There are a few things I would like to mention before you begin reading. First, I'd like to point out that this is all typed using Notes on my iPhone, and as a result, I cannot indent. I tapped space five times, but it doesn't carry over through the file in copy/paste mode. Perhaps I'll edit it later with my computer, but I'm kinda lazy, so I probably won't. Second, I want you guys to critique my writing. I can take constructive criticism as long as it's not actually calling me stupid, but just helping me improve my writing. I also would like to see if you find many typos. Also note that while I primarily use the North American dialect, I have a habit of using variations from the UK, so there may be an alternate spelling you are not used to. Thanks, and enjoy!
I don't own the Inheritance Cycle. Don't sue me.
Ebrithil: (Elvish; pl. Ebrithilar) "Master" (lit. "Master") EE-brih-thill
I
A woman sang, her palms cupped as if holding water, her voice rising and falling like breaths. Vines twirled and entangled, layering themselves to form the body of a ship, stems extending to form a mast and tip. Leaves rose from the back to forge a mast and tip, and two pairs of vines on either side of the deck rose to the tip of the mast, with a seemingly grated formation between.
The woman blew into the cups of her palms, the ship fading along with her voice in the horizon. She turned, her green eyes as the leaves of Du Weldenvarden, glistening like emeralds.
"Awaken, Shadeslayer." Eragon frowned. The name, as well as the voice, sounded familiar.
Little one, if you sleep any longer, I will singe the bangs off your face.
Eragon struggled to separate his eyelids, and he squinted in an attempt to keep them open. Heat and moisture rolled across his face. Blinking twice, Eragon pushed his upper torso and head up with his arms to stare at the condemning face of a dragon.
"S-Saphira?"
What other creature could possibly be this beautiful?
The corners of Eragon's bottom lip twitched.
"I heard someone else," Eragon announced, searching the room. "Wh-?" His elven eyesight allowed him to recognize the form a beast standing across the room, arms crossed. The beast was bipedal, with the fangs and mane of a lion, except his fur was blue. Pointed ears protruded from the hair circling the head.
"Blödhgarm? What are you doing in my chambers?" Eragon interrogated before recollecting his manners and putting two fingers to his lips.
"Astra esterní ono thelduin, Kingkiller," saluted Blödhgarm.
Eragon rubbed his eyes with clenched fists and replied, "Atra du evarínya ono varda," then continued in human tongue, "What brings you here?"
"Queen Arya requests an audience with you at the mirror."
"Tell her that I will join her shortly. You have been dismissed." Blödhgarm threw himself over his knees, rose to posture and exited the room.
Eragon rolled his eyes as soon as the elf left. Blödhgarm had insisted upon treating Eragon as a superior, no matter how many times the Rider assured him such customs weren't necessary. There was just no reasoning with an elf.
Elves... Wasn't there—Arya!
Eragon jumped in place; pushed the plain, dark green bedding aside and sprung for the door before a tail stopped him. Indignant, Eragon whirled to face Saphira.
Are going to let me through?
That depends, chortled the deeply blue dragon. Are you going to greet Arya undressed?
Eragon's face dropped down to observe his bare torso, but his head didn't come back up. Ears hot, Eragon gave a hurried apology to Saphira before dashing across the room to a doorless closet, where vines suspended an assortment of clothing. Eragon hesitated, pondering what to wear.
Really? bantered Saphira.
What?
Little one, you don't know how to dress, and it's only when the she-elf scries you that your care if you garments even match.
Are you going to help me or not? If he glared any harder at Saphira, he feared he would gaze through the dragon's skull.
Well, if you must know, I think one of the elven tunics would be ideal. Just don't go too formal.
"Thanks," he muttered.
What would you do without me?
Eragon refused to answer. Instead, he silently pulled on his leggings, slipped into a tunic and sauntered out a doorway. He continued right, exiting a rectangular room filled with doors leading into living quarters.
The Rider loped through an arched, stone hallway, his boots tapping on the marble floors, the sound reverberating throughout the corridor. Carvings on the walls spoke of legends of Algaësia. Every hallway contained a different tale, this one depicting the story of King Carvahall.
Eragon smiled and recalled how—under tedious instruction from Orik—he'd attempted to etch the glyphs perfectly. When Eragon had questioned the purpose of such meticulous accuracy, Orik laughed.
"Every dwarven child knows that you have to be careful with stone! If Gûntera had chiseled off our noses when making us, it would've been a disaster!"
Eragon missed his friends, but at least he could scry them. Even Nasuada set aside the time to make contact. Arya, however, was a different matter, for her duties as Queen of the Elves left no time for small talk. In fact, Eragon hadn't heard from Arya in two years, when they'd parted forever.
Eragon's thoughts ceased upon reaching the end of the hall, where a large room stood. Water brushed over the carving of a dragon, which flowers surrounded. Benches and support beams sing from trees lined the edges of an overhang. A glass dome reached from the near edges of the elevated ceiling, letting the stars speak their wisdom.
To Eragon's right, a hammock woven of vines hung between two trunks and extended into branches and pine needles. In front of the hammock was a fireplace; a mirror outlined in gold hung on the mantle.
In the mirror, a face stared, its skin contrasted by jet-black hair. Two eyes greeted his, green as the forests of Du Weldenvarden, sparkling like emeralds.
Arya...
Eragon didn't react until Arya put three fingers to her lips and projected distant sounds from her mouth. Dazed, it took Eragon a few seconds to recognize the elven greeting, which he returned. Saphira poked her head through the tree trunks, shadowing Eragon in his hammock.
"Greetings, Eragon, Saphira. I'm sure you're full of questions, but they will have to wait. The first egg hatched to an Urgal. The Urgal is quite adept at magic, and of course, combat. The other hatched for a dwarf."
Eragon studied Arya's troubled expression. "And what of the dwarf?"
"Good with magic, but don't expect her to do well in combat."
Why does she have to be so vague? "Is it lack of experience? She is old enough, right?"
Arya maintained her nonchalant countenance, but Eragon wondered if he'd seen her lip twitch. "Oh, she's definitely experienced, and she's more than old enough." The Rider frowned; he was never good with riddles. He looked to Saphira, who simply blinked.
Wait for her to speak. I don't want to make assumptions.
Eragon, sighing, demanded, "So what's wrong?"
Arya remained silent before speaking, reserved, but her brief moment of hesitation conveyed an internal conflict. "Eragon, she's old, even for a dwarf. She's Orik's great aunt." She paused again. "I don't know if she can make the journey."
"Oh. Are you... I mean, is Vanir guiding them?"
Eragon knew with certainty that an emotion flickered in her expression. "Vanir's dead. They found the marrow sucked from the bones."
Eragon's eyebrows shot up. "But that would mean—"
She nodded, and Galbatorix's words plagued Eragon's mind:
"The eggs in Dras-Leona weren't the only ones I took from the Lethrblaka."
Part of Eragon felt guilty for not pitying Vanir more. Vanir may have antagonized him, but nobody deserved such a fate.
Pardon me, Arya, but without your ambassador, who's going to to transfer the eggs? Saphira's tone seemed distant, and her neck strained in an attempt to see around Arya in the mirror.
"I will," the elf decreed.
"B-but—If you—Wh—?" Eragon shook his head. "How?" he questioned, mouth agape. The sense of duty Arya felt rivaled Nasuada's; the yawë tattooed on her shoulder testified to it. For her to leave the throne...
"I'm not resigngning. My duty to my people comes above all else. I'm simply filling in a position temporarily."
"But, if you're gone..."
"Däthedr is more than capable of momentarily taking my place."
Eragon remained unconvinced. "And what of the Ra'zac? Surely your people wouldn't approve of your leave while those abominations roam Algaësia."
"Only Fírnen, Däthedr and I know the truth of Vanir's passing," she explained before adding, "And of course you and Saphira."
The Rider put a finger to his chin. It'd be faster on dragonback than by ship to get to the Order, but such a distance would surely tire Fírnen. And with creatures like the Nïdwal...
Arya, seeing his concern, reproached, "Honestly, Eragon. It's like you don't want to see me."
Eragon looked to Saphira, not wanting to see the pain on the queen's face.
"Arya, it's not that. I just—"
"Just what?"
He looked back at Arya; her face showed nothing of the accusation stitched into her words, which somehow hurt worse. "I'm just worried," he admitted, relieved to see her sternness soften at his words.
"I'll be fine. Fírnen and I have to get going." She paused, her lips pursed, as if to say something significant. "Take care, okay?" Then the elf faded from the mirror, leaving Eragon to stare at his and Saphira's reflection.
They'll be fine, little one. The she-elf and Fírnen are strong.
He stroked her muzzle, noting how she called Fírnen by name.
"You two care for each other," noticed an aged and feminine voice from behind Arya. Her hand lifted from her side, but the same woman chided, "Must we really tire ourselves with such customs? We both know I'll butcher the words anyway." The elf's lip twitched.
"Hello, Théraen." Arya turned around to face a short woman, whose short and silver hair was streaked with dark grey. Her wrinkled skin did not detract from her beauty. Her cheeks still retained definition, and the sides of her face adjoined to a point. Her irises were a deep ocean as blue as Saphira's scales. The stature of the woman, combined with her accent and muscle tone, spoke of dwarven origins.
"What's the story between you two?" Théraen inquired.
Arya raised her right eyebrow. "What makes you think there is one?"
The dwarf chuckled. "Don't give me that. There's always a story. I can see it in the way you two look at each other; I hear it hiding behind your words. Few are blessed with an opportunity such as you two share."
"Perhaps, but one should not dwell on what cannot be."
"Maybe, but trust me, this is a rare chance. Don't let it get away." Silence shrouded the room. "Have you finished packing? We need to leave in the morn, and dusk is nigh."
"I'll get on it. What about Kurdka?"
"You needn't concern yourself with him. I'll deal with it."
The elf nodded, unable to verbalize her gratitude. Although Arya had lived over a century, the elderly Apprentice made her feel like a child. In some ways, the dwarf filled the gap Islanzadí never had. Footsteps faded, followed by the clicks of a shutting door.
The elf rummaged through her clothes, finally pulling out the casual wear she had enjoyed as an ambassador. As pretty as a queen's attire was, it wasn't terribly comfortable. She gazed back into the mirror, half-expecting Eragon to be there, but only met her own reflection. She sighed in disappointment.
Arya supposed she didn't look bad. She'd even go as far as saying she looked good. Her features, mature and proportional, were natural. She didn't need to alter them; she was comfortable with what she had.
The current array, however, appeared ridiculous. Tight at the top half of her torso, it constricted her hips, widening into a poofy bottom. Embroidered with regal flowers, it reminded her of the golden lily. She nearly smiled at the reminiscence, but she retained her composure.
The elf folded the civvies into the bottom of her sac, as well as anything that wasn't food or water, for such provisions had already been prepared. The issue was the unknown size of the Western Sea, and she didn't know where the dragons could rest.
A cluster of knocks sounded from the door. "My Queen, I bring news," announced a muffled Däthedr.
"Come in," Arya permitted.
The door opened to reveal an aged and bowing elf. "Firstly, I thought you'd be happy to know I have a ship docked for you to sail west. I also figured you should know the Lords and Ladies request an audience. It appears they've come up with another reason for you to stay."
"Thank you. Tell them I'll be there shortly. You have been dismissed." Däthedr bowed, turned and strolled out the door, gently shutting it behind him. Arya set an unfolded shirt on her nightstand. Packing would have to wait.