Sja Fram [Inheritance Cycle | Eragon Fanfiction]

Chapter XXXV: Tronjheim

Chapter XXXV: Tronjheim

Eragon and I both stretched in the hall. I was now stiff, as well as sore, from sitting still for so long. Behind us, the Twins entered Ajihad's study.

"I'm sorry that you're in trouble because of me," Eragon apologized.

"Don't bother yourself," Orik grunted, tugging on his beard. "Ajihad gave me what I wanted."

"What do you mean?" I asked in surprise. "You can't train or fight, and you're stuck guiding us. How can that be what you wanted?"

The dwarf eyed both Eragon and I quietly. "Ajihad is a good leader. He understands how to keep the law yet remain just. I have been punished by his command, but I'm also one of Hrothergar's subjects. Under his rule, I'm still free to do what I wish."

"Ajihad just placed you in a powerful position, didn't he?" I said, figuring out that the power was split within Tronjheim.

Orik chuckled deeply. "That he did, and in such a way that the Twins can't complain about it. This'll irritate them for sure. Ajihad's a tricky one, he is. Come, both of you, I'm sure you're hungry. And we have to get the dragon settled in."

Saphira hissed. Eragon said, "Her name is Saphira."

Orik made a small bow to her. "My apologies, I'll be sure to remember that." Orik took one of the weird lamps from the wall and led us down a hallway.

"Can others in Farthen Dûr use magic?" I asked curiously, almost jogging in order to keep up with the dwarf's brisk pace.

"Few enough," Orik responded. "And the ones we have can't do much more than heal bruises. They've all had to tend to Arya because of the strength needed to heal her."

"Except for the Twins," Eragon said.

"Oeí," the brown-haired dwarf grumbled. "She wouldn't want their help anyway; their arts are not for healing. Their talents lie in scheming and plotting for power – to everyone else's detriment. Deynor, Ajihad's predecessor, allowed them to join the Varden because he needed their support... you can't oppose the Empire without spellcasters who can hold their own on the field of battle. They're a nasty pair, but they do have their uses."

We entered one of the four main tunnels that divided Tronjheim. Clusters of dwarves and humans strolled through it, voices echoing loudly off the polished floor. The conversations stopped abruptly when they noticed Saphira. Orik ignored the spectators and turned left, heading toward one of Tronjheim's distant gates. "Where are we going?" Eragon asked.

"Out of these halls so Saphira can fly to the dragonhold above Isidar Mithrim, the Star Rose. The dragonhold doesn't have a roof – Tronjheim's peak is open to the sky, like that of Farthen Dûr – so she, that is you Saphira, will be able to glide straight down into the hold. It is where the Riders used to stay when they visited Tronjheim."

"Wouldn't it be damp and cold without a roof?" Eragon quizzed.

"Nay," Orik shook his head. "Farthen Dûr protects us from the elements. Neither rain nor snow intrude here. Besides, the hold's walls are lined with marble caves for dragons. They provide all the shelter necessary. All you need fear are the icicles; when they fall they've been known to cleave a horse in two."

"Where are our horses?" I asked, worrying about Istal.

"In the stables, by the gate. We can visit them before leaving."

We left Tronjheim through the same gate we had entered. The gold griffins gleamed with coloured highlights garnered from scores of lanterns. The sun had moved during our conversation with Ajihad – light no longer entered Farthen Dûr through the crater opening. Without those moted rays, the inside of the hollow mountain was velvety black. The only illumination came from Tronjheim, which sparkled brilliantly in the gloom. The city-mountain's radiance was enough to brighten the ground hundreds of metres away.