7

Eragon woke up before the first light. It wasn't a calm experience at all. What he saw right before his eyelids opened sent shivers through his body, and the fact that Arya was avoiding him for the past week added more bitterness to his bad mood.

Good morning, little one. Saphira's voice was apprehensive, knowing very well his state of mind. She was in the Eyre, still lying down with Fírnen snoozing by her side.

Good morning, Saphira.

He got out of bed and went to tend to his morning routine. He poured some water from the jar in the basin on his bedside table and washed his face. He got dressed, grabbed a fresh change of clothes, and headed to the pools in the underground, so he could take his morning bath.

She must be troubled by something bad that happened in Ellesméra in her absence. It's not about you.

The dragon tried to soothe his bad mood with a calm voice. He knew she was lying, and she knew better than to think that. Arya had a polite coldness toward him and kept a good distance at all times. She would always pick the farthest seat from him, divert her gaze, and talk to anyone else but him.

Yes, she must be, he humored her.

Eragon couldn't hide his disappointment with the fact that she would act that way after, in his understanding, they had made good progress in their relationship in the short first days of her visit, sharing intimate memories and thoughts. She even had spared him a few moments of physical contact, that he treasured like it was freshwater in the desert. He just couldn't understand why. What had he done to make her act that way? Had he been impolite or unthoughtful somehow? Did he offend her in any way?

As much as he squeezed his brain to find that moment when it all went wrong between them, he couldn't. He had wondered if she was acting that way because she felt left out from the Order's decisions, like taking Murtagh in or the whole quarrel with Orik. If that were the case, she didn't have to just ignore him, they could sit down and talk, work out their differences. All that situation just made him feel confused and grim.

One day she smiles and compliments him, spending the entire time by his side on the grandstand and watching the fights taking place in the arena. They joked, laughed, told each other funny stories and some sad ones too. She even let her hand linger on his cheek for too long after brushing away a tiny leaf that had fallen on his beard. However, after saying good night to her when he opened his door to pick up the male cat that had been scraping his door unceasingly, everything changed.

The next day she refused the chair he had reserved for her next to him on the grandstand; she chose to walk with Angela and Solembum, leaving him behind on the way to the dining tent during lunch break; and when he tried to talk to her after dinner and ask if she was well, she excused herself and left for the night, briskly. All day, he saw Fírnen throwing apologetic glances at him, but didn't speak a word to Eragon. Her behavior confused him and made him feel incredibly sad. As the days went by, he started to feel angry as well, a moodiness he hadn't experienced in a long time. And it has been like that for a week.

Don't dwell on it too much.

I'm not.

He was, but Saphira chose not to argue with him, especially seeing how rude and short-tempered he was being to people in the last days. Eragon saw that consideration in her mind and felt guilty, not enough however to make him apologize for it. He just looked at his feet as he walked down the stairs.

You still have some time before the activities of the Games begin. Do you want me to take you on a flight after breakfast?

No. I'm not attending the Games today. Can you let Blödhgarm know, please?

Eragon, what are you going to do? It will be very rude of you to miss the Games and let your guests unattended.

They will be fine. The elves, you, Thorn, and Murtagh will make them company, better than me, I'm sure of it.

Oh, you're sure, aren't you? That Thorn and Murtagh will be a good replacement for you in the eyes of your guests? Of course, if they even show up, which is never the case. Besides, your people fight better with you watching them.

Our people. And they will be fine. His grumpiness reached the maximum level by then.

If Saphira were by his side, she would've tackled him to the ground.

Where are you going, by the way, may I know?

I need some time with the Eldunarí.

It will not do you any good to ruminate these dreams, she warned trying to control her annoyance.

Let me be, Saphira. And tell Blödhgarm, please.

Not Arya?

He hesitated.

Why should you? No, no one else. I want to be alone.

She growled before saying in an angry voice, As you wish.

Reaching the steaming pools of thermal water in the underground level of the mountain and finding no one else there, being so early — not even morning yet —, lifted his spirit just a bit.

One of the facts that made him like having the eyrie as his quarters was that he had his own bathtub, filled with fresh water every night whilst he sat to smoke by the fire in the dining hall. The cleaning crew would send the heavy buckets of water up there by a similar pulley system used in Tronjheim, and in the morning, when he was ready for his bath, magic would help him get the water at the right temperature. He had even considered altering the bathtub with magic so it would regulate the temperature by itself, drawing energy from its store, but he had so many things more important to do, that he just cast it aside for the moment.

And that was the only way he allowed himself to be pampered since the rest of the time he would live without any luxury or privilege. Even the use of magic was restricted in his day-to-day life. He used a razor to shave and scissors to trim his beard and hair. Whenever he wanted to light a fire, he would draw the flint from his pocket and do it the "human way", as Saphira would always tease him about.

As he lowered himself into the hot water, he realized that he felt as tired as he was when he went to bed, maybe even more so. Not only his uncomfortable situation with Arya was draining his energy lately, but also how the Eldunarí had begun to infuse his dreams with visions far from peaceful every night. It had been a while since he last had a good night of rest.

Eragon rubbed his face with more force than necessary, in an involuntary urge to inflict pain on himself.

Unwillingly, he made himself get on with his day. He finished his bath, got dressed, and left the steaming room, leaving his dirty clothes there to be washed. When he closed the door and turned to leave, he nearly bumped into someone in the hallway.

"Good morning, Eragon." Arya's soft but stern voice echoed on the stone walls.

He just stared at her unable to greet her back. Gurgling up inside his chest, he felt a strange feeling that, in a matter of seconds, he identified as resentment. Eragon felt his body acting involuntarily again, for the second time that day, and the corners of his lips twitched a bit and curved slightly down as he had just bitten a lime. Reaching for the doorknob behind his back, he twisted it and slid it open for her, noticing she had her fresh change of clothes tightly pressed against her chest by her crossed arms. He made room for her to pass.

Arya only nodded quickly in gratitude and stepped forward to enter.

Before she could close the door, however, Eragon snapped from his haze of bitterness and cursed himself mentally. What was he doing, giving her the cold shoulder like that? Fine, she was nothing less than insensitive and potentially rude in the way she was treating him, but he waited for ten years to see her again and would only have a month, now less, to have her there, within the reach of his hand, under the gaze of his eyes. He needed to rise above any pettiness and be the bigger man.

"Arya!" He called with confidence, but she turned and squinted her eyes at him in a frown like he was an annoying bug on the wall. He faltered.

"Yes?"

A knot formed in his throat and his heart clenched. Why was she acting like that? Why? Just when he thought things were turning up the way he wanted between them, she went back at rejecting him, even worse now, because now she was hurting him willfully, he supposed, because no one could be that cold accidentally to someone they claimed was a friend.

"Just… Have a good day," he managed to say before his voice would crack from the heartbreak.

Eragon didn't wait for her to answer and stormed out from the lower levels, running up to the Hall of Colors. When he arrived there, he was out of breath, but he suspected it was more from the emotional strain than the exercise itself. Spending a few seconds to recollect himself in front of the door, he breathed in deeply and let it out. And again, then once more. He did it about ten times and stopped until his heart was back to normal and his mood was somewhat manageable.

Eragon opened the door and prepared for a morning of ordeal.

The day was suffocating, hotter than any other she had spent in Fell Thindarë so far. Arya suspected the rain that fell lazily during the morning had something to do with it, for it wasn't cold or abundant enough to freshen the rest of the day, and now the afternoon was wet and suffocating.

She dipped her fingertips in her glass of water and splattered some droplets on her face and cleavage. A warm breeze rushed from the west and blew her hair and sleeveless blue tunic around her, cooling down, but just a little, the exposed skin of her arms and neck. The same warm breeze coming from the west and into the dining tent had kissed her face the night she had opened up to Eragon about Fäolin.

At the thought of the Rider, her eyes darted to the empty seat by Nasuada's side that was supposed to be his at the lunch table. She felt her heart drop just to think she might have hurt him bad enough to make him want to stay away. Thinking about it, it was cruel of her to treat him as her closest and cherished friend just to ignore him altogether from one instant to another. But only Arya could feel the remains of her shattered grudges against her mother shifting inside of her, piercing and cutting her beliefs, changing her being, slowly molding her to be a continuation of Islanzadí's legacy.

Besides, Arya feared that if she let herself be discovered and analyzed by the only one alive who could change her that much, just as much as her past, she would fail that legacy. If he listened to his name engraved in her essence like it was, he would not let her go away from him, but mostly she would not let herself go away from him, which was worse. She needed to be strong, even if her legs felt boneless and her hands trembled at the notion that she was hurting the man that would never consider doing the same to her. Her logic was clear inside her mind, but she feared that if anyone could extract it from her, it would look like a pile of meaningless excuses and random anguished, conflicting feelings.

Earlier that morning, his hurt and angry eyes almost made her fall to his feet and ask for forgiveness. When she heard her name escaping his lips with such strain, she could hold her cold mask no more, and repentance creased her forehead in a grimace. His reaction felt like a hit of a sword's pommel right to her stomach, pushing the air from her lungs. Eragon just acted like himself and, in the face of heartbreak, he wished her well and ran, leaving behind only his earthy smell, like wet grass and rain.

His kindness was still going to be the ruin of him, just like her guarded demeanor would be the ruin of her. Arya almost wanted him to curse her, to try to hurt her with the filthiest words he knew, and she was sure he knew plenty, being a human young man. But no, he would never do that, never use his dirty vocabulary against her, he couldn't even do it in a casual conversation. Eragon would never hurt her on purpose, only she could be that vicious, not him.

That's enough, Arya! Fly with me, now! Fírnen rarely spoke to her in that tone, angered, but when he did, Arya knew he was annoyed beyond his limits.

Without a word, Arya walked to where Fírnen was waiting for her. Saphira, who attended the competition alone that day, was sitting on her hind legs beside him. Arya knew Saphira was mad at her for being so cold to her Rider, and it pained her, even more, to see the dragon turning her head away not to look at Arya.

What did you expect? That you would treat her Rider like an annoying little bug and she would still greet you like an old friend?

Again, Arya didn't say anything. She just hopped on his back and let him take her away from the big tent.

Eragon's head felt like exploding when he finally acknowledged his physical constitution. He didn't want to spend any more time going over and over the visions put in his head by the Eldunarí.

That's it. I need a break.

No, Shadeslayer. You don't need a break, you need to let this go. You already know everything you needed to know, now let the players play their game. You will deal with the results later.

Umaroth's words could have come out from Eragon's mouth if he were to advise himself. So, without discussion, he bid the dragons goodbye and left the Hall of Colors. His legs felt three times heavier than usual from sitting in the same position for too long, and as he walked down the stairs, he had the impression they would fall off and roll down the steps without his command. There was also an ache on his lower back that made him move like an old man for several minutes until his body finally adjusted to the erect stance again.

His jaw dropped when he got to the ground level and heard all those voices coming from the dining hall.

Saphira, is it night already?

Yes, little one. You spent the whole day there with the elders. You must be starving.

At the mention of that, he suddenly realized he had a stomach, and it twitched in a loud protest.

I am. Hope there's still food left for me.

Eragon's mental capacity had grown considerably in ten years. He could spend the whole day meditating, without the need to eat, drink or alleviate himself. In a way, being recluse inside his mind, communicating practically through images and other sensorial stimuli only, could be considered as a form of meditation. Eragon could almost feel he didn't have a body anymore, as he spent hours without any physical sensation whatsoever. Yet, it didn't stop his limbs and organs to react when he came back to himself after so long.

His mood was in no way better than it was in the morning, but after seeing all he had seen in the Hall of Colors, he was more than grateful to be in Saphira's company again, although she never left his mind, absorbing every little piece of information he was receiving. And she didn't deserve his bitter words.

Of course, we are just starting.

Great! Wait for me.

Entering the hall was an overwhelming experience after spending so much time in the presence of immaterial beings. The voices there were loud and the heat emanating from so many living and breathing bodies hit him like the first winds of a summer storm. He hesitated at the door but started to walk again at the sight of his partner sitting by the end of the table near the wall to his right. Beside her, he could see Angela and Solembum.

"Nobody missed you today, Shadeslayer," Angela teased him when he approached them to put his hand on Saphira's snout.

"No, I didn't think anyone would."

"Where were you, by the way? Did you have a bad episode of indigestion? If that was the case, I suggest you stay away from the lamb. It didn't inspire much trust in me if you want to know."

She acted disgusted with the plate of lamb meat in the middle of the table, but Eragon knew she was just rambling, for she was very aware of the Eldunarí and the impending danger lurking around Alagaësia. How could she possibly know this was beyond his understanding.

"Indigestion? I wish my biggest problem were just not being able to digest lamb meat."

"You're right, your biggest problem is that you are not getting any prettier, even though you try your best. The beard, for example. A good effort, but useless. You still look like a weird-looking featherless newborn bird, with big watery eyes that can't quite see the world that wants to kill him. Not so featherless anymore, I mean, but still weird." She finished her description pointing at his beard.

Eragon didn't know if he was more offended or amused, not knowing if he was that weird-looking, so he just brushed his mustache with two fingers of his right hand in a self-conscious act and shook his head.

"Wow, you captured my essence there. Thanks!"

She nodded, with an amused glow in her eyes that told Eragon he was the perfect target for her jests.

"I will join Nasuada's table now, but I would like to talk to you soon, when you have a moment, Angela, and you Solembum." The werecat looked at him with bored eyes and resumed his task of devouring a big chunk of lamb meat. He didn't want to sound like an authority, but he was sure this is how it came out.

"Of course." She was serious and didn't seem bothered by his harsher tone. "But don't get your hopes too high, I'm trying to figure this out as much as you, maybe I don't know what you are hoping I do."

A shiver ran down Eragon's spine. Whatever the herbalist knew, for as minimum as she thought it was, could be decisive for the future of them all, for there were mysteries in Angela's nature that he believed impossible to figure out. Both of them hadn't discussed too profoundly the matters that worried him, but still, she knew what he was talking about.

"Right. Let me know when you're ready then."

With that, he spared Saphira a last scratch under the jaw and headed to the main table.

He greeted the leaders, taking extra care not to cross eyes with Arya, and sat by Orik's side, as he's been doing every night since they arrived there.

"What did I miss?"

Even after Orik had put Eragon in the dilemma of choosing between his half-brother and the support of the dwarves, the two of them never ceased being friends, talking casually about lighter subjects and laughing together at an anecdote told by any of them. Eragon felt, however, that this peace between them would have an end if they couldn't reach an agreement regarding the matter of Murtagh joining the Order.

"Not much. Just one or two broken records, several fractured bones, and a major heatwave. For Helzvog, Eragon, you never told me this land could be this hot!"

Eragon laughed, feeling his moodiness diminishing little by little.

"A heatwave during summer is hardly a heatwave. It's just summer!"

"I'm telling you, this is not normal, the heat, you know?" And to prove his point, a drop of sweat ran down his face and got lost inside his thick beard.

"Aye. I'll ask Blödhgarm to check the ventilation system. It's possible that one, or some of the tunnels are blocked by fallen rocks. If that's the case, he can fix it."

"I drink to that!"

Orik poured ale in Eragon's cup and the pair downed their drinks trying to placate the heat. He helped himself with some more ale and felt his insides starting to burn from the drink in an empty stomach. If he didn't eat soon, his head would begin to spin, and he needed to have a clear mind for what was coming next.

Asking for Orik to pass the potatoes, he reached Fírnen's mind, brushing against his defenses very softly, so the dragon wouldn't feel offended or alarmed.

Recognizing the Rider's distinctive mind, Fírnen laid down his defenses to him.

Good evening, Eragon. It's good to see you back with us.

Thank you, Fírnen. And good evening to you too.

Is there something wrong? Fírnen sounded worried and even embarrassed, appearing to Eragon that he would like to apologize for something.

I just need to send a message to Arya. If you can make me the favor of letting her know I wish her to stay here after dinner, it would be great. Sadness crawled back into him again. It seems she doesn't want to talk with me lately, that's why I'm asking you.

Fírnen hesitated, and the two of them locked eyes. The green dragon was on the opposite end of the table where he met Saphira, Angela, and Solembum. The elves near him would frequently serve him all the food he could eat, and Eragon was sure they could only talk about Fírnen's strength and looks.

I see. I'm sorry about that, but she's dealing with some royal problems. They are taking too much of her energy. I'm sure you understand.

I understand. He didn't. Good thing they weren't using the Ancient Language since both of them were free to lie. Don't worry about it. So, can I count on you to pass the message along?

Consider it done.

Good. You must stay too, for I need you to be present at the meeting.

Meeting? Fírnen seemed puzzled.

With Orik. I'm going to make him a proposal and I need you two to back me up on this.

Oh, that. Of course.

Thank you, Fírnen.

Fírnen lowered his giant head just a bit in a nod, but his eyes were inspecting the Rider. Suddenly, they focused on Arya and back at him.

She'll stay. We both will.

Brilliant. Thank you.

Eragon retreated from his mind and started eating his roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. He added some rice — their proud production — and a spoonful of cranberry sauce. It was amazing and his stomach twitched again, but this time he suspected was in gratitude, not protest.

He was so focused on his food, he blocked the noise around him, so it was a complete surprise when he heard the melodious laugh coming from Arya on the other side of Hvedra. She was being amused by the dwarf's storytelling that Eragon didn't quite discern what was about. It only made him brood over how poorly he was being treated by Arya while everyone else seemed to receive the friendliest side of her. Suddenly the sauce tasted sour and the potatoes' gone bad in his mouth. He dropped his fork on the table and forced ale down his throat to ease the nausea. He emptied the cup and got up to leave.

"Eragon, are you all right?" Orik asked with a concerned voice, seeing that his friend seemed in distress.

"Yes, I just need a moment. You know, to go see a man about a horse." He tried to relax his expression to ease the dwarf's mind. It worked. Orik laughed, and he was free to go. "Smoking later, aye?"

"Aye!"

Where are you going, Eragon?

I need some air. Can you take me to fly, please?

He quickly distanced himself from the others and marched out.

Now? How about our meeting later? You just asked Fírnen to stay.

We will be back in time. Besides, I could use some help to get to Thorn's niche. We need to talk to them before the meeting.

Saphira didn't need more convincing. They left the dining hall and headed to the main entrance, where they took flight into the warm night.

Watching Eragon walking out of the hall after apparently having a discomfort brought Arya to remember what she had heard from Fírnen earlier.

Fírnen's rage that afternoon was still very vivid in her mind during dinner. Eragon's tired expression didn't help soothe her guilt either, instead, it only made her hate herself even more.

After being scolded by her dragon for ignoring her friend and making him feel bad for days, she started feeling how painful it is to be the one receiving the cold treatment. Fírnen hasn't spoken a word to her since they came back to the Arena hours earlier, and his mind was completely blocked to her.

She took a deep breath. Earlier or later, he would have to open himself up again, and nothing would be different, she would still keep her distance from Eragon. So why put themselves through all that?

It was earlier than later, and Fírnen entered her mind with a message from Eragon. He wanted them to stay there after dinner to meet with Orik. It seemed he had a plan to placate Orik's harsh demands, and she couldn't be more curious to know what it was.

Are you still giving me the silent treatment?

Yes. I'll be quiet now. Goodbye!

Stop, Fírnen! Let's talk. Because all I did today was to listen, as it hardly qualifies as a conversation.

The dragon remained quiet but did not cut their mental connection. She threw him an inquisitive look from across the hall and continued.

I know you don't agree with me because you like him very much and you think I'm going to hurt all four of us if I keep shutting him down like this. I know all that, you were very emphatic this afternoon, and I agree with you.

She sighed and looked away from him, politely refusing the potatoes Nasuada offered her. But I will hurt us all even more if I allow him to get closer just to see himself entangled in a dangerous web that my position as queen will put him through. When we arrived here, I felt good in his presence and thought that there was no harm in opening up to him just a little, even if he found out my name. But I was wrong! Fírnen, I found out his true name just from observing him and listening carefully to the things he said. What keeps him from discovering my true name? What if he does? I mean, he will know that I'm not as indifferent to him as he thinks I am, but what's next?

Arya got distracted by her dragon moving from his place at his table to the space behind her. It took a couple of minutes and some bumps on people's heads for him to get to her. When he did, Arya felt him pressing his snout on the back of her neck, encouraging her to continue.

He will pursue me once more, and once more I'll have to tell him we cannot be. How could we? He's here inside this damn mountain, and I'm there, deep into the forest. It cannot be. The elven society would never accept us, even before, when I was just the queen's daughter, people talked. It wouldn't be easy. And he'll get hurt.

Unless, he started, and Arya already knew where he was going with that, you're not there anymore. If your opposition wants the crown, let them have it. Or anyone.

She shook her head furiously, catching Nasuada's attention. She signaled Fírnen with her hand, and the human queen understood that there was a silent discussion going on between them.

I would never give in to those greedy vultures, not after so many centuries of all of my family's hard work to keep the elves from harm. No! The opposition doesn't think like us, they want the glory, they want to rule the land, but we don't need it!

So, to stop all that from happening, you give up on your happiness. It wasn't a question. Fírnen stated that hoping she would see how twisted it sounded.

What kind of happiness will I have if I let it all happen? If it was all my fault?

And you think you are the only one interested in keeping the peace? That you are the only one fit for the job? How about Däthedr?

I'm the best one because no one understands how to do this job better than me, I'm sure of it now like I've never been before. Her mind voice was stoic, firm.

She had played those arguments many times in her head in the past days in case Eragon would confront her, but she didn't expect to use it with Fírnen, the one who was supposed to see them at the source, inside her consciousness.

Just because of the memory of your mother? Does one single memory have all this power? He was incredulous and a little disappointed.

It was all I needed.

And are you sure you can't make a little room for Eragon to come in, just a little bit? Just once every ten years?

Arya hesitated. What exactly he was proposing?

What do you mean?

Well, look at me and Saphira. Of course we would like to be together the entire time, but we take what was given to us, once every ten years we are each other's mate, and it has to suffice for now. Why can't you just do the same with Eragon?

It would never work. It's human nature to always want more. it's all or nothing with them, no in-betweens.

You underestimate him. You know he's something more than human now, you've seen in his name. Besides, not all humans are the same.

She knew, but Arya pushed that thought aside, for it would be one more complicating factor to their already puzzling math.

Maybe I do underestimate him, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

Something tells me he would think differently.

One more reason to be away from him.

Fírnen growled low in the back of his throat, consumed by frustration. She was as stubborn as the dwarves she criticized so often. Perhaps all those years among the dwarves had turned her into one of them.

You are being very silly, for such an old woman.

Silly but right. I'm right on this. My mother would agree with me.

Listen to yourself! If Fírnen had hair, he would be pulling it from his head at that moment. Your mother was the person who antagonized you the most, and Eragon the person who accepted you the most! How can you not see this?

I see this! I also see that everything I knew about her was wrong!

Not everything, Arya. Don't be so naïve.

Arya was tired. She let out a deep breath and turned to face him.

Fírnen, I know I wanted us to talk, but this is going too far. You must understand that Eragon and I, we cannot be, not in these conditions.

I'll do it if you understand that it doesn't matter if you can or cannot be, only that you are hurting him, and I want you to stop, now!

"Enough of this, Fírnen, I don't want to talk about this anymore, and my decision is final," she said with both mind and lips.

The guests sitting at her table stopped their conversations among themselves and spared the pair a glance. They knew of her ferocity on the battlefield, they've seen her fighting with the fervor and fierceness of a wild animal. If she had to be mad at someone, they hoped it would be a dragon, fully capable of matching her might.

Fírnen didn't confront her though, yet small columns of smoked came out of his nostrils as he breathed heavily. Finally, he backed away and sat down, still staring at her. Arya turned back on her chair to face her plate. She grabbed her fork and knife and restarted to eat, regretting leaving her food untouched for so long, for the vegetables were soft and a bit soggy since the cranberry sauce spread all over the plate.

After checking with Blödhgarm the conditions of their ventilation system, Eragon took a seat by one of the fireplaces in the dining hall. He looked around and saw the tables still considerably occupied by a good number of diners. So, ready to wait for them all to leave, he sat back on his chair, took his pipe from his vest pocket, filled it with Cardus weed, and lit it with a flint. Saphira came to sit next to him, resting her head on her front paws by his chair. Eragon took a drag and with his left hand started to caress her brow.

Do you think they will come?

I believe they will, little one. Murtagh seemed eager to solve this matter once and for all.

Yes, I think so too. I just hope Orik will listen to us and accept our proposal.

He will be a fool if he doesn't.

It didn't take long and Orik followed by Hvedra joined them there. Eragon glanced over to see if Arya was there and saw that she looked back at him with a blank expression. He sighed.

It's going to be a long night.

Relax, Eragon. There's nothing you can do, you heard Umaroth. You will explain the game rules and wait for the players to make their moves. You can't force Orik to cooperate, neither make Arya treat you decently. Let them play!

Right. I'll try.

Orik turned to Eragon with a puzzled expression.

"It must be an impressive horse that one you went to see a man about. Took you ages to return!"

Eragon threw him an apologetic look.

"I had pressing matters to oversee. The work never stops around here."

"I can imagine that; in Tronjheim we have the same dynamic," Hvedra spoke with admirable authority and looked at Orik, who had at the same time pride and guilt on his face. "And if I don't take care of such matters, nobody will."

"That's what makes a good Grimstcarvlorss. But, of course, Hvedra does more than she should, because she takes care of our clan, but also the entire city when she finds time for it."

"It is impressive. You should be proud of yourself, Hvedra."

"So should you, Shadeslayer." They exchanged complimentary smiles.

The four of them engaged in a light conversation for some time, as people were leaving the hall. As usual, some of Arngor's residents stayed behind by the other fireplaces, or even at the dining tables, but they weren't as many as usual, and they were spread through the hall, because the heat there was still intense, causing people to disperse after dinner.

When Nasuada left, Arya headed their way, followed by Fírnen, taking a seat by Hvedra's side. She didn't look at Eragon, not even when it was his turn to speak. Slowly, he stopped taking the initiative and let others tell their stories and anecdotes. Instead, he occupied his lips with his pipe. He felt wrong, dirty, worthless. Wasn't she who said he was a bigger person than anyone she knew? Well, she made him feel very small, the tiniest of all men.

Do you want me to bite her tail off? He felt a hint of laughter die in his chest before it even started.

I would like to see that, but no, better not. I just need to focus on making Orik understand our situation and then I won't need to be here under her look of contempt.

Yes, just let them sort their problems out, we already have ours.

Exactly. We have plenty.

Orik turned to Eragon after a particularly long story told by Hvedra and tried to bring him back to the conversation.

"Isn't it true you almost had all of the skin on your legs peeled off by Saphira's scales in your first flight together?"

"On the inside of my legs, yes. I had the scars until the dragons cured me of Durza's wound."

"I told you," Orik said to Hvedra, "dragon scales can be harder than rocks."

Much harder. And sharp too.

Eragon felt silent again as Saphira explained the different types of scales, from hardest to softest. He thought it was time since the hall was fairly empty. The ones remaining wouldn't take long to finish smoking their weed. He took another drag and closed his eyes.

Reaching out with his mind, he brushed the boundaries of many minds there in the hall and all over the mountain, as his reach grew larger. Usually, he would ask Saphira to approach someone mentally, since people would hardly get offended or feel invaded by a dragon, knowing that was how they normally communicated. But he felt like calling Thorn himself and let Saphira carry the conversation forward.

His mind ran fast to the highest level of the mountain, just below the eyrie, and searched through the niches, until he found Thorn's mind.

Is it time? Thorn's voice rang inside his head.

It is. You can come now.

"Are you all right, Eragon?" For the second time in the evening, Orik sounded worried about his friend.

"Yes. I was only talking to someone." He tapped his temper.

"Oh, right."

"In fact, Orik, there's something I would like to discuss with you too."

The Dwarf King looked like he had received bad news. He straightened his back to try to look taller and more menacing.

"Is it about that Kingkiller? Did you come to a decision yet?"

"I did, and I communicated it to you at the moment you presented me with your conditions for supporting us with supplies. It is still the same. I'm sorry, Orik, but I can't let you dictate how our Order will organize itself. Only members have a say on our matters."

Orik clenched his jaw and his face turned red.

"Then I don't see what else is there to talk about. We will end all our relations here, including," his voice trembled, "our family bond."

Eragon expected such a reaction, but it didn't fail to hurt him. His already flayed heart twisted painfully inside his chest, and he thought it had been a mistake to allow the Games to take place in Arngor. What good did it bring? Only heartbreak.

His eyes fell to his pipe, avoiding everyone's gaze.

"I feared you would say that and I am so sorry it came down to this." His voice was low, full of emotion. "I'm not usually the one to hold grudges, you know that, but I want you to remember this moment very carefully, for when you need it in the future, for I know you will."

"Are you threatening me, boy?" Orik's eyes were fierce.

Eragon resented the use of "boy", to provoke and diminish him. He looked around and saw a few small groups scattered throughout the hall, so he spoke quietly the spell to block their conversation from being heard by others.

Careful now, Eragon. Choose your words with caution, Saphira advised.

"You won't understand now, but no, I'm not the one threatening you or anyone else here." He pointed at the others.

With the movement, his eyes fell on Arya's, and for the first time in one week, he saw true emotion coming out of them. He saw concern and compassion. Now she was with pity of him?

"There's something, someone, lurking around Alagaësia, and you will need the protection of our Order if you wish to survive. Remember, Orik, if you cut ties with me, you will be cutting ties with the entire Order, and will be breaking the pact with the dragons. No more eggs hatching for dwarven children, no more protection for your lands. The ones of your people that choose to remain here will be treated as refugees from your Kingdom."

Orik snorted in contempt.

"It's not like you're protecting us all that much. Where are the Riders we sent you? Three so far, and none came back to us!"

"It's not how this works, they would never get back to you, unless their orders sent them back home, but if it took them somewhere else, they would have to go. That, of course, if we still held each other on good relation."

Eragon leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "I already told you, these are times of peace, there's no need to rush their education just so they could satisfy the wishes of a few. We took our time, and they will be ready to fight this menace and any other that appears throughout Alagaësia from now on, of that I'm sure. I'm even more sure because Murtagh and Thorn are coming back to Illirea, where they will be our first line of defense. It would be wise of you to begin to accept him. Hearing Thorn's words would be the same as hearing Saphira's, and what Murtagh decides will be as if I am the one making the decision."

"When I thought it couldn't get any worse, you raise him at the highest rank, as your right hand!" Orik looked disgusted with the idea.

"That's not–," he hesitated and looked at Arya. She was serious. "That's not true. Arya is my right hand. But Murtagh is the one for the job, and I trust him almost the same way as I trust Arya, and that's enough."

The group stayed silent for a moment. Eragon resented the way things turned out between him and Orik, but he understood he wasn't just a member of the Ingeitum Clan or a regular Rider. He was the one to make the difficult decisions, the one who had the impossible task of leading the Riders in a lifetime mission of devotion and sacrifice for the well-being of others, even when these others refused protection. Being unscathed in this situation was only wishful thinking, far from reality.

Just when he was preparing his next argument, steps coming toward them interrupted his line of thought. Murtagh and Thorn strode in their direction and joined the group without formalities or greetings.

Orik's face turned bright red and Hvedra stirred uncomfortably in her chair.

"Before you start to protest, Orik, just hear him out, please?"

Eragon! What are you doing? Arya's voice echoed inside his mind after he opened it to her.

He threw an indifferent look at her but responded as politely as he could.

I'm giving them the opportunity to talk. They never even tried to do that, so now is the time.

You're ambushing Orik!

It had to be done. With that he shut his mind to her, blocking any access.

Seeing that Orik was shaken enough to have trouble speaking, Murtagh took the chance and started his speech.

"Orik, I know you hate me and see me as a worthless king killer. I had my reasons to do what I did, not that it justifies that horrible act, but it at least can help you understand what it was like for me." Still, Orik didn't say a word, his face as red as a beet. "Galbatorix did not force me to kill Hrothgar, I did it out of my own volition, that's true. But he did something worse. He tortured me and Thorn and played with our minds. He challenged me to impress him, to do better each time, without saying exactly what he wanted from us, apart from capturing Eragon and Saphira. I knew that a part of me fought the idea of harming my brother, so I had to outdo that order, I had to do the worst I could think of, or he would hurt Thorn just to torture me for not taking Eragon and Saphira to him. He didn't reward me for what I did to your king, but I didn't suffer his wrath either."

"You were a coward!" Orik yelled at him.

"Aye! I understand you think that. But what should I do instead? Let him hurt Thorn? Kill or capture Eragon?" He looked at his brother, and Eragon thought he saw deep emotions in Murtagh's eyes. "We may have our differences, but I don't want to harm him, never did."

"You should have killed yourself!"

Eragon was surprised that Orik would suggest that to anyone, even his worst enemy.

"Don't you think I didn't consider this back then? But I didn't want to die, nor let Thorn die because of it."

"You're pretending you didn't have any choice but to cowardly kill Hrothgar. Except you did! Imagine if the roles were reversed, and you were fighting for the Varden and Eragon for Galbatorix. Do you see him killing anyone he wasn't commanded to kill?"

"Orik!" Eragon called his attention. "This is not fair! We are different people, raised in two very different ways, but it doesn't mean I'm better than him."

"Peace, brother, Orik is right. You wouldn't have done it, you know it."

Eragon shook his head.

"I don't know what would have happened, but it doesn't make any difference now. We must solve our problem right now!" He turned to the dwarf. "Orik, listen to me. You don't have to forgive Murtagh, I understand that, but you can't think you have the authority to demand anything from the Order, because nobody does. I know it sounds like we can do whatever we intend to do without any kind of supervision, but I managed to include this issue in our pact with the dragons, through the Eldunarí, so the Riders are not allowed to harm the peace in Alagaësia or act in self-interest as it happened before. We will be held accountable for our mistakes by a powerful type of magic."

Orik narrowed his eyes at Eragon.

"I'm listening."

"It includes Murtagh. He took the oath when he arrived here a few weeks ago, he's bound by it, he will only be freed from the oath in his death, and even the Name of Names is not enough to break it, I made sure of it. So his life mission now is to keep Alagaësia safe from any danger, the dwarves too. If you cut ties with the Order, neither Murtagh nor any of the Riders can protect you. This is important because he will be the one fighting for all people in the west. Murtagh, Arya, the Riders graduating soon, and their dragons, they will be your protectors, not Saphira and I, we will never fight again, we won't come if you call us."

Orik seemed shocked.

"I never took you for petty, Eragon."

"It's not pettiness. It's just impossible for us to go anywhere, for we are bound to protect the Eldunarí, the eggs, and the wild dragons. We are done fighting unless the fight comes to us."

All eyes were switching between Eragon and Saphira, trying to make sense of his words.

"Eragon. What fight? What do you know?" Arya asked in a low voice, concern clear in her expression.

"I will show you what I know, but first I need you to swear in the Ancient Language that you will not speak of it to anyone else. Tomorrow I will tell Nasuada, Orrin, and Garzhvog, I will also allow Arya to tell Roran, and Nasuada to tell Grimrr Halfpaw. But no one else."

He told them the words they were supposed to speak, and they swore.

"Now open your minds. I'll show you everything I know, which isn't much."

When they all allowed him entrance, he placed in their minds the vision he had in his dreams. It was a dark and cold forest. The ground was frozen, but it didn't snow. Footsteps broke the thin layer of ice as a tall, hooded figure walked through the trees. The figure shortly joined a big group of also hooded figures. They were gathered around the fire, and by its side, another hooded creature stood. He or she was teaching the others what Eragon knew to be magic. The "teacher" raised their hands and, hovering above them, an orb of red light appeared and was controlled with ease as it moved from one hand to another, up and down, around the clearing, and back to their hands again. All of it without the spellcaster saying a single word. Soon, the figures tried to conjure a similar orb with their own hands. Some of them fell to the ground, dead, drained of their entire energy, others cast a completely different and disastrous spell, making them go unconscious or dead. The ones who survived the practice managed to create a faint and untamed orb of different colors, but at least three out of ten created perfect imitations of their master's spell. The vision vanished, and Eragon retreated from their minds.

An army! Thorn gasped.

Of evil spellcasters! We need to find them and end this before it's too late. Fírnen's eagerness entered their minds.

No, Fírnen! We still don't know what this means. Saphira intervened.

"I spent the day with the Eldunarí searching the land, looking for this army, but we couldn't find anything concrete. They are probably hidden somewhere unknown by the dragons. But I know for sure they are trying to become powerful enough to dominate the land."

"How do you know that? Isn't it possible that they don't mean harm at all?" Orik asked like he didn't believe the possibility himself.

Murtagh answered.

"It's wordless magic, to dodge Nasuada's control on the spellcasters. If they need to hide, they must be up to no good. They are practicing wordless magic and have been for a long time. I know this because I ran into some individuals like those hooded figures who used that type of magic. Thorn and I even pursued them for a while, until we lost track of them."

"You did?" Arya looked like a confused child trying to grasp the sense of life. "How? Where? And why didn't you tell us, or at least Eragon?"

"I already knew," Eragon spoke. "I've seen one of these encounters almost ten years ago when Murtagh went to Ceunon under the name of Tornac."

Arya's gaze became angered.

Well, with the anger I can deal with. Indifference is what makes me crazy, he said privately to Saphira.

And again, you left her in the dark, this time for ten years. Yet you still claim she is your right hand. No wonder she's angry.

What side you're on?

I told you to tell her about this, nine years ago, but you chose to keep it to yourself. Now face the consequences.

"You knew and didn't tell me?" Arya spoke with ferocity.

"It doesn't matter now, we still need to figure out our predicament," Eragon dismissed Arya's unrest and turned to Orik, which almost cause her to hiss like an angered cat.

"Orik, tell me now. May we settle in a truce? You don't cut our relations and I send the first dwarf Rider to you, exclusively. Rider and dragon will be in charge of all the matters regarding your people and will act alongside your ambassador to straighten our bond. Protection, diplomacy, education. In exchange, you keep sending the supplies and promoting the Bonding Ceremony in Tronjheim for the dwarven children. What do you say?"

Orik looked at Hvedra, who held a pleading expression. It was clear to Eragon that she was in favor of the agreement between dwarves and Riders, for she was still trembling from watching the frightening scene inside Eragon's mind.

"Exclusively?" The dwarf wanted to make sure.

"Aye. For now, it will be enough, but we can add to the agreement later if we both see fit."

The Dwarf King sighed loudly before jumping out from his chair. He approached Eragon and raised his hand to him.

"We have a deal."

Eragon took his forearm feeling great relief.

"Deal." When they let go of each other, he dared to ask. "How about our family bond, am I still your foster brother, or our relationship is only formal from now on?" Eragon's humility could be heard in each of his words.

Orik stared at him for excruciating instants. He then patted Eragon's shoulder with excessive force.

"What family doesn't have its quarrel, heh?"

Eragon smiled.

"Brothers, then?"

"Aye. But only yours, I'm no brother of that coward Kingkiller that shares half of your blood." Orik's tone didn't carry as much malice as his words inspired, so Eragon relaxed and kept smiling.

"All right, just us two then."

Saphira led the way up inside the mountain. Eragon dragged his feet behind her, feeling at the same time completely drained from the strenuous conversation with Orik and the others, and relieved for solving the problem with his foster brother.

After all was settled, one by one his companions left for the night, leaving the blue dragon and Rider enjoying each other's company. Little did they talk, sharing only emotions and images, like they often did in their day-to-day lives. It had become a habit of theirs to keep from using words since that was how the Eldunarí would communicate their memories and visions, which with time started to feel natural for them.

When they decided that it was too late at night, they climbed up the long stairs, Saphira heading to the eyrie and Eragon to his quarters. They separated on Eragon's floor, and he walked to his room, seeing that the two cats he still had to name were at his door, waiting for him. He smiled.

When he asked Oswald to bring the cats to him, he had other plans for them, like killing the rats that were eating the grains in their silos, not snuggling in his bed at night. He opened the door and let the little creatures in, but before entering too, he glanced at Arya's door. How long would they act that way around each other? It was silly of him to let so many days go by without confronting her about her behavior, but now he was to blame as well because he neglected to trust her with important matters. If he let it pass, he would not be able to rest that night.

Without hesitation, he marched to her room and knocked on the door. It didn't take long for her to open it, already wearing her nightgown. He paused.

The vision of her figure lit faintly by the torches of the corridor sent him into a daze. Eragon didn't know what he was doing there anymore, he just wanted to keep looking at her forever, alternating from her eyes to her lips, so red and enticing under the dim light. Arya's curves were visible through the soft cloth of her nightgown and it was enough to make him forget any disagreement between them. His desire started to take the best of him, and seeing that her eyes showed an inviting look, he took a step forward toward her.

She froze at her spot, staring at him deeply, a spark danced in the emeralds of her eyes. Could it be she wanted him too? Losing all the grasp of rational thought, he lifted his right hand and let his fingers lightly trace a line from her wrist to her shoulder. The touch of his hand on her bare skin sent a warmth from his fingertips to his underbelly. Incapable of breaking contact, he moved his fingers along her collarbone and neck, hearing with pleasure as she gasped and leaned in toward his hand.

Eragon came even closer, only a palm of distance from her, and rested his hand on her neck, raising his thumb to touch her face, very slowly caressing the line of her jaw. Her scent of crushed pine needles engulfed him even more into his trance. His heart was racing in his ears, and when he was almost leaning in to capture her lips with his, she closed her eyes in a pained expression.

"Eragon." His name came out as a quiet cry.

He halted his movement.

She opened her eyes again.

"Please, stop. We can't." Despite her rejection, her voice wasn't harsh, but sweet, almost loving.

He retreated his hand. Suddenly the memory of what he was supposed to do there came crushing in.

Arya stepped back and waited until he composed himself.

Eragon sighed and relaxed his shoulders, getting back to his full consciousness. His hand ran through his hair, as he tried to normalize the beat of his heart.

"I need to apologize to you. And also ask," his voice was hoarse, "what in the name of the gods is happening to us?"

Arya's expression looked tired as she cleared the way for him to pass through the door.

"I would like to know as well."