After the tense meeting, Eragon returned to the dragonhold. The day was long since fading, and the weight of the previous talks was heavy on his mind. Eragon had quickly set up his makeshift bed next to Saphira's resting form. The two of them had slept next to each other for so long that Eragon couldn't imagine a world in which he didn't. When he had laid his head down on one of the soft pillows the dwarves provided, Saphira shifted her weight, her large blue wing covering Eragon from the outside world.
The next morning Eragon awoke, roused from his sleep by one of the wards. After bidding them entry, Eragon watched as dwarves quickly delivered breakfast for both him and Saphira. Thanking the dwarves, Eragon left Saphira to her meal, eating his own as he rummaged through the saddle bags. Eragon grabbed a fine dark tunic that the elves had gifted him during his stay in Ellesméra, and had selected a pair of new boots the dwarves had given him the previous day. After dressing and ensuring Brisingr was attached firmly to his belt, Eragon turned to leave the dragonhold.
Saphira was tearing into the meat before her, and a question formed in her mind, where are you of to, so early?
Opening the door, Eragon winked at Saphira, oh you know, might as well do something rash.
Saphira paused in her eating, the low rumbling sound alerting him to the fact that she was laughing, ah yes, she said, you are quite due for some of that.
Eragon laughed, closing the door. His mind stayed connected with Saphira, and Eragon descended the stairs finally answering her earnestly, I'm going to wander a bit. See what the Varden is really about. I know there's a sparing arena located outside the city, so I'll head there I think.
Saphira voice faded the further Eragon ventured into the city, be careful, little-one.
He did indeed end up wandering, walking past many different people. Some greeted him with respect, others mild contempt, but Eragon continued is search. He found a barracks were soldiers lived, as well as an area for healing. Dwarves and men bustled about, the city in a constant state of motion. Leaving the city behind, Eragon found his way down to the sparring area, watching as soldiers trained in the dirt, the sunlight filtering in from high above Farthen Dûr.
Resting against the one of the posts that encircled the large area, he took in the forms of the Varden, watching swords and shields clashing. In the distance he could see an archery range, watching the rangers draw their bows and firing their arrows at the targets. For some time, he stayed there watching the men, until he heard the slight trill of the ancient language.
Casting his gaze to right, Eragon watched as two elves faced each other, swords drawn. The spared quickly, movements nearly imperceptible to the human eye. Peering closely, Eragon saw that it was Arya and Fäolin dueling. Scowling, Eragon turned away, watching instead a platoon of soldiers practicing their movements. Soft steps alerted him to a presence, and quick glance confirmed his suspicion.
Glenwing made his way over to the Rider, his footsteps light, and his movements showing the usual gracefulness of his race. Eragon smiled at the elf. Of the two male elves, Glenwing seemed the most amendable. The elf stopped near Eragon, placing his fingers to his lips in the traditional greeting.
Once the greeting once complete, Eragon motioned for the elf to join him against the post. Glenwing obliged, leaning on the opposite side of the wooden beam to Eragon, the both of them facing out towards the sparing grounds. "Shur'tugal, I am glad to see you here."
Eragon nodded, "It is good to see you as well. I am heartened to see that you are unharmed from yesterday."
Glenwing stiffened briefly, as if merely referencing Saphira's rage was enough to evoke it once more. "Dragon's," Glenwing said quietly, "are not one to be easily trifled with."
Chuckling his agreement, Eragon glanced at the elf, "No, they aren't. How can I help you, Glenwing?"
Glenwing turned towards the still dueling elves, and Eragon only briefly glanced in their direction as well. "What Fäolin said was uncalled for, Eragon-elda, and I cry your pardon on his behalf."
Eragon was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was low, "On his behalf?"
Glenwing turned to Eragon, his eyes downcast, "I do not know why he acted as he did, for he has not told me. I only ask that you not hold his actions against him."
Eragon snorted, steel entering his voice, "I have no quarrel with you, Glenwing, nor with Arya. If Fäolin wishes to apologize then he must do it himself. But alas, even then, he only spoke the truth. No, I hold no anger towards him. I cannot say the same for Saphira."
Glenwing nodded, his head low. "I see, I thank you, Eragon-elda, for your words."
Eragon thought that the elf would move away then, to go back to the others, but instead he remained. A quiet spread out from the two for a few minutes, the only sound the shouting of the men and ringing of steel.
"Ask your question," Eragon said at last. "I can feel you simmering from here."
Glenwing smiled, a chuckle rising out of him, the elf turned to Eragon and bowed, "Forgive me, Shur'tugal. I would only ask if you would like to spar with me. I have no doubt there would be much you could teach once such as I."
Eragon eyed the elf, taking in his measure. He pondered the request for a few minutes, gazing at the sincerity of the elf before him. Sighing, Eragon leapt over the fence, motioning the elf to the empty spot next to the other elves. "Come on, then," Eragon said.
They both drew up in the open area, and once they turned to each other did they draw their swords. Glenwing was wielding a fine elven sword, one that was no doubt better than any that humans and even dwarves could make. Eragon blocked the edge of his sword with a spell, watching as Glenwing did the same. The elf bowed low before him, and Eragon returned the gesture.
Glenwing settled in a stance, his form nearly perfect. Eragon let his sword hang low in front of him, his other hand coming to rest near his back. He wanted to see if the elf would fall for obvious trap, and was surprised when instead the elf circled him, trying to find an opening.
Quicker than a human Glenwing sprung forward, the speed of his sword cutting through the air with a low whistle. Eragon deflect the blade easily, watching as Glenwing spun around, using the momentum to drive into Eragon. Blow after blow, Eragon parried, not attacking. He simply let the elf hammer away at his guard, taking in all the elves movements.
Only after a minute did Eragon finally lash out, watching as Glenwing parried his sword. The elf smiled, seemingly glad to finally draw Eragon into the offensive. They two of them traded blows a few minutes, but Eragon finally caught his opening. Coming in low, Eragon quickly deflected Glenwing's sword, and then quicker than any elf, stepped in close. He blocked the next blow that he knew was coming, knocking the sword straight from the elf's hand with a quick flick of his wrist, his own sword coming to rest against Glenwing's neck.
Glenwing froze, shock clear on his face, before slowly receding. Eragon expected to see some anger or frustration, but instead the elf laughed, joy spreading across his face.
Moving his sword away from the elf, Eragon sheathed it, dispelling the magic dulling the edge. Glenwing reached down to grab his own sword, smile still firmly in place. "Truly worthy of title Shadeslayer," Glenwing said, his words giving Eragon pause. Around him Eragon could hear soldiers still sparing, the metal sounds echoing into the distance.
He noticed movement to the side and saw Arya and Fäolin standing there, no doubt having watched the match. Turning away from them, Eragon said to Glenwing, "Your skill is noteworthy, Glenwing."
The elf bowed to him, smile still shining on his face. Eragon made to leave, but stopped when he heard a voice, "If you will, Eragon-elda."
Eragon turned at musical words, and he quickly pushed aside the bubbling feeling in him. Tilting his head at Arya, he watched as she drew her own sword, moving to the open area that he stood in. He watched as Glenwing retreated to stand next to Fäolin.
Unable to resist, Eragon sighed, drawing Brisingr once again. They both dulled their blades, and Eragon turned to face Arya straight on. Her guard was set, sword held high. The expression she wore on her face was fierce, and Eragon recalled the words he said yesterday to Saphira.
Instead of letting his sword hang low, as he did with Glenwing, Eragon raised it up, settling into a familiar stance. He gazed at Arya, watching her every move. He saw that she did as well, and still the two warriors remained, neither one daring to break the spell.
It was surprising then, at the very least, that they both leapt forward at the same time, blades clashing before them. Arya quickly pressed forward, her movements quick and precise. Their blows rang about, faster even than before. Each time Eragon parried her blow he would strike at her, and she in turn parried is own. The two of them danced, their blades quickly coming together, only to be driven apart as they twisted and turned.
Ducking under one of Arya's swings, Eragon brought his sword up quickly, watching as she leapt backwards, his blue sword barely missing her chest. Her own sword came straight down at him, and Eragon twisted out of the way, his own sword leaping out, using the momentum of his turn.
Arya easily deflected the blow, and Eragon marveled at her skill. She's good. Really good.
Their fight drew on, and Eragon could feel the sword grow heavier in his hand as he continued on. Arya was flushed, sweating dripping down off her beautiful features, and if it weren't for the fact that such things were practically beaten out of him over the years, Eragon knew he would have been struck silly.
Arya charged at him; her form still grand even though he could see her exhaustion. He blocked her blow, lashing out and watching as she barely turned his aside. He was sweating in earnest now, and Eragon couldn't remember the last time he dueled someone so skilled. Knowing that he had to end the duel now, Eragon deflected her next blow to his head, pushing the blade to the ground. Arya tried to yank back on her sword, no doubt to stop Eragon from stepping on it and pinning, but Eragon stepped in, his hand wrapping around her sword arm.
Instead of pulling her towards her sword, Eragon instead pushed as she pulled, sending her stumbling back from the force. He kept his hand wrapped around her arm, forcing it to the side and away from him, and quicker than she could recover, placed his sword against her throat. Arya had one had bracing herself on the ground, her other still holding tight to her sword. He watched as she finally met his gaze, and Eragon said softly, "Dead."
They stayed like that, frozen in the moment, until Eragon realized that the clanging of swords and men around him and grown silent. Eragon released Arya's arm, and stepped back, glancing out at the people surrounding them. He saw that the soldiers had given them a wide berth, but nearly all of the men that were on the sparring field surrounded them, having been watching the fight between Rider and elf. He watched as Arya righted herself, sheathing her sword with a blank look on her face.
When her eyes met his did something fierce flash across her regal features, and Eragon at once felt his heart plummet, before pushing the matter aside as forcefully as he could. Shit, Eragon thought, Saphira was right. I am smitten.
Eragon bowed to the elf, and she stiffly returned the gesture. "You, Arya, are perhaps one of the best swordsmen I have ever dueled. Your skill with a blade is unparalleled, even among your kind."
Arya inclined her head at him, her face still carefully blank, "Thank you, Shur'tugal."
Without another word Eragon left, his gait easy and slow, even if his heart was pounding in his chest. Reaching up, Eragon rubbed the back of his neck, hoping to cool the emotions flowing through him.
His mind blanked when he thought of Arya's reaction to their duel, and Eragon released a sigh as he passed by the soldiers of the Varden. They easily parted before him, letting Rider escape the sparring area. He knew what was happening to him, even as he tried to stop it. While his own feelings confused him, he knew at least how to deal with them. Arya's feelings, on the other hand, was something that he did not know how to deal with. He didn't understand the fierce flash he saw in her face, nor even why she was so stiff in her reply. He could understand pride, perhaps, and he could see she that she held a great deal of pride in her abilities. But the coldness that he received left his mind feeling strangely blank, before Eragon pushed aside the matter entirely.
As he made his way back into the city did his mind rejoin Saphira's, and he waited as she perused his memories. When she came upon the duel with Arya did she give pause, but whatever she thought of it she did not share. Instead, she simply asked, How are you, little-one?
You do not know? Eragon returned quietly.
Of course I know how you feel, Eragon, your emotions are clear to me. That is not what I meant. Saphira said, her words softly spoken into his mind.
I just thought that perhaps being that I was close with Evandar, that I might be friends with his daughter too. From what I can see he would be fiercely proud of her.
Saphira agreed with him, but said, make sure that the whatever is born between you two is not because of how you felt about her father.
Eragon frowned, his mind whirling, I know that Saphira. I just wanted someone else who I could-
-share his memory with. I know little-one.
As Eragon made his way through city did he see a familiar sight running up to him. "Orik!," Eragon cried out, glad to see the dwarf.
"Ho! Eragon!" the dwarf cried out. Orik stopped before Eragon, his arm reaching out. Eragon clasped their hands together, and Eragon was glad to have made such a fast friend. "Ajihad had sent word for you, and I gladly came to fetch you. I heard of your duel!"
Eragon frowned, glancing around him, "Already? I just reached the city, and I was the first to leave."
"Ah," Orik said, thumbing his nose briefly, "You know how it is. Rumor spread fast, like a fire catching in the wind."
Nodding, Eragon followed the dwarf down the street, letting Orik lead him to the meeting, "I heard it was fine spectacle, you fighting two elves back-to-back. And winning both! Ha! Would that I could have seen it for me self."
Eragon smiled gently at the dwarf, "Perhaps next time, my friend. Arya certainly didn't seem happy to have lost her match."
"I would think not," Orik said, "She hasn't lost a match since she came to Varden years ago. Neither any of the men, nor her own companions can best her with a sword. But behold! A Rider of Old shows up, besting lass with ease!"
Eragon chuckled lightly, "I wouldn't say it was with ease Orik. She is certainly skilled enough. I have no doubt that if she had the experience that I did that the fight would have gone the other way."
Orik nodded sagely, leading Eragon down the familiar hallway that led to the chambers they were in yesterday. "Yes, she is mighty with a sword. Many a man has tried to win her hand, and she's turned all of the away! Some even with their swords between their legs! Ha!"
Eragon laughed, Orik's jests loosening the knot that was in chest. Eragon had forgotten what it felt like, this feeling of friendship. It was nice to have someone around who didn't want something from Eragon for once. As much as Eragon loved Saphira, he knew that he couldn't spend his days any longer with only her as his only refuge. He followed Orik into the chamber, seeing at it was already half full.
Around the table sat Ajihad, as well as Jörmundur, who both nodded at his entrance. He was glad to see that there was no animosity from the previous day, and he hoped that cooler heads could prevail today. The spot reserved for Arya was empty, considering Eragon left earlier than she did, and Eragon could see various other people assembled around the table.
A dark-skinned woman stood next to Ajihad, opposite Jörmundur, and Eragon saw that she was studying him intently. Inclining his head, Eragon watched as Ajihad noticed, before beginning his introduction, "Ah, Eragon, forgive me," Ajihad said, "this is my daughter, Nasuada."
Eragon bowed to Nasuada, before saying, "We are well met, Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad. I am Eragon Shadeslayer, Rider of Saphira."
Nasuada curtsied at him, replying, "Indeed, Rider. It is an honor to meet you."
The doors opened, and Eragon watched in amazement as Saphira squeezed herself through the doors, the guards quickly moving out of her way. A chuckle rose in his throat, watching various faces of those assembled stare at Saphira. Her beauty was undeniable, and as she came to rest in the chamber did Eragon walk up to her, laying his hand gently at her side. She hummed pleasantly for a moment, before she moved over to the side of the table, her long body taking up most of the left-over space.
Eragon was glad that the dwarves made their home monstrously big, otherwise Saphira would have never been able to fit anywhere they went. Still, Eragon, thought, it was a tight fit for her. Too much longer and they wouldn't be able to fit in the halls of Tronjheim any longer. From what he could recall, many of the Elders of the Riders sparsely visited Farthen Dûr, one reason chief among them was that the dragons simply got too big.
Eragon followed Saphira, leaning against her bulk as she settled down. Orik nodded at Eragon, before moving to sit down at the table. Several minutes passed, in which Eragon listened half-heartedly as several of the people around the table talked quietly amongst themselves. Eragon merely spent his time scratching under Saphira's massive neck, his nails running consistently over the soft scales. Finally, the doors opened again, and Eragon turned to see the three elves enter the room, drawing the eyes of everyone inside.
At the sight of Fäolin, Saphira let out a low growl, the sound reverberating around the chamber walls. The elves paused, and Eragon saw those that were already seated turn to face the dragon, eyes open wide. The elf in question was frozen, but Eragon decided to intercede, "Enough, Saphira."
His voice was loud enough to startle, and graciously Saphira complied. Eventually Arya was seated, the two elves were standing once more behind her. Eragon left Saphira's side, patting her neck gently, before resuming the seat he had earlier.
"Welcome, everyone," Ajihad said once every had taken their seats, "thank you for being here." Nearly all the people nodded towards the leader, but Eragon merely sat in his chair unmoving.
"We recently received reports of Urgal activity outside the bounds of the Beor Mountains," Ajihad said, pointing to the locations on the large map spread before him, "right now they remain outside the mountain range. For now, we will have our troops and merchants avoid the area entirely. Those stationed near have already been pulled back."
The meeting continued on, with various members talking, but Eragon mostly just followed along, not offering any input. Several times Ajihad had looked up at him, as though expecting him to comment, but Eragon remained silent. I don't know what he wants me to add, Eragon thought, he's fine leader, and he knows his troops and people better than I do.
Saphira hummed quietly, maybe he just wants to see what these Riders he's heard so much about can do.
Internally Eragon chuckled at Saphira, it's not like I can just look at a map and instantly know the best course of action. If he wanted my help in this, I would need more time to study the enemies' movements and capabilities, as well as our own.
He had noticed that Arya rarely spoke as well unless she was directly addressed by someone. A few times he saw her glance at him, but Eragon merely remained staring at whoever was currently speaking, his head following the conversation. It wasn't long until the conversation drew to a close. Many of the members stood, but Orik, Arya, Nasuada, Ajihad and Jörmundur remained seated, so Eragon did as well. Before they left the table Ajihad asked, "Is there anything else anyone would like to say before we end this meet?"
"Yes," Eragon said, clearing his voice briefly, "I was thinking of growing out my beard, like Orik's." At this he mimed stroking a large beard, watching with glee as amusement shone in Ajihad's eyes, and Orik broke out into laughter. "Any thoughts?"
Some of the members of the chamber told him their thoughts, but Eragon fixed his eyes on the elven companions. Fäolin expression showed no emotion, which was nothing new, but Eragon saw Glenwing chuckling behind his hand. Arya's face, however, merely twitched as his eyes passed over her. Averting his gaze, Eragon saw Nasuada laughing lightly under her breath. Ajihad's lack of response drove out the rest of the members, leaving only those remaining who were seated.
Ajihad's eyes flicked over Eragon briefly, before he turned to Jörmundur. "Tell us, then what news you have."
"Ah," the old soldier said, "the man in question should arrive soon. Although the missive did say that someone was accompanying Jeod."
At the name, Eragon quirked an eyebrow, "Who is this Jeod?"
Ajihad shook his head, "We don't know. We only know his name, and that he carries with him important information pertaining to the remaining egg." At the mention of the egg Saphira turned her head, gaze intent upon Ajihad.
And how, then did you come across this information? She asked, her ancient voice tinged with her curiosity.
"We received a missive, not long ago," Ajihad said quietly, "we think it's from your father, Brom, but we are unsure. Nothing so far has confirmed the identity of who sent it, only that it was an authentic message, sent in a manner only a few know."
"And if it wasn't Brom?" Eragon asked.
Ajihad turned to Jörmundur, who pulled out a scroll from his pouch. The soldier tossed the scroll to Eragon, and he caught it with ease. He didn't bother opening it, only casting a quick spell out to the scroll, feeling for any magic contained. He found trace amounts surrounding it, the echo of the spellcasters magic faint.
"Ah," Eragon said after a minute his voice tight with emotion, "it was indeed my father who sent it. His magic is all over it."
Ajihad nodded, seemingly please, "Arya had said as much, but it does ease my mind to know that his son can easily recognize his mark as well."
When are they expected to arrive? Saphira asked.
"The day after tomorrow at the latest," Jörmundur confirmed, "our scouts picked them up entering the valley. We had some follow behind, to make sure they didn't have anyone following them to our doorstep."
When Eragon was silent, Ajihad asked, "Did you not want leave to go and see if it is your father?"
Eragon snorted, "Yes that's what the old man needs. A giant sapphire dragon flying straight at him, scaring the life out of him. No, better he comes here. Besides, my father can take care of himself. If it is indeed him, I have no doubt he will be fine."
Saphira released a plume of smoke, am I really that big?
Yes, Saphira, your huge compared to the last time he saw you. It would strike him dumb to see you in your full glory like that.
Saphira said nothing, but he could tell she was glad at his words. Ajihad merely nodded, before continuing, "in any case, once they arrive we can set about finding out what needs to be done. The faster we are able to get the egg out of the kings clutches the better."
"Indeed," Arya said, speaking for the first time, "but we must not lose ourselves in haste. Preparation is key in such an undertaking as ours."
Eragon nodded in agreement, "Saphira and I cannot go to Ilirea. It is simply too dangerous. We are too powerful, and even with my warding we would be noticed the second we walked past his walls."
Ajihad brought a hand to his face, rubbing his chin in thought, "What then, do you suggest?"
"Someone," Eragon said, "who would go unnoticed, someone in which the kings magic would just wash right off."
"A person without Magic, skilled in stealth and thievery, and who knows how to close their mind well enough," Arya said. Her eyes locked onto his own for a minute, but Eragon broke the connection.
Ajihad nodded his understanding, before gesturing for them to continue. "Someone you can trust, obviously, but who can keep a secret and remain silent," Eragon finished.
Ajihad took in their shared advice for a minute, before asking, "Why no magic? Wouldn't it be easier if this person knew magic?"
Arya shook her head, glancing again at Eragon, "No. Knowledge of the ancient language might help, but if they use any magic or have anything enchanted on them, Galbatorix will most certainly be able to detect them."
"Arya is correct," Eragon said, "Even I know such spells. Galbatorix knows all of the secrets of the Riders, and this is something we must continue to anticipate."
Ajihad sighed, his hand rubbing tiredly against his face, "Well I guess it's good then, that we have one such Rider here as well." The leader glanced at Arya, but she did not react to his words. "Although," Ajihad said, "Brom would have known. But still, I cannot begrudge having more allies in this venture."
Eragon stood, as did Saphira. "If that is all," he said to Ajihad, "I will take my leave."
Ajihad nodded, waving his hand to dismiss the pair.
Eragon retired to the dragonhold, and set about cleaning his equipment. He had long since fallen into a routine, and its familiar steps carried him through as his mind wandered. Saphira napped, curled up on the stone floor of the large cavern. Eragon briefly thought about trying to contact the Eldunarí again, but gave up on it. The hatchling was young, and its mind often stuck in its torment. It would take days, sometimes even weeks its mind to surface. They tried everything they could to help the young dragon, but Eragon feared that they would never be able to truly help him.
A soft knock echoed at the door. Eragon frowned, his wards telling him it was only a single elf.
"Enter," he called out, slightly relaxing his wards so they could.
Arya stepped through; her movements quick as she closed the door behind her. Saphira remained asleep, and Eragon motioned for the elf to join him. He was sitting on what was to be considered his bed, but Eragon quickly cleared room next to it, moving some linen so that she did not have to sit on the cold ground.
Arya nodded, beginning the elven greeting, but Eragon waved her away. She seemed to almost take offense, but Eragon merely chuckled, "I don't know how you elves keep doing it every time you see someone. It's tedious. Even for me."
She was quiet as she settled down onto the linen, her legs tucked up in front of her. They stayed that way for a while, Eragon continuing to clean his equipment, eyes intent on the armor he held in his hand.
Softly, so as not to startle the elf, Eragon asked, "What can I help you with, Arya-vinr?"
Her eyes jumped up to his at the honorific, as though to discern its intention. "I had hoped to ask you some questions, and to apologize as well, Eragon-elda."
Eragon turned to face the elf, his gaze narrowing in on her features, "Oh?" Eragon said.
Arya nodded, before she took a deep breathe. "Forgive me, Shur'tugal, for my behavior earlier at the sparring ring. You took me by surprise and-."
Eragon cut her off, waving his hand, "Do not worry yourself, Arya. It has long since been forgiven."
The elf sighed, as though relieved, though she did not seem pleased he interrupted her. She smiled at him though, her teeth gleaming in the soft light of the dragonhold. Swallowing hard, Eragon felt his heart jump in his chest. Shit.
Making sure to keep him voice level and calm, Eragon asked, "And what questions did you have on your mind, Arya?"
Her gaze fell upon Saphira, her emerald eyes roaming across the sapphire dragon, "How old is Saphira?"
Surprised at her question, Eragon said, "Ah. Well. Two hundred and eighty-four? Yes I think that's right."
Her eyebrows rose, and he could see the question forming in her eyes, so Eragon answered before she could give it words, "I myself will be turning Three hundred this year." Eragon frowned, "I think so, at least."
She chuckled, as if she had a hard time believing he could have forgotten how old he was. "So, you are then, one of the oldest humans to be alive?"
His frown deepened, disturbed by the thought, "Quite possibly. My father is nearly four hundred you know, and I knew of a witch that is quite a bit older than she seems."
"Ah," Arya said, "so you've meet her too?"
"Aye," Eragon replied. He gently set his armor down grabbing another piece to clean, "but that was long ago."
The elf nodded, her eyes tracking his movement as he readied the polish for his armor. Eragon spoke again, asking his own question, "And what of you? Arya? You were born a year before the fall, yes?"
Arya nodded, "Yes. I am a century old. Still young, compared to the rest of my race."
Eragon laughed, "And me? Still but a child?"
She shook her head, mirth rising in her eyes, "No, most would consider you a young adult, barely out of childhood."
Eragon placed one of his hands to his chest, saying, "You wound me, Arya."
Her eyes were bright for a minute, but she quietly whispered, "No, Eragon-elda. You are surely old enough to be considered mature among my race. As is your right."
Eragon hummed, turning the metal over in his hands, watching as the light hit it. He found what he was looking for, taking a brush to it, slowly removing the scuff mark. It seemed that his magic didn't block all that he thought it did. Arya silent for a while, the sound of the brush working against the metal drowning out everything else.
"How did you meet my father?" Arya finally asked. She was once again looking at the armor in his hands, "if you don't mind me asking."
"I don't mind," Eragon said, "it is only natural that you would wish to know more about him. Certainly, I've asked enough about my own father these past few weeks."
She nodded her head, and taking her silence as invitation, Eragon began, "I met Evandar-vor for the first time when I was a new Rider, barely two decades after Saphira hatched. We only exchanged pleasantries at the time, as I was busy with some Rider business, but he was always kind and welcoming."
Eragon paused, shifting the metal armor in his hands, looking for another scuff mark. Seeing none, he placed it gently down, picking up another piece, "I didn't truly get to know him until after I killed the Shade. The Elder Council gave me leave, allowing me to recuperate in Ellesméra. Evandar knew enough about the situation, and not long after did we become true friends."
Arya was quiet for a long time. So Eragon began to talk again, "Once, while I was staying in Ellesméra, Evandar came and whisked me away from my sorrow. He showed me his true passion, painting, as you know, telling me how it helped steady his mind and hands when he was troubled. He encouraged me to take up my own passion, to devote myself to something to heal the wound left inside. He was my starch supporter, always providing me with encouragement and driving me forward, even if I stumbled."
She seemed taken with his tale, greedy with every word he said about her late father. "What passion did you take up?"
"Ah," Eragon sighed, "I tried many. At first poetry, and I was decent it. Then singing, but that I was terrible at. Evandar tried to encourage that one most of all, but I think he merely found it funny how I fumbled my words, spewing them out with no rhythm or rhyme. For a while, a took up wood carving."
Her eyebrow went up at his words, "wood carving? The human way of felling trees and making their homes?"
Eragon shook his head, "No, not like that. I would find dead trees, or large enough fallen branches. I would then take a knife, and carve figures out of them by hand. I know I could do it easily enough with magic, but it helped."
Arya nodded her understand, her eyes glancing around his sparse local. "Do you have any with you that I might see?" she asked.
Eragon stood, making his way to the one of the saddle bags against the wall, "I used to make larger ones, but I think I still have a small one somewhere." He rummaged around his bag for a minute, before slowly extracting the small figure. Walking back over to Arya, he presented it to her.
She took it gingerly in her hand, admiring his craftsman work. Sitting cradled in her hands was a small wooden carving of Saphira, each scale painstakingly carved out. He had stained the wood blue as well, even if it had faded slightly over the decades that followed. It showed her locked in a fierce pose, roaring, wings spread wide as though she was about to leap into flight. Arya handled it gently, turning it over in her hand. "It is well done, Eragon. Fine work."
"Ah," Eragon said, "that's one of my oldest. I got better as I got older, but I've long since stopped."
She peered up at him, "Why did you stop?"
Eragon sighed. He sat back down and grabbed the armor he was cleaning, turning it over again in his hands, "Sometimes you stumble too far, and can no longer right yourself."
Arya made to give the figurine back to him, but he pushed it gently back into her hand, "Keep it. I have no use for it anymore."
She retracted her hand, the wooden carving of Saphira clutched tightly in her grasp.