Shattered

AN: Wow, i'm kinda surprised that this chapter is so short, especially compared to the previous two. However, this one just sort of spilled out of me. Probably because I have some serious anger issues with Arya, and as such, I like to see her suffer. A lot. And now Eragon has gone AWOL! Like totally, just gone. Every action has its consequence; and this is no different. Let's see how Arya deals with it, if the chapter title hasn't already given it away. Also, with our favorite characters now split up, we can get a little more up close, and personal with them. I'm considering a point of view swap to first person, especially for Arya for awhile. I did it with Saphira in Complacency, but I aim to please. Let me know what you think in the review section. And now, Shattered.

As the first sign of daylight struck Arya's tent, she knew she had to arise. There were things to attend to. A meeting with Nasuada, aiding in the preparations of what was sure to be a week of straight celebration, and the most important task. Eragon had willingly submitted his name and its use into her hands, and because of it, and the abundance of focus he'd dedicated to freedom and peace, Alagaesia was now free from the awful tyranny that had plagued it for centuries. His binding would be released today.

There were some nights, however, when she had doubts, not about Eragon; he was reliable to a fault. No, her doubts circled her mind about smaller things she hadn't addressed earlier about how he'd so totally changed in the last two months. The innocence in his eyes was gone; and he smiled much less often. It pained her to think of what he'd lost to the war, but what he became more than made up for it. He became a master tactician overnight; and a brutal opponent in every challenge…. And he was more distant than he'd ever been. He was still a friend of friends, but his oath sealed the true him away from her. As much as she was loathe to admit it, she had missed it. All of Eragon's subtle affectionate nuances abruptly halted after his binding. He never inquired about her wellbeing anymore; he hardly ever asked her anything.

It was strange how she never knew how the absences of these small things would bother her so much. It had only been a few short weeks before; perhaps four weeks previous, when she had faced up to her true feelings and realized that somewhere in her heart; despite every reason she had to call their union impossible, he proved it a little more possible every day by just being himself. When his affection was gone, she realized what a crutch it had been to her through the war. When it was gone, it hurt. Being without it sapped at her body's energy in a way that she wouldn't have thought possible. It had been raining the whole day that Arya figured out that she couldn't live without Eragon's presence, warmth… and love. She loved him. She loved him back so much.

So much for him being the one pinning. It was mortifying, and hard, how he'd managed to do so for so long was beyond her. It was such an unfair reversal of the roles they had played, with Eragon now the cool, affectionless, and subdued soul. She had tried, really tried to hold her arguments against their pairing, but the more she tried to hold on to them, the more they slipped from her fingers. Too old? If she truly looked into his eyes, she would think him older than herself if not in years, then in experience. He'd matured frighteningly fast; especially with deaths of Oromis and Glaedr. He'd known true loss, perhaps even more often than she had.

Their differences? What differences? He was more elf now than human, and his changes became more and more pronounced each time she looked at him.

Their duties? Princess and rider, they were different, but it held no weight as an argument. Could they not be together and serve in their respective duties?

It seemed that Eragon, simply by existing as he had for the last few weeks, had proved her own arguments wrong. He worked his way under her skin by just doing as he did. It was strange, how quickly he'd managed that. Few, if any, of her own kind could hope to accomplish something on such a scale, and slay a twisted monster in the meantime.

Something haunted now resided in his warm eyes and she hoped, with time, the haunting would fade, and the eyes she knew would come back fully.

A paralyzing thought struck her, sudden, and alien. What if he didn't want her anymore? It was such an insecure notion; and it was a sensation that Arya was wholly unaccustomed to. The very idea went against everything she knew about his stubborn nature.

Even more embarrassed, she realized that she was more likely to change in regards to her feelings for him; she already had. She had judged Eragon by human standards and set herself above him, when in reality, he was otherworldly. She didn't deserve him; he'd won the war, he saved her life, he loved her.

He loved her.

She hoped.

Arya shook the line of thought from her head, and arose, dressing in her simple black leggings, shirt and tunic. She hurriedly brushed her sleep-mused hair, and strode out into the sun. She had never felt so at peace, so happy. Her duty was fulfilled, Eragon's as well. She would release him, and they would be free to take each other as mates. It was a feeling of total jubilation that seemed to fill her body with sunlight, there was a slight spring in her step as she made her way towards Nasuada and Eragon. She hadn't felt this much excitement in years, it was so much stronger than she'd imagined; this relief that she could remove Eragon's emotional shackles.

As she approached the center of the camp, something seemed off. The sun shone brilliantly, and it seemed that everyone but her was rooted in place and silent, some staring into the sky dumbstruck, some staring at her, some glaring at her. What was going on? She picked up her pace and reached Nasuada's red tent before long. Even more soldiers were standing, silently stunned, and the thick depressions from claws in the ground marked that Saphira had been there. However Nasuada's tearstained face dominated her attention.

Where did Eragon go?

She didn't even know she had asked that question out loud.

She darted to the kneeling leader of the Varden, who seemed as transfixed on the northern sky as everyone else. "Nasuada? Nasuada!"

Kneeling, Arya's hands shook Nasuada's shoulders, "Nasuada, what's wrong, what happened?"

Nasuada wheezed something incomprehensible. Arya had paled considerably, the sharp ice of fear twisting in her belly. For something to have affected Nasuada so deeply, it must be…

Arya shook Nasuada's shoulders again. Please, please, please don't let it be, "Eragon, Nasuada, is Eragon alright? Where is he?"

Nasuada remained silent, and Arya's thoughts became disjointed in panic, "Where's Saphira? Where are they? Look at me! Brazul, Nasuada, why do you not answer me?"

Nasuada's head slowly turned and her eyes burned into Arya's. Never before had Arya seen such open contempt in Nasuada's gaze. "Eragon is gone.

Arya felt her pulse halt for a moment. Nasuada's words seemed so final; as if he'd died. He couldn't have died! He was healthy, just yesterday before bed they had spoken, he had smiled. He couldn't be… he just couldn't be… "He has been taken by Saphira into the endless forests of Duweldenvarden. Saphira promised us that we would never see our savior and hero again."

It didn't make sense, the words; absurd. Her kneeling legs lost feeling and she was left sitting between her calves. Taken by Saphira? Why? For what rea- "Saphira assured us that his mental abilities were failing."

It's amazing how loudly a conscience speaks when something terrible happens. Arya was brought back to the small rocky outer crop a small ways out from Dras Leona, seeing Eragon as he convulsed on the ground. Later that night when a hysterical sound unlike anything she'd ever heard had split the silence in a deafening wail; she knew it was him, and he lied about it to her face. His terror at becoming a second Galbatorix

His cold eyes, the haunted expressions, his almost pained look whenever she touched him, suddenly all the things she had been blind to; that she had chosen to be blind to, reared their faces in stunning clarity. She felt she was being mutilated from the inside. Had she truly been so blind? Could she not even see that her friend had been in constant distress? Was that really so beyond her?

The edge in Nasuada's voice was palpable, "She told me specifically to tell you not to follow."

She couldn't. Hear. Follow. What? See. The words made less sense. Tell me not to follow? Her shoulders hunched, and her breathing came in shallow pants, that seemed to grow shallower every second.

Don't follow? Tell me?

Doesn't want me to follow?

Doesn't want me to?

Doesn't want me?

Doesn't want me?

Doesn't… want… me?

She couldn't see beyond her memories of his tortured being. She couldn't hear anything but his tortured wail from months ago. He broke months ago, and she had turned a deaf ear to him. She had turned a blind eye to the precious truth of his actual wellbeing etched in his face. Tears welled and ran down her face in uninterrupted tracks. The world, the sun, all of it was so cold now. So cold. She was so cold.

And Alone. Alone again.

He left me, she realized.

He left me because he believed I didn't care.

He believed I didn't care.

I didn't care.

I was too late.

A harsh laugh tore from Arya's lips.

Too late.

Her shaking hands covered her ears to drown out his screams as she began to laugh more hysterically as she cried. Her hands didn't help. Eragon only seemed to scream louder in her mind.

Too late.

It wasn't clear when her laughing had become screaming. Screaming with him. In Agony.

Too.

He was gone, and the emptiness of the loss consumed her as she screamed in inconsolable hysteria.

Late.

And she had shattered.