Wyrda: Father of Dragons (Eragon Book 5)

Chapter 17: Elven Council

The sun was bright in the sky as it tried to find its way amongst the tall trees of Ellesmera, the capital of the elves. A beautiful voice could be heard as an Elven Maid was singing, her beautiful voice rising and falling according to the rhythm of the song, in perfect harmony. The song was sad and slow at times, but it became faster as time progressed. It was a song about an ancient elven hero from the age of the war against the Dragons. Finally as the last note escaped the lips of the elven maid, a silence fell over the forrest as every being in the area was lost in the magic of the song.

"What a beautiful song! I wish I could hear her voice all day" Firnen commented

"It truly is a nice song. What do you mean hear her voice all day? Now you're making me jealous!" Arya said jokingly.

"There's no need little one. My heart belongs to you" Firnen said.

Arya, the queen of the elves let a sigh escape her as the song finished. She liked this particular song as it always made her heart flutter and her eyes water at the tragic end of the song. She looked once again at the trees searching for the elven maid but she couldn't see her. The trees were huge, as they were a few of the most ancient trees of the forrest of Du Weldenvarden. The leaves were green but at times, because of the cold winter, they had started to turn yellow and brown and fall on the grass. The city of Ellesmera was once again full of life as there were elves everywhere, going on their daily routine. Some elves were practicing their singing skills, some others their archery and sword fighting skills, to reach the ultimate goal of perfection in the particular art. A goal that sounded easy but it was very hard to achieve without daily practice.

Arya entered one of the large building that had been sung into a giant tree and that led to Tialdari Hall, the throne room of the elves. She wished she could join the other elves on their sword fighting and archery practice and even the singing practice but that was not possible. The matters of the state needed her daily attention and the other elven lords would disapprove of her not being there to solve them. As she walked, she passed groups of humans and dwarves that had come to Ellesmera since the end of the war against Galbatorix.

The elves were still very skeptical about outsiders, not trusting them, especially without searching the peoples minds, but with the help of Arya, a few humans and dwarves had been able to live in Ellesmera. As an ambassador for the humans for twenty years, she was more accustomed to the human traditions and suffering and was able to convince the other elven lords that it was a necessary step to heal the elven society and help it grow. She had gained many enemies by this action but she hoped that her decision was for the best.

As she entered Tialdari Hall, she saw the elven lords already waiting for her in the table as each and every one sat at a chair, looking like perfect statues of kings of old with their ancient beautiful faces. They all looked at her hiding their emotions although a few lords smiled as she entered and others looked at her with disappointment.

Her eyes unconsciously fell on the beautifully decorated throne. It was made of the most perfectly polished wood, and its base had roots inside the ground, as if it was a living tree. The back was made to be as comfortable as possible with the use of a soft pillow and on the side of the chair one could see perfectly carved flowers that had been drawn in a multitude of magnificent colors. Arya knew that they would all prefer if her mother was still alive and that she would never be the same as her mother at ruling the elves. Still she would try her best to be a wise queen.

"Your Highness, I am glad you have arrived!" Lord Dathedr said with a polite smile.

He was a relatively young elf, at the age of her mother who was a wise advisor, in all matters. His height was normal and he wasn't particularly muscular, but his silver hair and blue bright eyes gave him an image of wisdom and respect that other elves lacked. At the moment he was holding a piece of parchment in his hands.