I stood at the edge of the training field, arms crossed, unable to look away.
Percy Jackson moved like water, sometimes a raging river, other times a smooth flowing stream, his sword flashing in impossible arcs. Kael lunged; Percy simply wasn't there, then reappeared behind him, blade resting lightly at the elf's throat. A heartbeat later, the same happened to Eragon. No wasted motion, no arrogance—just effortless, terrifying skill. His body was lean but powerfully muscled, the kind of strength earned in real battle, not elven drills. Something ancient and untamed clung to him, like the scent of ocean storms.
Beside him, Annabeth fought with a different kind of style. Her gray eyes catalogued every angle, every weakness, before her opponent even moved. When she struck, it was surgical, her bone dagger finding gaps no one else saw. Her mind was the sharper weapon; even I felt the chill of it.
I approached once the sparring ended. Percy wiped sweat from his brow, laughing at something Annabeth muttered. I inclined my head. "Your skill honors the Riders."
Percy grinned. "Thanks. You're Arya, right? Queen's daughter, and the um, I feel like there was one more thing..."
"Maybe if you paid attention..." Annabeth teased.
I met Annabeth's gaze. "Your husband fights as though the sea itself guides his blade."
She relaxed, a small smile tugging her lips. "He does. And I'd hate to ruin that pretty face if anyone got ideas."
Percy snorted. "Wise Girl's possessive. It's cute."
Heat rose to my cheeks—an unwelcome rarity. I bowed slightly. "I must report to the queen. She wishes updates on all three of you."
Annabeth's expression turned thoughtful with this new information, and she and Percy walked to their dragons.
I turned and strode through the glowing paths, pine needles silent beneath my boots. Percy's laughter and the low rumble of Furnöst's reply followed me like an echo. Three Riders. Two of them were well-versed in the ancient language and gifted in combat. I sighed, knowing my mother would want every detail.
After a thankfully shortened retelling of what I had gathered, I hastened to Oromoris' house to view their training, riding a horse that reminded me too much of my noble steed, Folkvír.
I crossed the threshold of Oromis-elda's dwelling and, as ever, the living artistry of the place stole the breath from my lungs. Pines had been sung into arches so delicate they seemed spun of moonlight; crystal windows refracted the sun into a thousand gentle rainbows; every beam and buttress flowed as though the forest itself had chosen to become a house rather than surrender its life. Here dwelt wisdom older than the eldest oaks.
Within the open training glade, the three Riders moved through the Rimgar beneath Oromis's watchful eye. Eragon strove with earnest grace, yet his gaze strayed too often toward me as I observed their lesson, scattering his focus like leaves upon the wind. I kept my countenance serene, though inwardly I sighed. His heart remained a tangled thing, and it hindered him and even if I felt... I shook my head not willing to go down that road.
Annabeth Chase, however, danced the forms as though she had been born to them. Each step was measured, and precise, clearly deserving of admiration. When she spoke, her voice carried the measured cadence of one who had studied the tongues of scholars and the rhetoric of senates.
"Master Oromis," she said, completing a flawless spiral parry, "might we advance to the seventh sequence? The sixth yields little challenge now."
Oromis inclined his silver head, a rare glint of approval in his eyes. "Thou have exceeded my expectations Annabeth Chase. You and Percy may proceed."
I stepped to Glaedr's great golden flank, the ancient dragon resting upon the moss like a living monument. His mind brushed mine, warm and vast as summer skies.
How fare the young ones, Elda Glaedr? I asked him mentally.
Shorai and Furnöst grow apace, he answered, pride rumbling beneath the words. They bear their Riders aloft with steady wing, breathe fire that scorches stone, and already grasp the rudiments of aerial warfare. I drill them daily in the history of our kind: the fall of the Forsworn, the Pact, the Banishing. Their minds are quicksilver.
I rested a hand upon the warm scales of his foreleg. "The Queen's scholars seek spells to hasten their growth further. Should the Varden call, we would have them ready for whatever comes their way."
Glaedr's eye, molten gold, regarded me. Haste is ever the enemy of wisdom, yet these are perilous days. Tell the queen the dragons shall be formidable when the leaves turn gold again.
From the glade came Annabeth's voice once more, clear and courteous, yet edged with iron resolve: "If it please thee, Master Oromis, might we essay the ninth form against live steel? Theory is a poor substitute for truth proven in clash and counter-clash."
Percy laughed, low and fond. "Translation: she wants to hit me harder."
Annabeth's answering smile was as sharp as any blade. "What better way to learn, Seaweed Brain?"
I concealed my own faint smile behind an impassive mask. These two were storm and lightning clothed in mortal guise, and the ancient pines of Du Weldenvarden trembled, preparing for greatness.
Annabeth's POV
———————————⁄ ⁄ A month later ⁄ ⁄———————————
Then Oromis gathered us beneath the Menoa Tree and spoke of the Agaetí Blödhren—the century-once celebration of the Pact between elves and dragons. Every elf would offer a creation of beauty or wisdom, and of course, every Rider was expected to bring or make something.
I spent nights planning. Percy, predictably, wanted to "wing it." I refused to let us embarrass ourselves in front of the elven society. My gift: a living riddle-tree. I found a small tree with silver petals and a dark oak trunk and shrunk it down to fit in a porcelain pot that would levitate. I said a couple of complex spells to get it working and had Percy and our dragons admire it as I stood, proud of my accomplishment. One riddle at a time would appear on the petals; solve it, and the next would blossom in its place.
Percy's contribution totally represented him: a column of water that never touched the ground, endlessly sculpting itself, constantly creating new folds and shifting around. The sculpture just by itself was astonishing but the fact that it moved and floated was even more amazing!
"Wanna see the best part?" Percy asked me as I stared in surprise at his beautiful master piece. I nodded and he shouted "Brisingr!" and suddenly fire appeared inside the water, flowing opposite of the water like a living snake, reminding me a bit to much of Tartarus.
Seeing my face, he waved his hand and the fire disappeared, and he hugged me tight, comforting me.
Shorai refused to tell me hers. "You'll see, Annie," she teased, curling her tail smugly. I hated surprises, and even more infuriating, she had adopted one of my least favorite nicknames. I wonder who she got it from!!?!?!? Probably some stuck-up boy boy *Cough* Percy *Cough*.
The morning of the celebration, the elves arrived breathless with news. Their scholars had perfected a growth-accelerant—tested on forest drakes, and wyrms—promising its safety. They would put it into the dragons' dinner tonight.
Percy frowned. "You're one hundred percent sure it's safe?
The three elves stiffened as one. Lord Däthedr himself drew up to his full height, voice like winter. "We would sooner cut off our own hands than offer harm to a dragon, Pecy. Their lives are sacred to us."
Percy raised both palms. "Just checking. We're new at this whole 'dragon parent' thing."
The offense melted into understanding smiles. That night, Furnöst and Shorai devoured an entire deer with the added shimmering elixir. One week later, they started complaining of mild aches—like growing pains, Shorai said—but nothing more.
I stood on the cliff and craned my neck to meet my dragon's eyes. Shorai and Furnöst now matched Glaedr in size, wings spanning half the clearing, tails thick as ship masts. Their scales gleamed brighter, muscles rippling beneath. Shorai lowered her great head and nudged me gently.
We are ready, Annabeth, she said, voice a low thunder of pride. The sky is ours. Let's go show the world.
Percy whooped, vaulting onto Furnöst's shoulder. "Great speech there, Shorai!" he teased, causing her to send a roar of fire at Percy. Laughing Furnöst brought up one of his huge wings to block Percy, causing me to notice he was even greater in size than Shorai, probably because he's male.
I laughed, heart soaring higher than I had ever gone before, content and happy with the world.
A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but hopefully you're all enjoying it!
Words: 1417