told Eragon that morning took a new meaning. The same meaning, but new depths. She was right, some choices are not choices at all, and she was bound to trail a selfless road, no escaping. A weight heavier than she had ever felt fell on her chest. If she thought duty was heavier than personal satisfaction, enlightened by the discoveries, she was sure now that duty for her was all that was, nothing more. It was her destiny to give herself completely to the well-being of others.

She only hoped Eragon would understand and support her decision if he found out her new true name. She decided she would do everything she could not to let him correctly guess it, she couldn't afford to hurt him again, for his importance to this world was too great. Arya would have to hide how she felt at all costs, he could never know.

Why are you closing yourself from me, child? What are you hiding behind those walls? Glaedr's mind felt grave on her own.

Just that I understand now. Mother and you. My mother, for doing what she did, and you, for not telling me about it. I don't hold any grudges, Arya spoke in a conciliatory way, trying to keep him from probing even further, for she feared he would make her change her mind on her decision of taking her distance from Eragon.

Good. I'm relieved. It's not good to live with such a heavy burden in our hearts.

She forced a smile.

You gave me a lot to think about, Glaedr-elda. I need some rest now to organize everything inside my mind.

Of course, child. Go have your rest.

Good night, Arya Dröttning, Umaroth said.

Good night. She moved to the door, but before reaching for it, she halted, a thought in mind.

One more thing!

Yes? Umaroth allowed her to speak.

Do you show this kind of memory to Eragon? About… me?

He asked us not to. A sigh of relief came out of her after Umaroth's answer. The Shadeslayer doesn't feel right about prying into his friends and family's lives.

Right. Good. Thank you.

She turned back to the door. But before she opened it, Glaedr spoke, Although, he can't stop us if we decide to do so. Rest well, Arya.

Not so relieved as before, Arya left the Hall of Colors. She walked back to her room, still troubled by her thoughts of before and also by her new ones.

Her feet led her to her destination as she felt distracted by the memories the Eldunarí had shown her. New meanings started to take root in old beliefs, and she dared to consider that her dwelling on the matter would last for a long, long time.

When she was almost there, Arya heard a scratching sound coming from down the hallway, it made her focus on the present instead of looking back at the past. Approaching her door, she realized the sound came from the door at the end of the hall, where a cat scraped the wood with its claws. She recognized it as being one of the brown cats that unpleasant merchant sold to Eragon.

Curious about the scene, she took a few more steps toward the door but stopped when heard it being unlocked. From inside the room, Eragon emerged, clearly annoyed by the sound. She figured he was already in bed, being so late at night. He wore only a loose pair of linen pants, and the alabaster skin of his chest was exposed. He bent down to grab the cat in his arms and motioned to take it inside when he crossed eyes with her. His annoyed semblance turned to a warm one, he could potentially melt anyone's coldest demeanor with such glare. She wasn't sure if she was immune to that herself.

"Good night, Arya. See you in the morning," he said in a soft voice with a smile.

She allowed herself to spare him one last act of affection and smiled back at him, nodding her head.

Eragon still lingered on the doorway, as he watched her move away and enter her room.

Closing the door behind her, she rubbed her temper. This will be harder than I thought.