Forgotten Secrets-The Critic's Book IV

Hello everyone. This is my and my cousin's attempt at a satisfactory book IV.

Forgotten Secrets

Roran's Dilemma

It had been a week since the battle of Feinster. The Varden were encamped just outside the city limits, celebrating their victory, but also mourning their losses; those who had been friends, but had passed into the void. Eragon, too, was holding sadness heavily in his heart. He was sitting on his cot, pondering the deaths of his mentors. In a battle between the two riders who had once been his companions and allies, he had seen through Glaedr's eldunarí that both were lost, with but little hope of redemption in the case of Murtagh and Thorn, and in death, the everlasting consequences of which Glaedr's body and Oromis had at length partaken. Eragon and Saphira retained the golden dragon's eldunarí, but the golden dragon had yet to manage to overcome his grief over the loss of his rider and lifelong counterpart.

Eragon and Saphira had watched this happen, with growing shock and inexpressible, incomprehensible anguish at their, and all the elves' loss. They could only wonder at what Glaedr felt, having never known a moment without him through all their considerably lengthy lives.

At Feinster, the Varden's casualties were fairly light. The battle had gone, for the most part, without great complication and only 800 or so had died for freedom's cause. The only true difficulty was Varaug, the shade who Feinster's magicians had created. His lifespan was thankfully and mercifully short, and none had died on his account before Arya had dispatched his overrun soul.

Dragon and rider had been regaining their energy and helping to deal with the numerous wounded. Eragon smiled as he listened to the sound of Saphira moving around as she settled in for a well-deserved and much-needed rest. She had lent him her vast stores of energy over the last seven days as he moved about the medical tents attending to the men most sorely in need of healing. Eragon wished that he and Saphira could have saved every bit of energy in order to recover and prepare for his next encounter with the enemy. He did not know when, or where, it would happen, but as dragon rider he was a main target and also a large asset to the free races of Alagaësia; and therefore was quite often in the front lines of battle wherever he happened to be.

His heightened senses picked up boot-shod footsteps approaching his tent, breaking his meandering reverie. He stood up as Roran entered his tent, only just noticing in time to step over the end of Saphira's tail.

“That could have been messy,” Roran said as he took a seat in a chair by the cot. Eragon sat opposite him.

“Hello, cousin. Is there something you need?”
“Oh, cousin, is it? Well, Mr. High-and-mighty, if that's the way you feel, me and my business can go elsewhere.”

“All right, all right, tell me what you need.”

Roran then laid out a tale laced with misery and filled with woe, which he could hardly relate from laughing, of his beautiful yet tragic relationship with Katrina, finishing with the laughter-riddled words,
“So you see, that I am desperate, For I lack a one-month anniversary gift for my beloved!”


As Roran had been completely focused on elaborating upon his situation, Eragon's hand had slowly snaked out and, when Roran finished, Eragon whipped the pillow off his bed and gave Roran a buffet that knocked him from his perch upon the chair. Roran picked himself up, feigning dazedness.

“I'll get you for that one!” he replied with an exaggerated grimace.

“Not if you truly want help with your drastic situation,” Eragon said as he placed his pillow back on his bed, and flopped back upon it. “Do you have any ideas?”

“No, not really. I just want it to be a small thing, a token of my love. The problem is, that's as far as I've been able to think.”

“This is rather ironic, don't you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you're coming to your cousin for marriage counseling. And normally, it would not only be ironic, but pointless.”

“Normally. But you're not exactly a normal case. Now are you going to help me or not?”

“I will, I will. Is jewelry a possibility?”

“No...”

“She's too good for jewelry. How about-”

“Eragon! No, I was thinking more along the lines of something beautiful, yet useful.”

“Okay, I'll be serious. You want something elegant, but it should be more than a trinket.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Interesting idea, although I'd have to say I'm as stumped as you are. One month, you say?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because if you keep this up, celebrating every half year, year, and any other possible occasion or absence thereof, Katrina will own all of Alagaësia by the time she's thirty!”

Roran wrestled with a grin.

“I'm only doing it this year. It's special.”

“Then maybe she'll have to wait to own the world till she's forty. What day is the anniversary?

“I already told you, three days from now. Weren't you listening?” Roran faked a scowl.

“No, in fact, I was reaching for my pillow!”

“Eragon!”

Eragon flashed a smile.

“ I have an idea.”

Eragon got up and exited the tent, with Roran following. They avoided Saphira's tail again and went to Roran's tent.

“Did anyone give you a cradle?” Eragon asked.

“Elain did. It's old, but quite nice. I can't see for the life of me where you're heading with this.”

“May I see the cradle?”

“Of course. It's over here. But be quiet, Katrina's sleeping.”

“All the better. Help me carry it to my tent.”

“I thought you had the strength of an elf?” Roran said in a hushed voice.

“That doesn't prevent carrying big cradles by yourself from being very awkward and difficult to maneuver,” Eragon whispered back.

Once they'd gotten the cradle and themselves into Eragon's tent (Saphira had finally shifted her tail), Eragon took a few blocks he used for carving and spoke a few words in the ancient language. Wood scrapings peeled from the blocks, and in a moment, four small dragons in four different poses, flying, swooping, walking, and gliding, had formed from the wood. Eragon picked them up and set them on the bedside table. When he was done, he walked over to the cradle and said some more words. All around the base of the bed, very lifelike dragons swirled, looking almost as if they could move. They were in all different colors, faded to match the wood. Then Eragon started back out of the tent, motioning for Roran to follow. They went back out, and into a nearby copse of trees. Eragon spoke a single word, and a branch fell at his feet. Roran's jaw dropped as Eragon began to sing unfamiliar words in a haunting tune, the words flowing over each other as they were sung. The branch responded, faster and faster, bending and shaping so quickly that Roran couldn't see what was happening until it was finished. It had a large wooden ring with a flat, square rim, and four legs that went out straight from the edge of the ring, but curved down somewhat sharply and stayed thus until the legs ended. The entire thing was rectangular instead of square.

Eragon carried it back into his tent and set it down on top of the cradle. It was a perfect fit, as he had intended. He then spoke a word, and lifted the new structure off of the cradle. It now had pegs that fit neatly into newly made holes in the corners of the cradle.

Eragon took four more blocks from his bedside table and, with a few words, changed them so that they would fit neatly under the rockers on the cradle so it would stay still.

“Now for the wards.” He placed the normal wards over the whole structure, narrating what he was doing to Roran all the while. On an inspiration, he added wards that would prevent anyone with evil intent from approaching a child placed inside, and that would prevent the wards from failing by pulling on the intruder's own strength. Then, gathering up the four small dragons, he colored them the same rich, faded colors as the carved dragons. When he was finished, he spoke in the Ancient Language, using words Roran had never heard before. Instead of telling Roran what they did, Eragon set then around the edge of the ring after replacing the ring and legs atop the cradle and putting the chocks under the rockers. Then Eragon whispered something to Roran so as not to set off the spell himself.

“Play!” Roran said, as Eragon had instructed.

Suddenly, the four dragons atop the structure began to weave about it, gliding through the air and circling the frame. It was an amazing sight. Roran watched it for a minute, and then said, “Stop!” All the dragons came to rest, floating just below the circle.

“That was amazing Eragon! But where will we hide it?”

“I'll put a ward around it so that it looks the same as it did before. I'll remove the ward just before you present it to Katrina. Also, if Katrina sings to the baby while it's playing, it will record her voice and repeat the song whenever it's activated until she records a different song.”

“Won't it record my voice?”

“It'll record for either of you, but who'd want to listen to your voice?”

“Eragon!” Roran lunged for a pillow, Eragon grabbed his own, and a short melée ensued. Roran got in the first whack, but Eragon, with his elven speed, whipped around and blocked several powerful blows. Then he returned with his own. The pillow flashed down...and burst apart over Roran's head. Feathers flew in every direction, getting in the combatants' mouths and eyes. Roran then launched several attacks, but he was slightly off balance from the powerful, pillow-popping blow, and the feathers made it hard to see, so most of the barrages went harmlessly by. One or two still managed to hit Eragon squarely in the chest. Eragon, whose enhanced abilities were fairly impaired inside the less-than-fighting-friendly tent, was already off balance and trying unsuccessfully to adapt his fighting style with his surroundings. Roran's attack added to this, and it felled him. He tripped over his cot and landed in a tangled heap.

“Do you yield?” Roran cried.

“Never!” Eragon tried to leap up, but one of the chairs in the tent combined forces with the feathers and the covers, which were still wrapped around Eragon's legs, and he fell over again, with the chair on his head..

“I can see the fearless, unconquerable elf in you already. Galbatorix would be scared silly if he were here to see your impressive display.”
Eragon spoke in the Ancient Language under his breath, repairing and reinforcing it with energy, and brought it behind Roran and smashed it into his back. Roran yelled, “Hey! No magic!” and toppled into Eragon. Eragon, who had been working on freeing himself discreetly, stood up and sat on him.

“Oof! For a vegetarian, you're a bit meaty!”
Eragon whacked him with the pillow again.

“Do you yield?”

“All right, already. Help me take the cradle back to my tent before we destroy it.”

They did so, Roran and Eragon both carrying the cradle, and Eragon smirking as he held his end of the cradle in one hand and his new invention in the other. They set the cradle down where it had been. Eragon cast a spell over it so that it looked as if nothing had been changed. He took the new contraption back to his tent and set it down in the corner, putting an invisibility spell over it.

“I'll bring it to your celebration at whatever time you need.”

“That'll be great. I still have a few things to plan, so I'll probably give you the exact instructions on the day of the anniversary.”

Eragon was unsure as to why he was being so open with Roran, so soon after the deaths of his mentors. But then, he did know. It was soothing to his aching heart to be laughing and joking with his cousin, who he had been spending far too little time with lately. Of course, they were entirely different now, but they were still family. The fact that he was a Rider, and basically immortal, didn't change all the memories and time spent with Roran growing up. This was what Eragon had reverted to after his aunt Marian's death. He had coped with sadness by leaving it behind and working and goofing off with Roran and Garrow, at least for short periods of time. It was his way of dealing with sadness, and, seemingly, it had not changed.

Roran and Eragon talked for a while more, and finally Roran said,

“Thanks again. I've got to go now, I'll see you sometime before the anniversary celebration.”

Roran walked out of the tent. Eragon went to lay down on his utterly torn-apart bedspread
and call it a day, but Roran suddenly stuck his head back in the tent. He was grinning mischievously.

“You may want to clean up quick. Someone's here to see you.”

Eragon looked over, and his face morphed from inquisitive to alarmed in an instant. Arya was walking quickly toward his tent. Eragon spun around, using magic to hastily put things back in place. The other pillow...where'd it go to now? Then it hit him in the back, and he fell over again. Roran laughed.

“Elven reflexes.” He walked back to his tent before Eragon could react.

Eragon finished straightening his room just as Arya walked in with an expression of sadness on her face.

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Consolation

Eragon knew as soon as he saw Arya's face that something was very wrong. Arya rarely showed emotion of any kind. Making her laugh was a rare prize indeed. And she never, ever showed sadness. At. his request, she took a seat. Eragon did the same.

“What is it, Arya?”

“I am sorry, Eragon, for intruding on your privacy, but I needed to talk to you. I saw you were still receiving company. Are you too tired for this tonight?”

“No, Arya. Continue.”

“My mother contacted me today. The elves will be holding a special ceremony in memory of Oromis and Glaedr. Not a funeral, exactly; the elves do not mourn the passing of friends with such customs. But as they were an integral part of the lives of all the elves, and a hope in our time of darkness, the queen has decided to honor them with uncommon favor. She hopes that we will attend, not only for that, but the queen will also be dealing with the matter of Oromis's will. It was found in Oromis's tent. You are, of course, mentioned in it with great importance.”

“When will it be held?”

“Three months from now. Elves are more organized than humans, nearly as a rule. But Oromis is...was...very generous. He has left something to basically everyone in Du Weldenvarden. That makes things rather long, even with the elves. But consider it this way: How long would it take humans to do the same with around 17,000 people? About all the things on that list are small articles, but the most surprising thing is that each article is specially picked for the person or family in question. Oromis and Glaedr knew the people with whom he lived, all of them, well enough to do that for them.”

As she spoke, Arya had been steadily gaining more control over her expression, but when she was talking of how all the gifts were specially designated to particular elves, her composure fell away again, and to Eragon's shock, a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Arya. What is wrong? Forgive me if I am too forward, but, at least to humans, sharing your grief does help,” Eragon said gently.

“No, Eragon. I do not hold it against you, and you are kind to make an effort to be of help. But it is nothing that I should burden you with.”

“Again, please do not take this the wrong way. Stop me if I am in any way intruding too deeply. But who will you tell?” Eragon said this as kindly and with as much compassion as he could bring into his voice.

“That is a fairly deep question. Although, due to the answer, I shall not hold it from you. The truth is this: I do not know. There is no one..alive...in all Alagaësia whom I trust more than you. Do not take that lightly.”

“I promise you, I do not.” Eragon said this in the Ancient Language.

“You just made a promise in the Ancient Language. Isn't that pointless?”

“I thought it sounded good.” Arya smiled at that.

“Very well. Since you wish it thus, I will share with you my troubles. As you know, all the
elves of Du Weldenvarden were friends of Oromis and Glaedr. However, something neither you nor anyone else ever knew to this day, my mother and Faolin included, is that, when my father died, when I was only seven, I went to Oromis for comfort. He had always been very compassionate, and I knew that he would be able to console me better than even my mother. He and my father had been great friends and supportive allies in the war, so I knew that he would be grieving as well. When I arrived at his home, he invited me inside. He had immediately known, of course, what was wrong, he took me on his lap and said, very seriously,

'Neither I nor anyone else can give you back your father. But one thing I can do is to empathize. You can share your sorrow with me; I have lost a friend and you have lost a father in the same man's death. So now I will be your father, and you will be my friend, to replace what we have lost. But whatever he has done in his lifetime is remembered between those he knew. He may not be able to create new memories, but, so long as we do not forget, any act of kindness, any show of wit or mighty deed recalled is one to be treasured.' We just sat there and had tea and laughed over things my father had said or done, as all who are beginning to strive for recovery from the death of a loved one, of any race, ” Arya ended.

“Oromis was a wise man. I am so sorry; you have lost so much in this war. But, we must press on, or the murder will just continue. We must save what we can.”

“You picked up on some of Oromis's wisdom yourself.”

“Your praise is not lightly accepted, Arya Svit-kona,” Eragon replied. Arya smiled again.

Eragon loved to make Arya smile, to make her laugh, to ease her mood in any way. It was good to have her as a friend.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked.

“You have done enough. But if you wish, you may accompany me; I believe I shall go to
clear my head in the night air.”

“That would be helpful. If I lay down now, I would only be haunted by the dead in my past.”

As they left the tent, Arya answered,

“That has been my lot for countless nights during this time of evil. You are, in human terms, much younger than I, and yet the destruction you have seen and the losses you have suffered are comparable with many who are in years well beyond you. I am sorry, and as Oromis did, I empathize.”

After a pause, she said,

“Who do you miss most, of all you have known, but no longer reside on this earth? You do not have to answer if it pains you too much to think about it.”

“No; as I said, it helps to share your hurts. I miss Garrow greatly, as I knew him the longest, and he was as a father to me for all of my childhood. But, now that I think about it, I believe I miss Brom the most. I would give almost anything to have known him as my true father, just to see him again and tell him I am glad to have him as a part of my heritage.”

“That must have opened and even enlarged the hurt you felt at his death. For what I knew of him, he was a good man. Wait a moment.”

“What?”

“Here. It's not much; I didn't see Brom very often, but this will show you just how zealous he was for his work. This was not long after my father's death, and Brom had come to mourn him. He ended up doing quite a bit more.”

Arya then proceeded to transmit a memory to Eragon.

Brom was standing in Tialdarí Hall. His hair was still brown, and his face told of less troubles than it had when Eragon was traveling with him.

Eragon, through Arya, was seated beside Islanzadí in front of him. Then Brom spoke.

“Your highness, I have come to pay my respects to the late king, and to ask you a few questions.”

“You are welcome here in our time of sadness, Brom-elda,” the queen replied.

“The king is in the adjoining room; our spellcasters are preserving his body. Come this way.”

Queen Islanzadí led Brom into a room where spellcasters were singing in the ancient language. Nothing visible was showing on the king, but according to the queen, his body would outlast ages in his tomb.

The king truly was handsome, and quite noble-looking; but, even in death, he had an air about him that said he was the right sort of king: willing to lead his people into battle if need be, but there was nothing he'd rather do than to talk with his wife and make her laugh, or to play with their child, take her on his knee, and tell her she was the most special person he'd ever met.

Brom, with a mournful expression on his face, gazed in silence upon the body of the man who had in life been a king, husband, father, and friend to many. Brom whispered a few words, and then turned to the queen.

“Come to a less saddening place in this house, where we may talk.”

The queen got up, her eyes lingering on the king's still figure. She finally looked away and followed Brom to a different part of Tialdarí Hall, Arya following the two of them.

When they reached their destination, a small room adjoining the main hall, and were seated, the queen asked,

“What is it, Brom?”

“I and some friends of mine are forming an underground group of compatriots dedicated to the overthrow of Galbatorix and the Forsworn. We have been recruiting for nearly two months now, which I shall be leading, but only for a time. However, in order for us to succeed, we need the support of the elves, at least for a time. We already have the dwarves backing us; in fact, they have provided us with one of their strongholds many leagues south of here, south eve of the Hadarac desert.. But it isn't quite enough. If you would lend us your aid, with fifty to a hundred elves to help us in recruiting and fighting off soldiers, the free races would soon have a new hope in this time of darkness and tyranny.”

When Brom spoke, there was a strength in his voice that, though the words it spoke were simple enough, he made it sound so convincing, so necessary, that it was as if what he said was the only way to do something; and so far as Eragon had heard, it usually was the best anyone could come up with.

As Brom's voice built in power, a light kindled behind his eyes, as if, in relaying his thoughts of progression and opposition to evil, the power of his mind was showing through the only exit it could find.

The queen was obviously moved by his words. She considered what he asked for a minute, and then she answered,

“I would trust you with my life, as my husband did when he was still living. Take as many elves as you need.”

“I am sure a hundred will suffice. Thank you, my queen.”

“It is freely given, Brom-elda. I will help you in any way I can against this tyrant king who has taken my husband from me.”

Then, all of a sudden, the scene froze. Islanzadí, who had been getting to her feet, was still slightly stooped, and she was unnaturally still. But Brom was still moving. He turned to face Eragon/Arya, and spoke.

“I await you.”

Eragon's mind exploded with dozens of colorful pictures: A red dragon, presumably Thorn, not attacking, but leading a blue dragon who looked like Saphira across many miles of uninhabited terrain; an indistinct shape on black cloth in the middle of a torch-lit room; two dragons, two elves, and two humans, backs to Eragon's point of view, walking and flying across a constantly changing landscape; a boulder Eragon had seen many times while hunting in the Spine; and many others.

The scene finally ended, and Eragon fell to the ground. He stood up, dizzy, and then he noticed Arya had fallen, and was lying still on the ground. Eragon ran over to her and took her pulse. It was still strong, but fluttering wildly. Nothing was very wrong, she was just unconscious for some reason. Eragon picked her up. She was very light, despite the fact that she could throw a grown man into a tree. He carried her to his tent and set her down gently. Eragon didn't have any idea what to do next, so he sat down beside her and waited for her to regain consciousness. The scent of crushed pine needles filled the tent.

At length Arya stirred, and opened her eyes. She tried to sit up, but was still too weak.

“Eragon? Why am I here? What happened?

“The memory ended, and you were unconscious, so I carried you to my tent. How did you lose consciousness?” Eragon asked.

“I...I have no idea. An irresistibly strong force broke through my defenses as if they were an acorn. It took control of the memory I was showing you, and I guess I was rendered senseless then.”

“The queen froze, and Brom looked directly at me and said, 'I await you.' Then he showed me some pictures, with familiar and completely unfamiliar elements mixed.”

“Can you relay them to me?”

“No...I can't remember how any of them looked. I can only remember that I saw some things that I've seen before, and some that I haven't. But I can't for the life of me bring them into my mind.”

“This is very concerning. I know no one who could batter down my defenses so easily, save possibly Galbatorix. But even then, I don't think it would be so...easy. Also, regardless of that, even Galbatorix can't take control of or change memories already formed.”

“Then how would you explain what just happened?”

“That's just it. I can't.”

After an uneasy pause, she asked,

“Aside from this disconcerting event, what did you think of the rest of the memory?”

“Queen Islanzadí was quite generous. Although I would have thought that she would not have risked the lives of more elves so soon after her husband's death.”

“She was much more outgoing and friendly when my father was alive. That did not go away all at once, but was rather corroded away by untamed sadness. She has not been truly recovering for very long, and she has a lot still to deal with.”

“That makes sense. Thank you very much for that. I better understand him now. I saw a
bit of that while he and I were traveling together, but not like that. I thank you, Arya Svit-kona.”

“You are very welcome, and I am glad to have been able to show you yet another side of your father. But now, I must go to bed.”

“Good night, Arya.”

“Good night, and may the dawn bring a more peaceful time to us.”

Arya walked out, and for the third and final time that day, Eragon laid down to sleep.

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