Disclaimer: I own nothing, as usual. Don't sue or I will get royally pissed. Thank you.
Prologue
There was something about the way their voices mingled together in the twilight that made her feel so insignificant. His so calming, the other's rising now and then in desperation… and the leadership, demanding quality both held.
There was something about the way that their shadows were thrust onto the tent, dark and misshapen by lantern light. One was a thin, tall, regal looking patch of darkness against the canvas, the other a hunkered figure with a beard disfiguring the facial shape.
And there was something about the slightly copper tang in the air, something about the blood that had been tracked into their fortress, which made Arya feel as if nothing had been won. All that had been won was a feast for crows. All that had been won was headaches abound and more enemies…
She knew that Nasuada was mourning, alone, in her tent, wishing for some sort of feminine comfort… But Arya could never help in such an instance. She was a hardened warrior, one who was used to losing everything –and everyone- she held dear to her. And although Arya's heart cried out for Nasuada's numerous losses –the newest of which was Murtagh, now that he had sides with Galbatorix – she had no way of comforting the ruler.
After all, Arya could hardly comfort herself.
She turned her gaze away from Eragon's tent, the only one lit. The two figures were wrestling now, something like brotherly laughter coming to greet Arya's sharp ears…
He's lucky to have found his cousin, Arya thought wryly. But what madness will ensue now? What other horrors could face us now that we have yet another of Garrow's brood? She turned her back on the sight and slowly weaved her way between the thousands of tents littering the valley. She found her small sleeping quarters, just off of Nasuada's, and slipped inside.
She decided at that moment that, no matter what Nasuada, Eragon, or his cousin said, she would accompany Eragon anywhere he went. After being unable to beat Murtagh, Eragon had proven that some things were not within his reach. Arya was going to work on fixing that.
Oromis may have turned him into a fine Rider on a human's standards, she thought as she crawled in between her thin blanket and pallet, leaving her sword within reach. But I will turn him into a fine Rider on an elf's standards.