Christopher Paolini - Inheritance

Arya lowered her gaze and was silent for a time. Then she said, “I cannot allow Eragon and Saphira to go without me any more than you can allow your army to march into battle without you at its head. I cannot.… Would you have it said of me that I am a coward? Those of our family do not turn away from what must be done; do not ask me to shame myself.”

The shine in Islanzadi’s eyes looked suspiciously like tears to Eragon. “Yes,” said the queen, “but to fight Galbatorix …”

“If you are so afraid,” said Arya, but not unkindly, “then come with me.”

“I cannot. I must stay to command my troops.”

“And I must go with Eragon and Saphira. But I promise you, I shall not die.” Arya placed her hand on Islanzadi’s face even as her mother had done to her. “I shall not die.” Once more Arya repeated the phrase, but this time in the ancient language.

Arya’s determination impressed Eragon; to say what she had in the ancient language meant that she believed it without qualification. Islanzadi also appeared impressed, and proud too. She smiled and kissed Arya once on each cheek. “Then go, and go with my blessings. And take no more risks than you must.”

“Nor you.” And the two of them embraced.

As they separated, Islanzadi looked at Eragon and Saphira and said, “Watch over her, I implore you, for she has not a dragon or the Eldunari to protect her.”

We will , both Eragon and Saphira replied, in the ancient language.

Once they had settled what needed to be settled, the war council broke and its various members began to disperse. From where he sat by Saphira, Eragon watched the others mill about. Neither he nor she made an effort to move. Saphira was going to remain hidden behind the hill until the attack, while he intended to wait for dark before he ventured into the camp.

Orik was the second to depart, after Roran. Before he did, the dwarf king came over to Eragon and gave him a rough hug. “Ah, I wish I were going with the two of you,” he said, his eyes solemn above his beard.

“And I wish you were coming,” said Eragon.

“Well, we’ll see each other afterward and toast our victory with barrels of mead, eh?”

“I look forward to it.”

As do I , said Saphira.

“Good,” said Orik, and he nodded firmly. “That’s settled, then. You’d better not let Galbatorix get the better of you, or I’ll be honor-bound to march in after you.”

“We’ll be careful,” Eragon said with a smile.

“I should hope so, because I doubt I could do much more than tweak Galbatorix on the nose.”

That I would like to see , said Saphira.

Orik grunted. “May the gods watch over you, Eragon, and you as well, Saphira.”

“And you, Orik, Thrifk’s son.” Then Orik slapped Eragon on the shoulder and stomped off to where he had tied his pony to a bush.

When Islanzadi and Blodhgarm left, Arya stayed. She was deep in conversation with Jormundur, and so Eragon thought little of it. When Jormundur rode off, however, and Arya still lingered nearby, he realized that she wanted to talk to them alone.

Sure enough, once everyone else had gone, she looked at him and Saphira and said, “Did something else happen to you while you were gone, something that you didn’t want to speak of in front of Orrin or Jormundur … or my mother?”

“Why do you ask?”

She hesitated. “Because … you both seem to have changed. Is it the Eldunari, or does it have to do with your experience in the storm?”

Eragon smiled at her perception. He consulted with Saphira, and when she approved, he said, “We learned our true names.”

Arya’s eyes widened. “You did? And … were you pleased with them?”

In part , said Saphira.

“We learned our true names,” Eragon repeated. “We saw that the earth is round. And during the flight here, Umaroth and the other Eldunari shared many of their memories with us.” He allowed himself a wry smile. “I can’t say we understand all of them, but they make things seem … different.”

“I see,” murmured Arya. “Do you think the change is for the better?”

“I do. Change itself is neither good nor bad, but knowledge is always useful.”

“Was it difficult to find your true names?”

So he told her how they had accomplished it, and he also told her about the strange creatures they had encountered on Vroengard Island, which interested her greatly.

As Eragon spoke, an idea occurred to him, one that resonated within him too strongly to ignore. He explained it to Saphira, and once again she granted him her permission, although somewhat more reluctantly than before.

Must you? she asked.

Yes .

Then do as you will, but only if she agrees .

When they finished speaking of Vroengard, he looked Arya in the eyes and said, “Would you like to hear my true name? I would like to share it with you.”

The offer seemed to shock her. “No! You shouldn’t tell it to me or anyone else. Especially not when we’re so close to Galbatorix. He might steal it from my mind. Besides, you should only give your true name to … to one whom you trust above all others.”

“I trust you.”

“Eragon, even when we elves exchange our true names, we do not do so until we have known each other for many, many years. The knowledge they provide is too personal, too intimate, to bandy about, and there is no greater risk than sharing it. When you teach someone your true name, you place everything you are in their hands.”

“I know, but I may never have the chance again. This is the only thing I have to give, and I would give it to you.”

“Eragon, what you are proposing … It is the most precious thing one person can give another.”

“I know.”

A shiver ran through Arya, and then she seemed to withdraw within herself. After a time, she said, “No one has ever offered me such a gift before.… I’m honored by your trust, Eragon, and I understand how much this means to you, but no, I must decline. It would be wrong for you to do this and wrong for me to accept just because tomorrow we may be killed or enslaved. Danger is no reason to act foolishly, no matter how great our peril.”

Eragon inclined his head. Her reasons were good reasons, and he would respect her choice. “Very well, as you wish,” he said.

“Thank you, Eragon.”

A moment passed. Then he said, “Have you ever told anyone your true name?”

“No.”

“Not even your mother?”

Her mouth twisted. “No.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”

He half shrugged. “I didn’t. I just wasn’t sure.” Silence came between them. Then, “When … how did you learn your true name?”

Arya was quiet for so long, he began to think that she would refuse to answer. Then she took a breath and said, “It was a number of years after I left Du Weldenvarden, when I finally had become accustomed to my role among the Varden and the dwarves. Faolin and my other companions were away, and I had a great deal of time to myself. I spent most of it exploring Tronjheim, wandering in the empty reaches of the city-mountain, where others rarely tread. Tronjheim is bigger than most realize, and there are many strange things within it: rooms, people, creatures, forgotten artifacts.… As I wandered, I thought, and I came to know myself better than ever I had before. One day I discovered a room somewhere high in Tronjheim-I doubt I could locate it again, even if I tried. A beam of sunlight seemed to pour into the room, though the ceiling was solid, and in the center of the room was a pedestal, and upon the pedestal was growing a single flower. I do not know what kind of flower it was; I have never seen its like before or since. The petals were purple, but the center of the blossom was like a drop of blood. There were thorns upon the stem, and the flower exuded the most wonderful scent and seemed to hum with a music all its own. It was such an amazing and unlikely thing to find, I stayed in the room, staring at the flower for longer than I can remember, and it was then and there that I was finally able to put words to who I was and who I am.”