Chapter Fifteen: Legacies

“My true name...” Eragon muttered to himself as he passed through the almost deserted streets of the outskirts of Du Weldenvarden. The forest was wonderous. So vast and beautiful beyond comparison, and yet here, on the very outskirts, it was eerie. The atmosphere is different here, Saphira... Eragon thought to Saphira.

I agree, it is different. Something about the forest has changed from here on, but I can't quite put my claws on it, Saphira concurred.

The trees were taller, and so much older than even those said to be the oldest in Ellesmera. The flowers were healthy and vibrant, it was beautiful, yet so strange. Oromis had suggested they explore Du Weldenvarden while they had spare time, as Ellesmera is not all of the forest.

Still, everywhere they treaded in this section of the woods, he got a feeling of something awkward. It was familiar in some ways, and others not. From a distance, Eragon spotted a small hut hidden behind a thicket of trees and bushes. Saphira went first, making a way for Eragon. As they approached, he could see an old lady sitting on the porch. Unlike the elves, however, her house was not sung from a tree, it was built as a human would. This was beginning to make Eragon quite curious.

The lady spotted them as they pushed their way through the dense thicket, and smiled. Eragon greeted her, and said in the Ancient Language, “Hello, ma'am. Its good to see someone in this neck of the woods, but may I ask, who are you, and why are you living in the outskirts of Du Weldenvarden?”

“I have long been expecting you, Shadeslayer. Please, come in,” she replied, gesturing towards the open door. Eragon cautiously entered the hut, sitting down on a chair near the window. Her hut was small, yet somewhat relaxed. Flowers decorated the walls, pictures and faerths hung from the ceiling. “Did you know, young rider, that not all of the Grey Folk are dead?” she asked, ignoring his earlier question.

“What...?” he asked, shocked. What does she mean, Oromis said they all died... he wondered privately.

“There are only two left. Myself and...”

“Just...Just who are you?!” Eragon interrupted.

“I am Syra Drottning,” Syra answered, smiling, and then it hit Eragon.

Drottning is...Arya's family name! He exclaimed to Saphira.

I know, but what does it mean?

“That would make Arya...!”

“Correct, Arya is the daughter of my own son, King Evandar, and thus, she is the second Grey Folk.”

“I don't understand...just what do you mean exactly?” Eragon asked curiously.

“King Evandar was my son. He knew very well what he was, but he never told anyone. When he met Islanzadi, and Arya was born, we decided it was best to tell no one of his identity. Not even the Queen herself knows.”

Eragon was left speechless. It was almost inconceivable, Grey Folk still existing after the incident. And Arya... he realized. “Does Arya...?”

“Nay, she knows nothing of it, and I expect it to remain that way,” Syra replied sternly. Even as coldhearted as she had sounded, Eragon could tell she was merely looking out for them both.

“Then why did you tell me?!” he demanded.

“Because...I can see you will live long. You are a noble person, Eragon. The truth is something that must be kept, but not necessarily told. I am nearing the end, and my time here will soon be over. I am sure you will defeat Galbatorix, Eragon.”

“How?! I've never been strong enough, and I never will be!”

“Have confindence in your own abilities, Shadeslayer...Even so, perhaps there is one thing I can do for you.” Syra said quietly, almost to a whisper.

“What do you...?” he said, trailing off yet again.

“Surely, you know the difference in the power gained between knowing your true name, and not knowing it.” she said.

“Of course! Ebrithil said it made an unimaginable gap!” he exclaimed.

“Eragon, your true name is...”