Eldest [en]

leaping up onto a branch to run over their heads. They praised Saphira with names like “Longclaws” and “Daughter of Air and Fire” and “Strong One.”

Eragon smiled, delighted and enchanted. I could live here, he thought with a sense of peace. Tucked away in Du Weldenvarden, as much outdoors as in, safe from the rest of the world... Yes, he liked Ellesmera very much indeed, more than any of the dwarf cities. He pointed to a dwelling situated within a pine tree and asked Arya, “How is that done?

“We sing to the forest in the old tongue and give it our strength to grow in the shape that we desire. All our buildings and tools are made in that manner.”

The path ended at a net of roots that formed steps, like bare pools of earth. They climbed to a door embedded within a wall of saplings. Eragon’s heart quickened as the door swung open, seemingly of its own accord, and revealed a hall of trees. Hundreds of branches melded together to form the honeycombed ceiling. Below, twelve chairs were arrayed along each wall.

In them reposed four-and-twenty elf lords and ladies.

Wise and handsome were they, with smooth faces unmarked by age and keen eyes that gleamed with excitement. They leaned forward, gripping the arms of their chairs, and stared at Eragon’s group with open wonder and hope. Unlike the other elves, they had swords belted at their waists — hilts studded with beryls and garnets — and circlets that adorned their brows.

And at the head of the assembly stood a white pavilion that sheltered a throne of knotted roots. Queen Islanzadi sat upon it. She was as beautiful as an autumn sunset, proud and imperious, with two dark eyebrows slanted like upraised wings, lips as bright and red as holly berries, and midnight hair bound under a diamond diadem. Her tunic was crimson. Round her hips hung a girdle of braided gold. And clasped at the hollow of her neck was a velvet cloak that fell to the ground in languid folds. Despite her imposing countenance, the queen seemed fragile, as if she concealed a great pain.

By her left hand was a curved rod with a chased crosspiece. A brilliant-white raven perched on it, shuffling impatiently from foot to foot. He cocked his head and surveyed Eragon with uncanny intelligence, then gave a long, low croak and shrieked, “Wyrda!” Eragon shivered from the force of that single cracked word.

The door closed behind the six of them as they entered the hall and approached the queen. Arya knelt on the moss-covered ground and bowed first, then Eragon, Orik, Lifaen, and Nari. Even Saphira, who had never bowed to anyone, not even Ajihad or Hrothgar, lowered her head.

Islanzadi stood and descended from the throne, her cloak trailing behind her. She stopped before Arya, placed trembling hands on her shoulders, and said in a rich vibrato, “Rise.” Arya did, and the queen scrutinized her face with increasing intensity, until it seemed as if she were trying to decipher an obscure text.

At last Islanzadi cried out and embraced Arya, saying, “O my daughter, I have wronged you!”

QUEEN ISLANZADI

Eragon knelt before the queen of the elves and her councilors in a fantastic room made from the boles of living trees in a near-mythic land, and the only thing that filled his mind was shock. Arya is a princess! It was fitting in a way — she had always possessed an air of command — but he bitterly regretted the fact, for it placed another barrier between them when he would have torn them all away. The knowledge filled his mouth with the taste of ashes. He remembered Angela’s prophecy that he would love one of noble birth... and her warning that she could not see if it would end for good or for ill.

He could feel Saphira’s own surprise, then her amusement. She said, It appears that we have been traveling in the presence of royalty without knowing it.

Why didn’t she tell us?

Perhaps it would have placed her in greater danger.

“Islanzadi Drottning,” said Arya formally.

The queen withdrew as if she had been stung and then repeated in the ancient language, “O my daughter, I have wronged you.” She covered her face. “Ever since you disappeared, I’ve barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made... Can you forgive me?”

The gathered elves stirred with amazement.

Arya’s response was long in coming, but at last she said, “For seventy years, I have lived and loved, fought and killed without ever speaking to you, my mother. Our lives are long, but even so, that is no small span.”

Islanzadi drew herself upright, lifting her chin. A tremor ran her length. “I cannot undo the past, Arya, no matter how much I might desire to.”

“And I cannot forget what I endured.”

“Nor should you.” Islanzadi clasped her daughter’s hands. “Arya, I love you. You are my only family. Go if you must, but unless you wish to renounce me, I would be reconciled with you.”

For a terrible moment, it seemed as if Arya would not answer, or worse, would reject the offer. Eragon saw her hesitate and quickly look at her audience. Then she lowered her eyes and said, “No, Mother. I could not leave.” Islanzadi smiled uncertainly and embraced her daughter again. This time Arya returned the gesture, and smiles broke out among the assembled elves.

The white raven hopped on his stand, cackling, “And on the door was graven evermore, what now became the family lore, Let us never do but to adore! ”

“Hush, Blagden,” said Islanzadi to the raven. “Keep your doggerel to yourself.” Breaking free, the queen turned to Eragon and Saphira. “You must excuse me for being discourteous and ignoring you, our most important guests.”

Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum, as Arya had taught him. “Islanzadi Drottning. Atra esterni ono thelduin.” He had no doubt that he was supposed to speak first.

Islanzadi’s dark eyes widened. “Atra du evarinya ono varda.”

“Un atra mor’ranr lifa unin hjarta onr,” replied Eragon, completing the ritual. He could tell that the elves were caught off guard by his knowledge of their customs. In his mind, he listened as Saphira repeated his greeting to the queen.

When she finished, Islanzadi asked, “Dragon, what is your name?”

Saphira.

A flash of recognition appeared in the queen’s expression, but she made no comment on it. “Welcome to Ellesmera, Saphira. And yours, Rider?”

“Eragon Shadeslayer, Your Majesty.” This time an audible stir rippled among the elves seated behind them; even Islanzadi appeared startled.

“You carry a powerful name,” she said softly, “one that we rarely bestow upon our children... Welcome to Ellesmera, Eragon Shadeslayer. We have waited long for you.” She moved on to Orik, greeted him, then returned to her throne and draped her velvet cloak over her arm. “I assume by your presence here, Eragon, so soon after Saphira’s egg was captured, and by the ring on your hand and the sword on your hip, that Brom is dead and that your training with him was incomplete. I wish to hear your full story, including how Brom fell and how you came to meet my daughter, or how she met you, as it may be. Then I will hear of your mission here, dwarf, and of your adventures, Arya, since your ambush in Du Weldenvarden.”

Eragon had narrated his experiences before, so he had no trouble reiterating them now for the queen. The few occasions where his memory faltered, Saphira was able to provide an accurate description of events. In several places, he simply left the telling to her. When they finished, Eragon retrieved Nasuada’s scroll from his pack and presented it to Islanzadi.

She took the roll of parchment, broke the red wax seal, and, upon completing the missive, sighed and briefly closed her eyes. “I see now the true depth of my folly. My grief would have ended so much sooner if I had not withdrawn our warriors and ignored Ajihad’s messengers after learning that Arya had been ambushed. I should have never blamed the Varden for her death. For one so old, I am still far too foolish... ”

A long silence followed, as no one dared to agree or disagree. Summoning his courage, Eragon said, “Since