631"Eragon made sure everyone recognized what you did for the dwarves," Arya said, wheeling Harry through Tarnag. Everywhere they went, the crowded streets hushed, people crowding and craning their necks to catch a glimpse. Nobody approached. That was just as well, for Harry regarded this awe with a poorly hidden weariness.
"You are a hero in his retelling," Arya assured him. "Eragon credits you with Durza's death, and claims he was there merely to strike the final blow. They are calling him Shadeslayer. I imagine they might call you that as well occasionally."
Harry's mood darkened, so Arya switched topics. "King Hrothgar has already sent scout to assess Orthiad as a suitable replacement for Tronjheim while it is rebuilt."
She wheeled his chair down to the lakeside by the edge of Tarnag. The Beors huddled around the lake and its valley, farmland climbing high up the mountainsides on terraces. Stout, sturdy boats patrolled the azure water. A pleasant breeze wafted off the lake, chasing away the smell of an extremely overpopulated city.
Harry's lips quirked. He was not very expressive, and winced often when smiling. "Only the dwarves would have another abandoned gigantic city laying around to live in after their first one was destroyed."
"Only dwarves," Arya agreed.
"They're going to rebuild?" he asked.
She rolled him along a walkway by the piers. "Firm plans are hard to come by right now. King Hrothgar's crown is wobbling on his head and he has not publicly committed to restoring Tronjheim, but I have been around dwarves long enough to know it will happen eventually."
"That's good, right?"
The breeze wafted over Harry. It was odd to see him bald, his hair incinerated in the aftermath of Misha's betrayal.
"I think so," Arya mused. "They would never have chosen to start over themselves, but now I am curious to see what they will do on their second try. They will make it grander than the last; pride in their race runs deep in the dwarves."
"A lot was lost." Harry's chin dipped to his chest.
"Nothing that cannot be replaced, thanks to you," Arya reminded him.
She parked Harry's wheelchair by a bench and sat down next to him. He stared out over the water for a while, watching the boats drift across the surface, emblazoned sails catching the breeze. It reminded her of Silthrim, standing on the shore of Lake Ardwen.
"What's happened since I've been out?" he asked finally. "Really. You can't expect me to believe the dwarves are taking the destruction of Tronjheim in stride."
Arya sighed. "Of course they aren't. But compared to other historical disasters of this scale, the dwarves are doing miraculously well. Nobody is starving to death thanks to you. Housing is a struggle, but the Varden has lent many of their tents to the refugees–"
"What about Ajihad?" Harry interrupted. She paused. He was determined to be in a sour mood.
"Succession was fairly simple," Arya told him. "Brom founded the Varden, he's still alive and well, so everyone expects the mantle to pass onto him. He is fulfilling Ajihad's duties right now. I know he intends to accompany Eragon to Ellesmera to train, but he has a proper successor in mind. Ajihad's daughter, Nasuada."
"She'll do a good job?" Harry asked. Arya thought so. Nasuada was often overlooked for her sex. Arya was not so blinded by prejudice. The girl was sharp, cunning, savvy, and above all committed to the cause. There were few others she thought could do a better job than Nasuada, and all of them were political creatures she did not trust as much as Nasuada to lead the Varden.
"I would be surprised if she was as capable as Ajihad," Arya said. "We were very lucky to have him. I think Nasuada will do very well, but the Varden will certainly feel his loss."
Nasuada was also…aggressive. Neither Arya nor she would miss the implications of Galbatorix's failed invasion, and the miraculously light casualties they suffered repelling it. The Varden was freshly enraged at Galbatorix, out of hiding, and out of places to hide. Galbatorix had just wasted a reserve army, lost his most powerful servant, and shown weakness to Alagaesia.
Galbatorix had presented a window of opportunity. Arya did not doubt if Nasuada was chosen, she would take the Varden on the warpath.
Arya glanced over at Harry's scarred, shiny bald head. How much did Nasuada know about him? Harry was the other major consideration. Eragon was immortal; he would actually benefit from a later war so he could train for longer. Harry was human and approaching his prime.
It was likely Harry had not fully developed his skills. It was likely that if he had more time, he could do more for the Varden, give them more advantages and prepare them better for a fight.
But their window wouldn't last forever.
Nobody knew if or when Galbatorix would present the coalition with another shot at an invasion of the Empire. If that opening took twenty years to materialize, Harry would be slowing down. Fifty, and he'd be too old to fight.
From what Eragon had told her of their battle with Durza, having him as another fighter could turn the war.
"What now?" Harry asked finally.
Arya crossed her arms. "That is Nasuada's decision."
"Your best guess?"
"I think she'll try to push the Varden to open war," Arya admitted.
Harry was quiet again.
"What about us? Eragon's got to train, right?"
Arya nodded. "He does. I'll take him to Ellesmera as soon as we can get away."
Harry frowned. "Should I stay?"
She let out a long sigh. It was a fair question. Harry's logistical aid would be immeasurably valuable, not only in helping the dwarves recover from losing Tronjheim, but for the Varden potentially mobilizing towards the Empire.
"You're injured," Arya observed, hoping for an excuse to materialize that would make it obvious Harry ought to come with her.
"I'd rather go with you," Harry admitted. "They have food and armor already. Do you think we'll be back before the Varden starts having battles?"
Arya nodded. "Even if Eragon is not, I will be. We also have better healers in Ellesmera than the Varden."
Harry nodded to himself. "Then I'll go with you."
They watched the lake for a while longer before Harry grew restless. He turned to her, wincing as his neck moved.
"Who would you ask to find a specific person in the Varden?" He asked.
Arya suggested the quartermaster. She offered to help him, but Harry refused, shaking his head. He drew his wand and tapped the wheels of his wheelchair. The wheelchair rolled off of its own accord, driving him up to Ûndin's manor to speak with the Varden's administration.
Eragon was on duty fetching food from the isolated workshop, so Arya had nothing better to do than follow Harry at a distance. He emerged from Ûndin's manor a few minutes later and headed to the outskirts of Tarnag, wading through crowds of admirers that parted before him. Arya watched him stop several times to heal someone wounded from the battle or simply from life, halting to mend a gash or instruct someone to unwind their bandages and find unblemished skin.
For a man who did not seem to enjoy the legend that followed him, Harry had no problem feeding that legend. Arya ran along the rooftops on his trail. She tailed him outside of Tarnag and into the tent city outside the walls. The tents themselves had been pitched according to some order, but the people themselves cleaved to no intelligible patterns. Tens of thousands of refugees milled about, congregating in the aisles between rows of tents, standing around campfires, fetching food and water, living amongst the throngs.
He stopped at a tent and knocked on one of the posts. A man emerged, some time in his late thirties. Harry spoke with him for a moment. Arya was too far to hear or read lips, but she could see the grief plainly on both their faces.
Harry raised an arm from his wheelchair. A chair appeared for the older man to sit at. A pair of young girls came out of the tent then. Harry turned to greet them, his back facing towards her now.
There was some hostility from the man. The little girls started crying. Arya heard indistinct shouts from the older man, accompanied by jerky motions and angry, grieving expressions. Several minutes later, Harry bade the man and the girls farewell and turned back towards Tarnag. His cheeks were raw and reddened, his expression exhausted and grief-stricken.
Arya hurried away before he caught sight of her.
Eragon ducked under a swinging lantern and took Zar'roc from behind his bedroll. Ûndin's attic was cramped, but right now, everywhere in Tarnag was. The inns were all full to bursting with two families per room, every house in the city housed the entire extended family of the owner, their other properties loaned or rented out to other refugees.
Tronjheim was so massive that the dwarves who lived there were spread out. It fooled a shallow observer into believing there were far fewer total people living there. Here in Tarnag, it was clear just how many dwarves Tronjheim had housed.
Brom's head popped up by the trapdoor down to the top floor. "Eragon. Ready?"
"Aye," Eragon grunted, bending low to walk to the ladder. "Let's go."
Ûndin was their host, a heavyset dwarf of a heavyset race, he was built like a slab of muscle with enough refinement and good grooming to fit in among the nobles. Though he governed his clan, Clan Ragni Hefthyn, from his manor, and the estate was built to house an entire administration, it was not intended to house the governance of the entire dwarven nation, which it was currently struggling to do, bursting at the seams with King Hrothgar's advisors, other clan leaders and dignitaries, as well as Varden administrators and staff.
That Eragon had been given any space in the house at all was a remarkable display of prestige, even if it was just an attic. He knew of plenty of very important people, including Trianna, who had not rated highly enough to get a corner or patch of ground for a bedroll.
He followed in Brom's wake, shouldering past dozens of humans and dwarves passing by on the way to a private dining room. There were some twenty people inside, seated around the long, oval table.
Brom indicated a handful of empty seats. Harry was there as well. It was the first time he'd seen the wizard awake since he'd gone off to try and save one of his staff after the fire. He looked nothing like the chipper, handsome and mischievous man Eragon knew.
"Shadeslayer," Jörmundur murmured, nodding. "If any magician here knows precautions against eavesdropping, I urge you to employ them now. What we speak of is for our ears only."
Harry and Brom both took a minute to mutter under their breaths. A guard shut the door from outside.
"Is Arya not coming?" Eragon wondered.
"This is a matter for the Varden alone to discuss," a woman said. "I am Elisare, of the Council of Elders."
"Falberd," a man echoed. "Also of the Council."
"Sabrae, of the Council,"
"Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad."
"Jörmundur, of the Council and military right hand of Ajihad."
"Umérth, of the Council."
"Trianna, head of Du Vrangr Gata,"
And on it went.
"Brom, Leader emeritus of the Varden, Rider emeritus," Brom introduced himself when the table reached him.
"Eragon." He projected calm as he spoke his name, hiding his nerves at the twenty odd sets of very important eyes lingering on him. "Rider."
"Harry," Harry said next. His voice was weak yet carried unnaturally well in the large dining room. "Wizard."
There was a moment of quiet while everyone digested each other's names and titles, then Brom took command of the meeting. "We were betrayed," he said without preamble.
Few people at the table seemed surprised. These were the best connected, best informed people in the Varden, Eragon reminded himself.
Brom's presence switched from grumpy old storyteller to commanding, wizened and powerful ancient warrior. It was yet another facet of his father Eragon had never seen.
"The twins have proven themselves traitors beyond any doubt," he went on. "Naturally, this is perhaps the worst possible outcome of a betrayal, since they examined the minds of newcomers and were trusted with extremely privileged information, thus they had access to virtually every secret the Varden and its people had.
"They were aided and abetted by a cartographer named Misha, who was working for Harry. During the invasion, one of the twins brought Ajihad to Harry's workshop under the pretext of healing a minor wound Ajihad suffered, and ambushed him there," Brom explained. "Suffice to say, their betrayal ran deeper than this, and we are only now putting together a true picture of how deeply they have harmed our cause. We're here to attend to a more pressing matter."
Brom paused for a moment. Eragon would have smiled in exasperation if the situation wasn't so deadly serious. Brom was a storyteller at heart.
"Ajihad is gone. Almost certainly in Uru'baen by now. The Varden will need a new leader. It seems unlikely Ajihad will be rescued before the end of this war, so it will not be an interim position. And," Brom forestalled rising voices with a hand, "It will not be me. I have other roles to play in this war."
Everyone in the room began eyeing each other. Like a pack of jackals, Eragon thought. The power up for grabs was like a prime steak dropped in the middle of the herd.
Better just to fight over it, Saphira sniffed.
Eragon smiled bemusedly at the idea of some of the old, out of shape connivers going at it with closed fists. Harry seemed marginally annoyed by the proceedings. He was very egalitarian, Eragon knew. From what he'd heard of Harry's world, democracy was very important to governance there.
More than a few eyes slid to Nasuada, who Eragon noted was looking much more timid than when he'd met her briefly. He was rather surprised to note that people were looking to him, too. Harry was getting his fair share of glances as well.
"Are we voting?" Harry rasped. It was unnerving to hear such a quiet voice so clearly in his ears. Eragon shivered.
"Why not?" Eragon said quickly, backing his motion.
"I am sure we can come to an agreement without such crude methods–" Elisare tried with a matronly smile.
"It's fair," Brom grunted. "We'll do last place elimination until two candidates remain."
It was hard, Eragon reflected, to argue with the heroes of the day. It felt undemocratic to force the table into voting. Could democracy be undemocratic? If it was founded on–
Pay attention, Saphira chided. Eragon refocused on the present.
"-Jörmundur," the quartermaster was saying. Eragon had already forgotten his name. Either way, Harry seemed happy enough with that suggestion, nodding "He commands the army, and Ajihad described him as his right hand man–"
"In military matters only," Jörmundur said carefully. There were many poorly hid signs of relief around the table. "He certainly never asked my opinion on matters of politics or leadership. Nor did I give them; I know my skills are narrow. I serve the Varden best in my current role."
He seemed genuine. Eragon wondered if, given the chance, Jörmundur would have actually tried to put his name forward. It was hard to tell when the table was surrounded by liars. He was vaguely familiar with who had introduced themselves as Council members, and each of them looked relieved to hear Jörmundur's refusal.
"The Varden will respond best to a figure they already know," Trianna spoke up. "I would put Eragon's name forward for consideration."
Eragon was poleaxed. "Me?" He cleared his throat. "I have not committed to joining the Varden, much less leading it. And I have no leadership experience. I would be a terrible pick."
A look of fleeting disappointment crossed Trianna's face. Why had she wanted him to lead? Despite having met her once, Eragon didn't know enough about the sorceress to really know her or guess her motivations.
"What about the wizard?" A man whose name Eragon had already forgotten spoke up. "Harry."
Harry's lips twitched. "Like Brom, I will be too busy to lead and manage the Varden. I'm honored that you've considered me though, considering half of you learned my name for the first time ten minutes ago. I think we're circling around the most likely contender. I understand Nasuada learned under her father and has spent her life working to help the Varden already, and in a political role rather than a martial one."
Nasuada sent Harry a fleeting smile.
"Why did you support my name, then?" Jörmundur asked.
Harry shrugged and immediately regretted it, grimacing in agony. He took a breath. "From all I've seen, it seems like the Varden has a chance to go on the offensive. A military leader would be useful."
That set off a round of muttering around the table.
"A leader must be more than a commander," Jörmundur said. "And whoever is chosen will have a commander."
That set off discussions of the Varden's offensive capabilities and whether or not they really were about to bring the war to the Empire. Harry was right that the idea was floating around among the Varden's leadership, but plenty had not ever seriously considered all the consequences of that. Without a home to return to under Farthen Dûr, the idea had a lot of traction. They had to go somewhere, why not to battle?
Eventually, the discussion circled back to who should make that decision (Harry seemed to want to say 'everyone' very badly, but held his tongue) and who should lead the Varden. Nasuada was the only real consideration. Eragon cottoned onto what his father was doing and what Harry was supporting him in doing. They were trying to push the decision to happen immediately and deny all the snakes at the table the chance to politick and put someone unsuitable forward.
Nasuada seemed like the only person at the table who wasn't leashed by something, the only one who could claim to inherit Ajihad's position, and the only one not transparently foaming at the mouth at the idea of all the power she stood to gain in the meeting.
Thus it was unsurprising when, come to a vote, Nasuada was basically the only person anyone voted for. Eragon got a couple of votes, Brom got three, but Nasuada won sixteen and handily swept the election by a margin that left follow up rounds of voting unnecessary.
Harry said goodbye to Arya.
"Call me if you need help," she said, lingering in the doorway a moment. Harry nodded. "I'll be fine."
She eyed him for a moment as if judging if she believed him. Then she disappeared down the hall.
"Milady," he heard Arya's voice say, surprised.
"Is he available?" A vaguely familiar female voice asked.
"A question for him," Arya responded. "Congratulations."
"Thank you. I look forward to working with you."
The more the other woman talked, the surer he was of her identity. He'd hardly heard her voice except for when she accepted–
Nasuada rounded the doorway and leaned against the frame.
"Nasuada. Hullo," Harry said. He waved the Elder Wand and neatened up the room. The covers on his bed straightened, the papers on his desk stacked themselves in neat piles.
"If you're busy–" Nasuada apologized.
Harry shook his head as far as he could without hurting the burns on his neck. A barely perceptible motion. "I'm sure you'll be busier than me very soon."
"You put my name forward in that meeting," she said. "I came to thank you."
Harry tilted his head. Even that motion made his burns flare up. "You're, uh, welcome. I think you were going to win no matter what in there."
She tilted her head. "I wasn't that confident. You forced the vote. I did not have to do any maneuvering to position myself as the frontrunner. And you did not give anyone else time to put a challenger forward."
Harry put down his journal and levitated it onto his desk. His mental magic was getting a workout now that it hurt to move his hand even just to gesture for his spells. He was mastering Arya's fairth spell as well, as a replacement for handwriting.
Nasuada watched it float away with wasn't comfortable around magic. Harry knew what that unease looked like very well in a person.
"What now?" Harry asked. "Arya thought you'd want to take the Varden on the offensive."
"Is that why you wanted me?" Nasuada asked, smiling faintly.
"Kinda, yeah," Harry nodded, wincing. He had Ursa to thank for that position. She had given him something to think about after that dinner with the whole staff at the workshop; when this war was over, magic and technology would transform the lives of everyone in Alagaesia.
Being around the Varden had given him new perspective on the cold war the Varden was fighting with Galbatorix. The King was at least keeping up the pretense of civility with his subjects. It was very different to talk with people who'd seen Morzan in person and knew friends and family who were murdered by him. It was very different to speak with dwarves mourning their home, and it was different to live amongst people whose lives were devoted to this cause, who prayed to see a day where Galbatorix was gone.
How could he tell those people not to seize this chance, take this shot at a world free of tyranny? Not everyone had the privilege of immortality. There were plenty of people who had been born and died while Galbatorix ruled. Galbatorix was not oppressive to the common folk of the Empire. He was oppressive to everyone else. Dwarves, elves, magicians, dragons, they all waited for a chance to see him gone.
Like it or not, Harry had seen the relative populations of the races. The Varden did not outnumber the dwarves, but they dwarfed the elves, and it was an open secret that Surda would back them in an open war. Humans were the most populous race in Alagaesia, commanded the most territory, and ultimately it was a human sitting on the human throne that Alagaesia wanted gone. The Varden had to make the first move.
"The elves and the dwarves aren't about to invade the Empire alone," Harry said finally. "I think we've got a shot right now. Maybe it's selfish, but I want to see this war finished. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder for Galbatorix for the rest of my life. And maybe it's naive of me, but the dwarves lost their home; maybe if the Empire was a bit more friendly to nonhumans, they'd find places to live there, too. The elves used to live there once, too."
Having witnessed a world where magic and muggles were strictly separated, Harry had some sympathy for the problem Galbatorix was trying to solve with oppression. Harry wanted to see what a world without the Statute looked like. Maybe he was already looking at it, but he had hope that Alagaesia could do better.
Nasuada entered his room the rest of the way. She pulled the door shut behind her. Harry tightened his fingers around the Elder Wand and cast privacy charms.
"We won't be overheard," he promised.
"Sharp," Nasuada appraised. "My father spoke of you with exasperation."
Harry winced. "Sorry. I don't like the idea of groveling. I liked him a lot. I'll miss him. I'm sorry for your loss."
"He also spoke of you with respect," Nasuada added. "I thank you for your condolences. Ajihad thought you were our greatest asset in winning this war. After familiarizing myself with all you've accomplished, I think he is underselling you, if anything."
Harry smiled faintly. "I have a lot of ideas, not much time, and," he tapped the arm of his wheelchair, "I'm in no shape to pursue them." Nasuada was displeased to hear that. Harry watched her carefully.
"I have heard that Eragon intends to go to the elves to complete his training, and that you are close with Arya. Do you intend to accompany them?"
He wondered what her angle was. She obviously wanted him to stay. Harry decided he'd try to persuade her. "The elves can help me recover faster," he pointed out. "Arya intends to return before the war starts in earnest, and I'll come back with her. Even if I am not here with my team, I will still work on my projects."
Nasuada sighed. "I feared as much."
"I'm sorry." Harry shrugged.
She stared at him. "I look at your injuries and think you easily could have died, Harry Evans. I worry you are not respecting your own power appropriately. As we speak, your magic is keeping tens of thousands alive by growing food and enabling it to be transported here to Tarnag. You are irreplaceable in this war, moreso even than Eragon is."
"Thanks," Harry said awkwardly. "The elves are sure to get me back into shape."
Her gaze lingered. "How do you think of me as a leader?"
Harry wasn't sure. "I don't know you, really. I think you'll be motivated by what happened to your father, Arya tells me you're devoted and you'll be good at your job. Your dad was a great leader and easy to work with. I think you'll do well."
"You preferred me over whatever candidate the usual process of politicking would have produced," Nasuada observed. "Why?"
Harry blew through his lips. It was odd not to feel the stream of air catch on his bangs. He needed some privacy so he could call Mungo and learn how to fix his wounds. He hated being bald. It made him feel like the twins, who he tried not to think about lest the thought of them ruin the rest of his day. He examined Nasuada. The woman didn't give much away.
"I don't know you," Harry said, finally. "But I'd trust a stranger before I trust a politician."
Nasuada let out a peal of laughter.
She caught her breath, grinning. "Apologies. I've never heard something so honest." She gave a self deprecating shrug. "Politician."
Harry grinned. "Something tells me you're different."
Nasuada sobered. "If you mean that you trust me, I have to ask if you'll support me."
Hadn't he supported her already? Harry had put her name forward and helped Brom railroad the rest of the group into voting straight away. "I did. I do."
Nasuada shook her head. "From now on. I played the naive child in there in hopes of getting the nomination from a council that underestimated me. The Council of Elders was always going to try to control me. I need to be seen as powerful enough on my own to overrule them."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Was Ajihad beholden to them?"
"Hardly," Nasuada scoffed. "They occasionally made themselves useful in giving advice or in handling situations that required more attention than my father was able to give. However, given the opportunity to seize more power, they are, after all, politicians. If they are not reined in, they will undermine the Varden and I stepping on each other, grasping for power."
Harry did not like Nasuada's request. After his fifth year, Minister Fudge needed to go. That he had seen the writing on the wall and resigned would not have mattered. Whatever governmental force kicked Ministers out on their arses, after Voldemort's public return, Harry would bet they had been winding their legs up. Being beholden to someone was what kept people leashed to the best interests of the people they were leading. The Council of Elders seemed like a fair check on the leader of the Varden's power. Asking for him to break their power over her did not sit right with him.
"I think it's a good thing that someone with absolute power has a force to hold them responsible," Harry said mildly.
Nasuada blinked, taken aback. "Oh?" She had clearly not expected that answer.
Harry nodded. "Yeah, I do. I've seen a well-meaning but foolish man do loads of damage with his position. I don't like the idea of someone wanting to get rid of the only thing holding them back before they're even in office."
"Ah." Nasuada leaned back, realizing. "I understand. I am more concerned with the Council interfering with how I run the Varden than if they want to remove me from my position. They will try to say I don't have the power to make certain decisions, vote to overrule me when it suits their ends, fight with each other to empower their own positions, and make it impossible for me to have a unifying, commanding role in the Varden."
Harry tilted his head. "If not them, who holds you accountable?"
She paused for a moment. "I don't know. Do you think they're the right group for the job?"
Harry sighed. He did not know. He did not know anything about the Council of Elders. He'd barely met Jörmundur while they planned Tronjheim's defenses. He'd never even heard the names of the other members. He did not know if Nasuada was telling the truth. She could be lying through her pretty smile and genial demeanor, poised to seize advantage of whatever help Harry gave her to install herself as all powerful, unimpeachable ruler of the Varden.
The problem was that the reasonable woman standing before him might not be the one leading the Varden years down the line. Harry was not just cutting this Nasuada's leash, he was giving her free reign even far into the future.
But if he had to choose, Harry was inclined to trust his gut again. The Order of the Phoenix had lost basically all of its direction the moment Dumbledore died. Even with many strong leaders among the much diminished organization, everyone was aimless except for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were still following Dumbledore's leadership from beyond the grave.
The truth was that people needed a strong leader in war. And though he had no way to prove his hunch, Harry ultimately thought Nasuada seemed like a good person. It was not much in the way of assurances, but it would have to do.
"Fine," Harry sighed. "I think you're a decent person, Nasuada. Just make sure you're still like that in five years."
Nasuada gave him a solemn nod. "I shall."
AN: I am preempting comments of how Dumbledore could be much older than seventy and still be a legendary fighter, and the discussions about how much slower wizards age, by pointing out that Arya knows none of this, and is basing her expectations on her many years living among humans and dwarves. Normal humans don't fight at seventy years old unless they're Chuck Norris or Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Thanks to Scarze for beta'ing this chapter