***
Eragon had, several times in his life, experienced the feeling of having butterflies in his stomach.
He'd had a fleeting crush on Katrina as a child, before quickly growing disinterested up his discovery that Roran, his older cousin that was like his own brother, liked her as well.
He was also all-to familiar with the sickening feeling borne from an unsuccessful hunt in The Spine, returning home empty handed to and Uncle Garrow and Roran- it meant aching stomachs and working the farm hungry.
Now, however, it felt like their were miniature dragons fighting to death in the confines of his abdomen.
No matter what he did, his mind kept getting stuck on the fact that, not so long ago, he had been a simple farm boy who had never seen anyone with more "power" than the tax collectors, secretly nurturing a baby dragon in the woods outside his house.
Now, he was a key piece in the negotiations between a demigod with a religious following, who had also become his mentor, and the leader of the resistance against the despicable Empire, whom he had once planned on joining before even meeting Nephis.
He was going to have to make some difficult choices in the future, many of which would happen in this very meeting.
Saphira gave him a mental nudge, and he felt the comforting presence of her consciousness rubbing against his, like a fuzzy ball of contagious warmth. Eragon felt himself smile, unbidden, as he scritched the underside of her scaly neck as they walked alongside Nasuada through the halls of one of Tronjheim's countless floors.
They didn't exchange words, but then again, they didn't need to.
Remembering the calming technique that Nephis had taught him, he focused on his breathing. Pretending he didn't see Nasuada watching him out of the corner of an emerald green eye, Eragon closed his own, keeping a hand on Saphira's scaly hide to steady himself, and sucked in a deep, steadying breath as they rounded the bend to Ajihad's quarters. He waited four paces before slowly letting out the air in an anchored, controlled flow over five paces. He could feel the knots in his belly slowly unraveling, bit by bit.
The root of his fears still remained, of course- but he now felt like he was in control of the situation. Feeling like he had to reciprocate to Saphira, he spoke briefly with her as the small crowd of people in front of Ajihad's door came into view.
'I know this goes without saying, but... Any decisions we make here today, we make together. Anything you wish to be said, I will relay, as always. If I'm making a mistake, I want you to let me know. Its you and me against the world, Saphira.'
Saphira snaked down her serpentine head and nuzzled Eragon's cheek as they walked, and he leaned into her touch.
'And it always will be.'
Feeling ready now, with the anticipation in him even leaning towards excitement, Eragon retained his dignified demeanor as he approached Arya and his teacher, who stood apart from the bulk of his teachers guards for privacy, besides Sarner and Barne.
As the two made way for them and the massive dragon, Sarner, with his signature puckered scar below his left eye that slid under his chin, winked at Eragon and grinned, and Barne nodded almost indiscernibly as the smile hiding in his beard was revealed by the deepening of his crows feet by his eyes.
Eragon resisted clasping hands with the fellows, with whom he had sparred with on occasion, and nodded at them as he passed.
Now, they were standing before one of the titans of these negotiations, as well as Arya.
Arya.
Seeing the beautiful elf and her raven black hair gave his heart a small flutter, but he remained, at least outwardly, composed. Even wearing men's clothes only helped accentuate her lithe figure... He gave himself a quick mental slap as he imagined gross things, like the roasted salamanders he had eaten in the desert.
He and Nasuada both stopped at the proper distance and acted at once, him bowing deeply and her curtsying low to the ground, lower than she had when greeting Eragon and Saphira.
A ghost of a smile appeared on Nephis' lips.
"You look well, Eragon, Saphira."
Saphira snorted puffs of smoke and Eragon raised from his bow, trying his hardest to not sneak glances at the elf woman.
'I look and feel like a puffed up princeling in this attire...'
He lampooned inwardly.
'There are worse ways to look.'
Saphira remarked.
Eragon noticed with an inward frown that his teacher appeared slightly worn.
Of course, this was only because he, as well as Murtaugh and Saphira, had known and interacted with her far longer than anyone else here. This, coupled with his mentor's relatively unchanging features, caused him to subconsciously search for the tiny details that could potentially betray her true emotions whenever they spoke, and allowed him to notice this small detail.
Saphira was better than him at this, but not much.
'I wonder if it's about that man... Sunny, was it? I haven't had the appropriate chance to broach the subject. He seemed like he had been in trouble. Or maybe she was the one in trouble, and was looking for him?'
He refocused on the conversation at hand. Speculation could be done later.
"...nd Nasuada, it is good to see you again. Thank you for escorting my pupil. That dress fits you quite nicely."
Nasuada blushed slightly at the recognition. A little breathlessly, she rose from her own curtsy and thanked his teacher. She hesitated to return the compliment, as both women seemed to be making some kind of statement by wearing men's clothes.
Instead, she opted for silence.
Just as they finished their greetings, they doors to Ajihad's office opened. Two soldiers followed the man out.
Ajihad was a bald man of average height, but his broad shoulders and dignified air made him seem much taller than he was. He had the same ebony skin as his daughter, and his head was shaved bare. He wore a deep red, almost mahogany vest that clasped together at the front, embroidered with gold thread over a rich purple shirt, and standard brown trousers. He walked with he hands clasped behind his back.
He approached them at a measured pace before stopping even farther away then Eragon and Nasuada had when greeting the powerful women. He looked to Nasuada and smiled. Eragon didn't notice any kind of signal, but she wordlessly detached herself from Eragon's side and walked over to his own.
"Lady Changing Star, Arya, Eragon, and finally Saphira. Thank you for accepting my invitations today. I hope that my daughter was able to be of some use."
Ajihad smiled slightly as he rested a hand on Nasuada's shoulder, inclining his head respectfully towards the three figures opposing him, but his calm eyes stayed on Nephis' own.
It was a gesture that promoted equality between transacting parties that were at odds, without disparaging either of the parties' honor. Nephis reciprocated the motion, any sign of the faint smile from moments ago smoothed into nonexistence by her normal lack of expressiveness. She nodded, saying
"You have raised a bright and intelligent girl, Ajihad."
He chuckled wryly.
"I do my best. Thankfully, most of her intellect comes from what she inherited from her mother.
Please, follow me."
He gestured warmly with his arm, before he turning around and steering Nasuada into the room.
Eragon, feeling some of his nervousness rise back up, was about to to take the initiative and follow close behind, but he was startled to see Lady Nephis gliding past him smoothly, followed by Sarner and Barne, who were now had no hint of their humor in their gazes.
He resisted a frown as he shot a quick questioning glance toward Arya, who shook her head almost indiscernibly before following, giving Nephis and her bodyguards ample space. Eragon followed Arya only slightly closer, catching the faint scent of crushed pine needles lingering in her wake.
The door was just large enough to fit in Saphira, who carefully minded her tail to not knock down the rows of guards outside, and the corresponding room was giant, though perhaps not made for dragons to run around in.
It was similar to Ajihad's office, which they had all visited when first arriving in Farthen Dûr, in that it looked more like a library then its supposed purpose, with the furthermost wall filled with layers of stacked bookshelves that stretched as high as the wall was tall, with corresponding movable ladders attached to the bookcases.
A catwalk had been set up halfway up the wall that separated the first half of the stacked bookcases from the other, allowed one to reach the higher leather-bound volumes with the movable ladders on that level.
All of the books appeared incredibly old and valuable.
As soon as Eragon stopped gawking at the sheer number of books, his eyes were drawn upward, to a giant, opulent golden chandelier hanging high above, with probably more then thirty candles stretched intermittently along its limbs. It's purpose seemed to be to cast light on the upper volumes of the books, as the giant indented fireplace on the floor that took up most of the left wall provided most of the light.
Eragon was suddenly worried about wax dripping down onto the sizable dining table that took up the center of the room, sitting on top of an elaborate rug of red and gold.
Saphira took the initiative to step past Eragon and curl up beside the giant fireplace, this flickering flames casting odd shadows onto the table, which was only a dozen or so feet away. In moments, she appeared asleep, but one of her closed eyes directly faced the table.
Eragon couldn't shake the feeling of déjà vu, before he suddenly realized why this scene was so familiar.
It was just like when their party had first arrived in Farthen Dûr, and were given an audience with Ajihad!
'Well, besides Murtaugh.'
He thought gloomily.
Eragon's friend had been locked away by order of Ajihad and King Hrothgar, due to his being the son of Morzan of the Forsworn.
The Forsworn were servants of Galbatorix, thirteen in number, rebel Dragon Riders who had joined him in bringing a bloody and grotesque ending to the Golden Age of the Riders over a hundred years ago, and one who helped the maniacal man crown himself Emperor.
It was his blade that Eragon now carried, a gift from his old mentor Brom, who had won it in a duel to the death with the bloodthirsty man.
Brom was a man with many secrets, with many he was, in the end, unable to share.
One was that he, too, had been a Dragon Rider, a teenager during the Fall, but his own dragon, also named Saphira, was killed in his years of resistance by Morzan. Due to his being a Dragon Rider, he was granted extraordinarily long life.
As revenge, he helped found the Varden, spending years of service helping the fledgling resistance grow. Eventually, he killed the man who slew his dragon, and stole his blade before retreating to Carvahall to live a quiet life, before resurfacing to help Eragon escape from the Empire, seeing him for the potential he had to take down the Empire, and save Alagaësia.
Brom had apprenticed him to the basics of magic, but died on the journey, killed by the Ra'zac, the same filthy creatures that had tortured his uncle to death back in Carvahall for information on his whereabouts, when he had fled with a fledgling Saphira into The Spine in panic to avoid being discovered.
He had then teamed up with Murtaugh, who had been hunting the Ra'zac himself and had saved him from being killed as well.
Nowadays, dragons and riders were extinct, aside from Galbatorix. The Forsworn had died out either by infighting, or in the Fall. Morzan was the last to go.
Eragon snapped out of his reverie as he noticed that everyone besides him had all taken their seats. Ajihad was at one end of the table, with Nasuada at his left. Lady Nephis occupied the opposite side. The different bodyguards had stationed themselves behind their masters.
Arya sat in the middle of the table facing Saphira, and she gave Eragon a meaningful look. Understanding her intent, he quickly sat down with his back to Saphira. It gave him a sense of security to know she was right there in case something happened.
Now he understood why Nephis had entered first. The layout of the table gave a sense of balance. Ajihad on one side, and Lady Nephis on the other. With Eragon and Arya in the middle like this, Arya as an ambassador for the elves and Eragon as an unknown variable that hadn't yet decided whose side he was on, this appropriately represented everyone's allegiances.
Ajihad clapped his hands, and suddenly a stream of servants bearing plates of food entered from arched doorways placed at the bottom of the wall of bookshelves. Eragon had failed to notice them before.
Though he was hungry, and the various fish, fowl, and succulent red meats spread across the dining table made his mouth water, he resisted immediately grabbing at and gorging himself with the food.
Ajihad stood, raising a glass of wine, and opened his mouth as though he was about to raise a toast.
Before he had the chance to speak, however, there was a loud knocking on the outside of the door. Frowning, Ajihad gestured with his free hand for a neutral guard standing beside the great doors to open one of them.
Then, he stiffened, and the glass in his hand trembled slightly. From anger, fear, or nerves, Eragon wouldn't ever know, because he was no longer paying attention to the Leader of the Varden.
With only a set of loose, thin chains binding his wrists, and wearing clothes that rivaled Eragon's princeling attire, in walked...
"Murtaugh?!"
Eragon blurted, jumping up from his seat to stare, wide-eyed, at the man.
Murtaugh grinned widely.