Chapter 11. 1 I choose to hate pt. 1

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Time was hard to follow when there was nothing that indicated its flow. The top of the mountain, a dozen miles in the air, was broad enough to allow sunlight to pour into the hollow mountain. Tronjheim was reasonably lit during the day, so the Spartan had a moderately good idea of how much time it took the Varden to prepare everything for Nasuada's appointment as new leader. It took them the remainder of one day and then another full day to get themselves ready; a complete waste of time in his eyes.

It seemed that the troops of the Varden's army hadn't stopped with spreading rumors and gossip about him. On the contrary; everywhere he went, he heard people taking about him. They pointed and whispered and didn't make the slightest attempt to remain inaudible, as futile as that would have been either way.

"That's Spartan," a spearman whispered to an archer as the super-soldier marched past them, heading back to his watch-tower with a bag filled with medieval equipment. "They say he has slain hundreds of urgals on his own, before capturing and enslaving a Shade."

"Don't be ridiculous," the archer replied with visible agitation. "Nobody can capture a Shade. Eragon Shadeslayer was the one who killed Durza, remember?"

"Yes, but there were two Shades. I saw her, when Spartan and she were traveling through Tronjheim. Red hair, skin as white as the winter's breath. It was her alright."

"If he truly captured a Shade, what business does he have keeping her alive?"

"I heard that he has forced her to swear fealty."

The Spartan rounded the corner and ignored the rest of the conversation of the two foot soldiers. He didn't know where those rumors came from, but they were frustrating. The longer he stayed with the Varden, the larger the chances of hard questions became. The Council of Elders had probably talked about their discussions –even though they were supposed to keep it classified- as he had even heard a few soldiers whispering of him and his 'Starborn origins'.

Had they been UNSC personnel, he would have executed the Council for treason. No officer of the United Nations Space Command would gossip about the details he had heard during an important meeting. This organization was undisciplined and weak. The longer he stayed with them, the more details he made out that annoyed him.

There were two things that really made his time in the mountain bearable; Aeraleth's company and the occasional technique and word that Raia taught him. She was there to make the war easier to win and that was precisely what he was going to use her for. Her allegiance be dammed; if she could teach him how to effectively use magic, he didn't care how loyal she was. She had had plenty of opportunities to attack or maim important Varden personnel and she hadn't. Whatever that crazy mind-link had done to her, it had also created a mutual understanding between the two of them. He understood that she was an outcast to all civilizations purely based on her appearance, which had caused her to flock to the one person that had shown her kindness. It was the way humans worked. She in turn understood...what, his otherworldly origins? His duty? He didn't even know what it was that she understood about him. After years of nonstop fighting and killing, he had become completely detached from the race that he was sworn to protect. He didn't understand humans, they didn't understand him and that was fine. It was alright.

The Spartan didn't yearn for understanding or kindness and that was the difference between him and the Shade. She had explained enough for him to understand her motives and that was important to him; to know his enemy. Raia served one person and one person only and the wishes of said person had simply coincided with the wishes of Galbatorix. Whether or not Raia's mistress actually worked with the King was a completely different subject.

One that had been made impossible for her to speak about. The Shade had told him about magic and the finer workings of it; the forced truth that one had to endure when speaking in it, the results that the wrong words could yield and the way one had to speak them.

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