A/N - YESSSSS I HAVE FINALLY REWRITTEN THIS TERRIBLE FIRST CHAPTER WHERE ARYA WAS NOT ARYA AT ALL HAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Updated on the 14th of September, 2017. A date to remember as the date when my legacy on the internet was improved! At least a little! :D

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Eragon stood at the doors to the Hall, waiting for - There! A spark of green fire arced through the azure heavens. Eragon could hardly contain his joy. Finally, he was going to meet Arya in person after three years! Finally, the turmoil in his heart would be resolved . . . one way or another. Finally, the new generation of Riders was here!

It took a lot of effort to restrain himself from whooping with joy and rushing down to meet them, but he did. Saphira, however, was not that controlled. She gave a tremendous bugle of exultation and reared up, though she managed to keep herself on the ground. Her joy increased his own. Looking around at the elves, he saw that they too had expressions of beautiful joy and excitement on their refined faces.

The green spark seemed to divide into four more; a red one, a brown one, a black one, and a pink one, all glittering in the morning light. Eragon bounced on the balls of his feet, impatient for them to land.

The dragons were quite close now. He could see them more clearly. All of them except the red one had the gangly look of youth. And he could see Arya! A gold circlet gleaming on her brow, her hair flying back, her eyes gleaming with inexpressible joy, back in the same dark shirt and pants she used to wear among the Varden, still looking as perfect as the day he had first seen her . . . his heart did a completely involuntary flip and ended up somewhere in his throat. Mirror conversations were never the same, though she had always seemed as happy as he was to talk. But he had rarely been able to talk in the first year, what with the construction of the Hall, and she, of course, had her duties as queen. In the three years since he'd left Alagaësia, they'd had, at the most, a handful of scattered conversations. They were bright spots of joy to look back upon, though far from enough. But she was here now!

He composed himself. Time enough to moon over Arya; right now he had to concentrate on not leaping down the steps like a madman.

The wind from the dragons' wings now whipped up clouds of dust, and there was a thunderous sound as they touched down. Arya leapt down lightly from Fírnens' back before his wings had even stopped flapping and ran to stand in front of Eragon, her face suffused with excitement and joy. The five-day trip from Alagaësia did not seem to have tired her at all.

"Shadeslayer." She bowed slightly.

"Shadeslayer." He bowed in return, grinning. She let out the most carefree laugh he had ever heard her give and then - to his surprise - hugged him. He gladly returned the embrace, though he was a little mystified. When had she suddenly become so casual?

Far above them, Saphira and Fírnen were having their own reunion and spared little thought for their partners.

She pulled back a little to look into his face. "You're taller!" she exclaimed. "Your nose is on level with my eyes.."

He smiled. "Well, three years have had their effect upon me."

'So you finally surpass me at something, hmm?" She smiled teasingly.

"I'll have you remember I was perfectly able to hold my own with you while sparring, after Glaedr gave me some guidance," he said, trying to act petulant but failing miserably. He just couldn't stop smiling. She chuckled. "We'll see how well you've kept in practice."

Eragon inclined his head, twisting his hand over his sternum. "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Arya Dröttning."

She stepped back a little, inclining her head as well. "Atra du evarínya ono varda, Eragon, sonr abr Brom."

She looked exactly the same. The sweet heartache he'd tried to keep suppressed for years now seemed to expand painfully within his chest. Despite himself, he said softly, "I've missed you, Arya."

Her smile grew a little wistful, and she replied as softly, "And I you. I did not realise what a dear friend you were to me until I no longer had you."

His own smile grew a little wry. Of course her words pleased him, but it seemed to him that she was giving him a subtle reminder that they were friends. Nothing more.

Ah, perhaps he was reading too much into it. It would be foolish to spoil this meeting with petty hurts and suspicions. He simply nodded in acknowledgement of her words, knowing she did not require any further response.

Saphira touched Arya's mind then, greeting her, and Eragon turned to Firnen. "It is wonderful to see you again, Firnen. How have you been?"

Firnen lowered his great green head, allowing Eragon to stroke the side of his jaw. Well enough, Shadeslayer. The young dragons have given Arya and I much joy. They are a good lot, and we have taken them through tuatha du orothim, as you know . . . you will be pleased with them. Of course, as younglings, they are a rather recalcitrant lot, but still, they are eager and ready to learn. I hope you've not encountered much trouble here?

"No, we've done well. Although it is rather lonely with only thirty of us. I hope the younglings will provide us with some excitement."

They are sure to do so. Firnen raised his head, returning to Saphira. Arya moved to greet the elves, and Eragon finally turned his attention to the young Riders; all of whom, he now noted, were staring at him and Saphira curiously.

The pink dragon seemed to be matched with a slender, snow-white maiden of fifteen summers. She had burnished gold hair, deep purple eyes, and rosy, delicate lips; in short, she was guaranteed to knock out any man at twenty paces. She blushed slightly under his gaze. Nevertheless, she did not avert her eyes, and there was a definite sense of strength about her. She reminded Eragon of Elva, with those beautiful yet haunting purple eyes. But where Elva's eyes were cynical, the Rider's eyes were open and eager.

The elf seemed to be paired with the ruby-red dragon looming up behind him. He was quite young; Eragon judged him to be around thirty years old. He still retained some of the silvery sheen of elvish youth. His hair was silky black, straight and well-cut, and his eyes were a bright green, lighter than Arya's. He was handsome, as all elves were; but there was something familiar about him. Maybe the curve of his mouth, the lift of his eyebrows . . . ? They reminded Eragon of -

"May I introduce the Riders, Eragon?"

He started slightly. "Please do, Arya," he replied hastily. Saphira, listen! Saphira grudgingly disengaged herself from Fírnen. The Riders don't look like much, she sniffed.

And the dragons?

Young, but they will be great. They are dragons, after all.

Of course. He smiled.

Was that sarcasm?

"Osra, step forward, please." The young Urgal complied. Her horns were polished and delicate, and not yet very large. Her hair was long and lustrous, braided into a thick black rope that swung by her hips, and her eyes were a deep, translucent blue. It was clear that she was on her way to becoming a Kull.

"Firesword." She bared her throat. He did likewise, smiling. "I'm very pleased you're here, Osra. The first Urgal Rider!"

She smiled as well. "Yes. My uncle was very proud. He bade me give you his greetings."

"Your uncle . . . ?"

"Nar Garzhvog," she clarified.

"Ah! I'm glad he remembered me."

She will make her uncle proud, I think, said Saphira. Eragon agreed, noting the Urgal's air of determination.

"May I introduce my dragon, Mánya," she said. The brown dragon beside her took a heavy step forward.

Eragon opened his mind to Mánya, and she said, I'm very glad to meet you, Shadeslayer. I hope I learn much from you and Saphira-ebrithil.

Eragon felt pride at being addressed as ebrithil flow into him from Saphira. He ignored her and answered Mánya, "I hope you will as well, Mánya. I am truly glad that you found a perfect match with Osra."

Mánya did not answer. She simply allowed her pleasure to be felt, and then stepped back. Saphira repeated the exchange, brushing her snout along the pairs' foreheads.

A pair of few words, that, commented Saphira.

Aye. But if they learn and work well, that will not matter.

Next was Ravûn and his black dragon. Ravûn was a dwarf of seven-and-thirty with curly chestnut hair, laughing grey eyes, and a rather handsome face. His dragon was smaller than usual, to adapt to the Rider's stature.

"Greetings, Argetlam! We are very pleased to be here!" Eragon could not doubt that; the dwarf veritably buzzed with enthusiasm. He could feel a responding smile spreading across his own face.

"I'm glad to hear that, Ravûn. May I know which clan you are from?"

Ravûn's face fell a bit. "Az Swelden rak Anhûin," he answered softly.

"Ah, I see." No wonder he looked so crestfallen - he had probably been ostracised from his clan for becoming a Rider. Eragon clapped his shoulder and tried to look as encouraging as possible. "You have a new family with us, all right? Remember that. I hope you'll be happy with us." Ravûn nodded, seeming heartened.

"May I know your name now, please?" Eragon addressed the black dragon.

My name is Drëya, Shadeslayer, a deep, female voice announced.

Eragon blinked. He had been expecting a male.

I've no doubt you were, Argetlam, came the dry response.

'My apologies, Drëya. I did not mean to insult you.'

A sense of acceptance came from her. That pair was rather strange . . . a lively, cheerful Rider together with a sarcastic, wary dragon; but they balanced each other out. Saphira repeated the exchange.

The third Rider was the beauty. She smiled as she spoke in a strong, confident voice. "My name is Zelíe, Shadeslayer. I'm from Belatona. And this -" she gestured to the pink dragon," - is Rosalie. We both are very excited to be here." And he could not doubt her. She was so confident, so forthright, he could tell instantly that she lied very rarely.

He answered, "I'm glad to know that, Zelíe. I hope we live up to your expectations." He then opened his mind to Rosalie and said, "And yours as well, Rosalie."

She responded, Thank you, Shadeslayer. She was quieter, her mind-voice clear yet demure; but she was just as strong as Zelíe. Woe betide those who cross her path, Eragon thought dryly.

Indeed. Saphira then proceeded to repeat the exchange again.

The last pair consisted of the familiar elf and his ruby dragon. He stepped forward, twisting his hand over his sternum.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Argetlam."

"Atra du evarínya ono varda, . . . ?"

"Këyal," he supplied. "Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."

"Eka elrun ono, Këyal-finiarel."

Këyal bowed, a slight smile lifting his face. Eragon continued, "I'm very glad you're here."

"It has been my dream, Argetlam."

Eragon hesitated. "Pardon me, but you seem familiar. Did I perchance see you at the Ageatí Blödhren, or perhaps in Ellesméra . . .?"

"No, Argetlam. But you are familiar with my brother, Vanir."

"Ah, of course. How is he getting along?" That was why, then. Këyal was quite similar to Vanir; he had something of the same air of arrogance that Vanir used to have. There'll be trouble with him before we're through.

"Quite well. He enjoys his work and has great respect for Queen Nasuada and King Grimmr." Eragon did not miss the omission of Orrin's name. He also noticed Arya's brief amusement and the other student's looks of chagrin at his apparent familiarity with Këyal.

"I see." He smiled as he addressed the dragon. "May I know your name?"

My name is Layla, Argetlam! chimed a cheerful female voice. Eragon liked her name. It made sense, seeing as the name for 'ruby' in the ancient language was 'laeil'.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Layla. You are the oldest dragon, yes?"

Yes. Mánya comes after me, then Drëya, then Rosalie. Her mind-voice was brimming over with joy, making Eragon grin. She seemed to be the most expressive of the four dragons.

"I'm glad you're so happy to come to us, Layla."

I've been looking forward to this meeting for a long time, ebrithil. Both of us have. Këyal has been going on about meeting all the talented spellcasters here for ages.

Eragon laughed. "Well then, we will go inside, where you may meet with your celebrities in greater comfort, Këyal." The elf looked mortified and gratified at once as he bowed briefly.

Eragon took a deep breath. He hoped that what he was about to say next was not too forward, and that it struck a chord, and that his students – strange to think that, his students – would not resent him . . .

Calm down, little one.

Yes. I can do this. It's easy. I defeated Galbatorix, how hard can this be?

Saphira rolled her eyes. Eragon mentally stuck his tongue out at her and then raised his voice to address all of them at once.

"Before we enter the Hall, I wish to speak to you. There are some things you should know.

"Your training will extend for a period of about four years. The next batch of Riders will be here in three, which means that you will help with their training as well. A lot of dragon lore has been lost in the hundred-odd years during which Galbatorix held sway -' the dragons hissed in unison at the name of the Black King, '- but the world has changed, and we must relearn. I do not mean that we will not have help; at this very moment, we have over a thousand books in our library, copies of the best in human, elven, Urgal, and dwarven literature. We even have copies of some books written by Riders, and those especially will guide us.

"Now, a few rules. At the Hall, you will treat all of us with respect. You may address Saphira and I as ebrithil in the ancient language and as master in this one, naught else. These -' he gestured to the elves,' - are some of the oldest and wisest elves Alagaesia has ever seen. They are at the very least four times your age and are all accomplished spellweavers and warriors. They are here to help you learn. You will treat them with utmost courtesy and do the same amongst yourselves. You are all different from each other, which is well; it signifies an equal beginning for all the races in the shaping of the fate of Alagaësia. But keep in mind that your fellow Riders may have different beliefs or values; accept them, or, at the very least, do not challenge them before understanding them.

"Here at the Hall, you will learn magic, diplomacy, the customs of each race, swordfighting, archery, medicine, mindblocking, and much more. Saphira and I will do our best to teach you; keep in mind that we are not very much older than you." Eragon smiled ruefully. "But we have been through far more than you have ever dreamed of, and so we make up for our years by possessing what you don't - experience. If we are failing to fulfill the standards you expect of us, feel free to say so. But -" he allowed a hint of steel to enter his voice, "- we expect some effort on your part as well.

"You will work hard and quickly, for Alagaësia needs you as soon as possible. You will not underestimate your importance. You are the Riders, continuing a legacy of thousands of years. This is not a burden to be borne lightly. I had to bear it when I was but sixteen, and I fully intend to inflict it upon you." He smiled slightly, and his students relaxed as slightly.

"The Riders were teachers, healers, and helpers, not just warriors. They were respected, not feared. Understand the difference; we do not need another Galbatorix." The dragons hissed again, and the Riders looked indignant. "I do not mean that I think you will be, but I wished to make my position clear to you all. I want to like you and get to know you, to be your teacher and your friend. And I hope -" he now smiled warmly, "- that that will happen."

"Now, we will eat, I'm sure you all must be tired from the trip. Today, you may all rest. Tomorrow, I will talk to you and clarify any doubts you may have about being a Rider."

What about the armoury? Their swords? Saphira asked.

He hesitated, shooting a quick glance up at her. "Also, if you wish, we can visit the armoury. We recovered hundreds of Riders swords, at least one will be sure to fit you. But it can wait until tomorrow . . ."

"May we please see today?" asked Osra eagerly.

"Yes, of course. But for now, come in. You all must be starving."

Everyone relaxed. The Riders streamed into the Hall, concentrating on reaching food as fast as possible. The others followed at a more leisurely pace. Arya walked next to Eragon, murmuring, "Well done, ebrithil!" He chuckled in response.

"It's an impressive castle you have constructed," she continued.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" He turned his head, wanting to look at her, relearn her expressions and features -

- and nearly walked into Ayana, who was trying to peer over fellow elf Elaren's shoulders. There seemed to be a holdup. He pushed his way to the front of the new Riders, worried that something had happened; but they were just staring at the Tower. Osra and Zelíe were standing stock still, mouths open. Keyal and Ravun were a bit more composed, having seen or heard of such structures, but even they could not hide their stunned expressions. He relaxed, glad that nothing had happened.

The Hall was a massive building that, even with the elves' magic and the abundant resources of the new land, had taken an entire year to erect on top of the cliff, Ilianbaen. It faced the abundant grasslands to the west, towards Alagaësia. Its northern side faced jungles, lakes, mountains and wastelands, and its southern and eastern sides faced the ocean. It was made of a smooth, banded stone that even Saphira had to breathe fire on for many minutes before it would melt. All the entrances and passageways were at the very least large enough to admit dragons the size of Glaedr, in preparation for future Riders and the growth of their dragons. Many of the main corridors allowed dragons the size of Belgabad. There were over five hundred rooms including the training room, armoury, Dragon Room, kitchen, and dining hall, spread out over the rectangular North and South wings that flanked the Tower.

The Tower was a huge, cylindrical structure that was as large as Tronjheim. Its top was open to the sky to allow dragons easy passage. It had a cover for when the weather was violent, but even with the cover closed, it was large enough to allow several dragons flying space. A staircase spiraled up the inner wall, its path mimicked by multi coloured Erisdar, and led to a wide ledge on the outside of the Tower where one could enjoy a breathtaking view. Right now, the Tower was open, allowing a massive shaft of golden light to enter and illuminate the motes of dust floating in the air.

The base of the Tower had a . . . garden was too insufficient a word. Jungle might be closer. It was divided into quadrants by white marble paths, again, big enough for Belgabad. The northeastern and southeastern quadrants were where all the crops and fruits were grown; maize, wheat, cotton, plums, peaches, apples, strawberries, tomatoes, potatoes, and many more. The southwestern quadrant held the Maze, a huge intricate puzzle made of tightly interwoven trees which took hours to escape from; and the northwestern quadrant held an exquisite garden with fountains, trellises, and benches, as large as the gardens at Tíaldari Hall. All kinds of exotic plants grew there; plants that glowed, plants that poisoned, plants that healed . . . the most beautiful flowers and delicious fruit flourished in the enchanted atmosphere.

Arya let out a soft breath. 'It's . . . magnificent!' Eragon nudged her, smiling, pointing to the closest flowers. Creepers laden with pretty, pale blue, bell-shaped blooms decked an arched, intricate metal walked over to them and knelt, caressing them with tender fingers.

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"I was unable to gild them for you, but if you are satisfied . . ." Eragon grinned.

Arya smiled as well, remembering that night. "The flowers grew, you know. I went back to see. That patch of ground looks like it has been covered in molten gold."

"Really?" She could hear the surprise and excitement in his voice. In some ways, he was still young, though certainly not in as many ways as before. When he had been speaking to his new students earlier, for instance, the stern authority in his voice had startled her.

"Yes. I took some home to Ellesméra, and they are flourishing there as well."

"Ah, that's wonderful. I'd like to see them . . ."

"I can make you a fairth, if you'd like." She stood up.

"I would, yes." They followed the others, who had moved a little way ahead during their conversation.

Eragon was a little quieter now. His face gave away nothing of what he was thinking. Usually she was quite adept at reading faces, and he had always given away too much, but now she couldn't discern much. She felt a gentle jolt of sadness. The last time she had seen him, his mind had matured beyond his years by the memories the Eldunarí, but they hadn't changed his behaviour much, only his manner of speech. Now it appeared as though the changes had had enough time to sink in. She'd thought he was the same when he'd greeted her earlier, but soon he'd begun to seem too much like an elf. Too proper, too careful with his words.

His curious way of viewing the world had always amused her. It had been a relief, actually, after only associating with worn adults hardened by war and loss, to talk to someone with a view so unclouded. But he was just like them now. Did that mean his name, his feelings, had changed? And if it had, would she still bring up the topic she needed to speak to him about?

They made their way to the spacious dining hall to eat, and Arya's worries were pushed aside by the freshness and deliciousness of the food, and then by the beauty of the Hall. The elves were housed in the North wing, and the Rider's rooms were in the South wing, with space enough for their dragons. Most rooms were provided with balconies that looked out onto a glorious view, as did the plentiful windows set into the walls of the corridors. All the rooms on the topmost floor, ten stories high, gave onto a terrace that ran right around the entire Hall and contained a profusion of flowers and creepers.

The training room, the kitchen, the library, and the armoury were visited one after the other, all spacious and beautiful. She was impressed by the thought that had gone into creating the Hall. It was truly a magnificent structure.

It was only at night, when she was shown to her room and bidden a cheerful goodnight, that she had leisure to think upon what to do. She realized, rather ruefully, that she was piqued by how politely Eragon was treating her. He'd declared that his feelings for her would never change. Had she been a fool to believe him?

I think he just doesn't want to be pushed away again. He's not taking any chances. He doesn't want to seem too forward.

Arya settled against Firnen's side. So he's erring on the side of caution?

It would seem so.

Mmm.

Don't assume anything until you've talked to him properly, alright?

Mmm.

Don't worry too much, Arya.

Yes, Firnen, I hear you. She smiled slightly. How is Saphira?

Firnen stretched in a pleased way. She is well. We're going to visit the beach tomorrow evening, and fly over the ocean.

Just the two of you, hmm?

Firnen placed his head beside her and closed his eyes, radiating anticipation and pleasure. Yes, just the two of us.

Arya shielded her thoughts from his so that they wouldn't disturb him as he fell asleep. He needed his rest after the long journey. And as for her worries - perhaps she was overthinking this. Perhaps she had forgotten exactly how Eragon was, after so much time spent apart. In any case, she would find out in due time.

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Ilianbaen-place of happiness