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" I want to test him, said Saphira. She slapped her tail against the ground, causing Fírnen to pause.
Test him? How? For what?
To find out if he has the iron in his bones and the fire in his belly to match me.
Are you sure? he asked, understanding her intent.
She again slapped her tail against the ground, and he felt her certainty and the strength of her desire. I know everything about him--everything but this. Besides--she displayed a flash of amusement--it’s not as if dragons mate for life.
Very well…But be careful.
He had barely finished speaking when Saphira lunged forward and bit Fírnen on his left flank, drawing blood and causing Fírnen to snarl and spring backward. The green dragon growled, appearing uncertain of himself, and retreated before Saphira as she prowled toward him.
Saphira! Chagrined, Eragon turned to Arya, intending to apologize.
Arya did not seem upset. To Fírnen, and to Eragon as well, she said, If you want her to respect you, then you have to bite her in return.
She raised an eyebrow at Eragon, and he responded with a wry smile, understanding.
Fírnen glanced at Arya and hesitated. He jumped back as Saphira snapped at him again. Then he roared and lifted his wings, as if to make himself appear larger, and he charged Saphira--and nipped her on a hind leg, sinking his teeth into her hide.
The pain Saphira felt was not pain.
Saphira and Fírnen resumed circling, growling and yowling with increasing volume. Then Fírnen jumped at her again. He landed on Saphira’s neck and bore her head to the ground, where he held her pinned and gave her a pair of playful bites at the base of her skull.
Saphira did not struggle as fiercely as Eragon would have expected, and he guessed that she had allowed Fírnen to catch her, as it was not something even Thorn had managed to do.
“The courting of dragons is no gentle affair,” he said to Arya.
“Did you expect soft words and tender caresses?”
“I suppose not.”
With a heave of her neck, Saphira threw Fírnen off and scrambled backward. She roared and clawed at the ground with her forefeet, and then Fírnen lifted his head toward the sky and loosed a rippling pennant of green fire twice the length of his own body.
“Oh!” exclaimed Arya, sounding delighted.
“What?”
“That’s the first time he has breathed fire! "
― Christopher Paolini , Inheritance (The Inheritance Cycle, #4)
163
" After a while, she felt him touch her shoulder, and she jerked away. She could not help it. He had hurt her more in the past few days than anyone else ever had, and though she knew he had not wanted to do it, she could not forget that it was he who had wielded the hot iron.
Even so, when she saw how her reaction stung him, she relented and reached out and took his hand. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, then put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. She resisted for a moment, then relaxed into his embrace and laid her head on his chest as she continued to cry, her quiet sobs echoing in the bare stone room.
Some minutes later, she felt him move beneath her as he said, “I’ll find a way to free you, I swear. It’s too late for Thorn and me. But not for you. As long as you don’t pledge fealty to Galbatorix, there’s still a chance I can spirit you out of Urû’baen.”
She looked up at him and decided he meant what he said. “How?” she whispered.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he admitted with a roguish smile. “But I will. Whatever it takes. You have to promise me, though, that you won’t give up--not until I’ve tried. Agreed?”
“I don’t think I can endure that…thing again. If he puts it on me again, I’ll give him whatever he wants.”
“You won’t have to; he doesn’t intend to use the burrow grubs again.”
“…What does he intend?”
Murtagh was silent for a minute more. “He’s decided to start manipulating what you see, hear, feel, and taste. If that doesn’t work, then he’ll attack your mind directly. You won’t be able to resist him if he does. No one ever has. Before it comes to that, though, I’m sure I’ll be able to rescue you. All you have to do is keep fighting for another few days. That’s it--just another few days.”
“How can I if I can’t trust my senses?”
“There is one sense he cannot feign.” Murtagh twisted to look at her more directly. “Will you let me touch your mind? I won’t try to read your thoughts. I only want you to know what my mind feels like, so you can recognize it--so you can recognize me--in the future. "
― Christopher Paolini , Inheritance (The Inheritance Cycle, #4)
173
" 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. "
― Christopher Paolini , Inheritance (The Inheritance Cycle, #4)
174
" Now I have a question for you: why did you kill those men? You knew you wouldn’t make it out of the citadel. Was it just to spite Galbatorix, as he said?”
She sighed and pushed herself off Murtagh’s chest so she was sitting upright. With some reluctance, he released his hold around her shoulders. She sniffed, then looked him square in the eyes. “I couldn’t just lie there and let him do whatever he wanted to me. I had to fight back; I had to show him that he hadn’t broken me, and I wanted to hurt him however I could.”
“So it was spite!”
“In part. What of it?” She expected him to express disgust or condemnation at her actions, but instead he gave her an appraising look and his lips curved in a small, knowing smile.
“Then I say well done,” he replied.
After a moment, she returned his smile.
“Besides,” she said, “there was always a chance I might escape.”
He snorted. “And dragons might start eating grass.”
“Even so, I had to try. "
― Christopher Paolini , Inheritance (The Inheritance Cycle, #4)
175
" 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.”
“I would like to see that flower someday.”
“Perhaps you will.” Arya glanced toward the Varden’s camp. “I should go. There is much yet to be done.”
He nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow.” Arya began to walk away. After a few steps, she paused and looked back. “I’m glad that Saphira chose you as her Rider, Eragon. And I’m proud to have fought alongside you. You have become more than any of us dared hope. Whatever happens tomorrow, know that.”
Then she resumed her stride, and soon she disappeared around the curve of the hill, leaving him alone with Saphira and the Eldunarí. "
― Christopher Paolini , Inheritance (The Inheritance Cycle, #4)
177
" Besides,” she said, “there was always a chance I might escape.”
He snorted. “And dragons might start eating grass.”
“Even so, I had to try.”
“I understand. If I could have, I would have done the same when the Twins first brought me here.”
“And now?”
“I still can’t, and even if I could, what purpose would it serve?”
To that, she had no answer. Silence followed, and then she said, “Murtagh, if it’s not possible to free me from here, then I want your promise that you’ll help me escape by…other means. I wouldn’t ask…I wouldn’t place this burden upon you, but your assistance would make the task easier, and I may not have the opportunity to do it myself.” His lips grew thin and hard as she spoke, but he did not interrupt. “Whatever happens, I won’t allow myself to become a plaything for Galbatorix to order about as he will. I’ll do anything, anything at all to avoid that fate. Can you understand that?”
His chin dipped in a short nod.
“Then do I have your word?”
He looked down and clenched his fists, his breathing ragged. “You do. "
― Christopher Paolini , Inheritance (The Inheritance Cycle, #4)
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" As she and Murtagh continued to talk, their conversation grew easier and more relaxed. Despite their unpleasant circumstances, she found that she enjoyed speaking with him. He was smart and well educated, and he had a mordant wit that she appreciated, especially given her current predicament.
Murtagh seemed to enjoy their conversation as much as she did. Still, the time came when they both recognized that it would be foolish to keep talking, for fear of being caught. So she returned to the slab, where she lay down and allowed him to strap her to the unforgiving block of stone once again.
As he was about to leave, she said, “Murtagh.”
He paused and turned to regard her.
She hesitated for a moment, then mustered her courage and said, “Why?” She thought he understood her meaning: Why her? Why save her, and now why try to rescue her? She had guessed at the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.
He stared at her for the longest while, and then, in a low, hard voice, he said, “You know why. "
― Christopher Paolini , Inheritance (The Inheritance Cycle, #4)
