The youngest elf - a short Eragon fan fiction

In the dark of the forest of Du Weldenvarden, sat a young Elven girl. Her hair was as silver as the moonbeams that shown through the leaves of the tall, old trees. Her eyes were bright, shining with youth and happiness. She was only twenty-one years old. To an elf, that’s child’s age. She was the only child in the small elf village. No one took her seriously. She felt alone, abandoned. As if no one understood her, because she was only a child. If she was so young... then why did she feel so old? It was strange to think that her parents and friends were over two hundred years older than her and she was under thirty by nine whole years. Time didn’t seem to exist in Du Weldenvarden... but to the young elf sitting under the rays of the moon, her life felt like it was going on and on with little progress.

Narda sighed with sadness. Elves usually didn’t get depressed, but Narda wasn’t like the rest of her kin. She held more feeling, more compassion than her own mother. She always could sing to the plants and trees around her. She could communicate with things that no other child elf could. At the fragile age of three, she could create a wooden sculpture in the walls of her bed room.

Just as she sang then, she sang now. Her words rose into the leaves and the wood of the trees around her, clear and smooth. Her voice was soft and sweet, sadness resonating within her words. The tree she sat on, molded and grew around her. Narda let the bark rise on either side of her, moving up behind her. She let her head fall back and rest on the back of the wooden chair she was creating.

Her voice still soft and yet loud at the same time, she wove the arm rests around and around until it created a twisted wooden arm rest. She sighed when she was done. The chair looking magnificent. She looked at it now, with sad eyes. The back of the chair was perfect, just as she had envisioned, even more splendid in fact.

The trees were her friends. They were her only friends, it seemed. She made her home here. In the densest part of the forest just outside her village. The walls were high and beautiful, carvings, naturally sung of course, revealed her darkest feelings. Dragons flew all about the ceiling. Elves with long flowing hair, dragons with fire coming forth their mouths.

Narda was especially proud of her bedroom. The bed was large, a large post wound up from the floor and into the ceiling, spiraling out at the top in branches that disappeared through the ceiling and out of the roof. Her bedroom led into a small washroom that Narda spent her mornings in. She had sung a mirror into the wall, where she could fix her hair every morning. A large dip in the floor with a spout above it stood as a washing tub.

There was a small room, just off from the living room, that stood for a kitchen. That was were she prepared her food. As with all elves, Narda never killed a living animal. She hated to kill plants, but her need for food was sometimes greater. She would make a stew from the finest potatoes and vegetables from her gardens. It was the best she could do...

Narda looked about the living room. Her chair, that she had just created, matched the couch that sat opposite her on the other wall. Her talents with wood singing was everywhere. She sang plants to grow along the walls of her house, vines that clung to every light and window. A softly trickling stream followed a rut in the floor that wound about the small living room.

She took a deep breath. The smell of forest air and wild flowers was always resident in her home. She loved the feeling of freedom that she got from living on her own. Away from the world of her peers.

The Elven girl flicked her head, her hair streaming out behind her. Another sigh escaped her pink lips. She stood from her newly created chair and smiled down at it, running a hand over the smooth bark. Her mind opened to the wonders of the wood that made her home. The bark was not "alive" as most would think, but a soft likeness of life could be felt. Narda smiled at the walls and left her home. The fresh air greeted her warmly. A soft wind rustling her green dress. Narda walked toward the village, feeling the need for Elven companionship.

Her walk was short lived, however. It didn’t take long to get back to the elf village. The village of Osilon was, if nothing else, small. Impressive, yes, but small. No more than a hundred elves lived in the small city. Every house was sung from the trees, as it was in Ellesméra, Du Weldenvarden’s capital. The houses were not as large as those in Ellesméra, but beautiful none-the-less. Narda smiled slightly, her home. The small houses were hidden within the largest of the trees. Gardens sprouted from everywhere. Flowers of every species lived here, some created by the most talented of elves.

The city looked, as usual, empty, but as Narda walked through the city, she caught glimpses of her peers. From between two trees sat Kilar, the best Elven cook in Osilon. Kilar smiled at her as Narda touched two fingers to her lips in the traditional elf greeting.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin." Narda smiled with friendliness as she spoke.

Kilar nodded and spoke next, "Mor’ranr lífa unin hjarta onr." Narda finished the most formal of Elven greetings, "Un du evar ínya ono varda."

Narda walked forward and embraced her childhood friend, though Kilar was much older than her, Narda considered Kilar as her best friend, he helped raise her as a child.

"Kvertha fricai! You honor me, Narda, with the most formal greeting." His smile was large and his eyes twinkled with friendship. Narda returned the smile, happy to see her friend.

"Kilar, you deserve it." her smile matched the happiness in her eyes.

"Narda." Kilar said, grasping Narda’s arm with warm recognition, "I haven’t seen you in many weeks. What have you been up to?" Narda hesitated. Though they were friends, it wasn’t elf custom to pry into an another’s personal life. Kilar recognized his folly and bowed his head in apology.

"I am sorry, Narda. I should not have pried..." Narda shook her head, smiling once again.

"Old friend, you have always been there for me and I trust you above all else. I do, Kilar-elda, trust you," her words, which she spoke in the Ancient Language meaning she could not lie, made Kilar’s eyes glisten. He nodded, looking down.

"To answer your question," Narda continued, "I have been lonely in my home. I spend all day singing to the trees that make my walls, ceiling, and floor. I ask the plants to grow about my window sill and make beautiful carvings about my bed, but what is the point, Kilar-elda? Why do I work so tirelessly singing to my home, trying to make it as beautiful as possible, when there is no one to see it? There is a part of me, dear friend, that begs for companionship." Her eyes bore into Kilar’s, showing him the window into her soul. She still spoke in the Ancient Language, meaning her worries were true. Kilar thought for a long moment, considering her words. At last, he sighed and smiled reassuring his friend.

"Come, child, into my home, where we can talk more privately." Kilar led Narda down the garden path and onto the street. He opened the door to his home, which melded into the largest tree on the street, the bark rough on Narda’s hand as she walked inside.

The room was dark from lack of light. Kilar did not believe in artificial things, especially light. He walked to a small hole in the wall next to the front door. His hand rose, palm up, and blew across his palm into the small hollow. A greenish light appeared inside. Narda smiled up at her friend. Kilar was always a mysterious elf. He cooked for hours without tiring and always faster than any other elf in Osilon. Other elves didn’t like how Kilar cooked, with gramarye or as the humans called it, magic. They felt it was an abomination. Narda liked to tease him when she was younger.

"I thought you didn’t like anything ‘imitation’?"

"Well I don’t"

"How come you use gramarye when you cook, then?"

"That’s different"

"No it’s not..."

"Yes it is"

"nut uh"

Narda smiled in remembrance as Kilar handed her a hot cup of herbal tea. She sipped the warm liquid, letting it sooth her throat and warming her whole body down to her very bones. She looked at Kilar as he sat down in his favorite chair across from her. Narda sat down at the couch and took a deep breath. She loved Kilar’s house. It was so cozey, and memories of her childhood stood out everywhere. Narda’s eyes drifted up to the spiral wood staircase that led to the study.

Narda’s eyes closed as she remembered how she would bug Kilar to play with her. He would be alone among his many scrolls, hunched over, his black hair in a pony tail, and a very young Narda would wander in as quietly as she could, creeping along until she came up behind her two hundred and fifty-eight year old friend.

"Boo!" she would exclaim, though Kilar would never jump. Instead he would smile down at her, over his shoulder and then shake his head, going back to his reading. Narda would smile a very sly smile and jump up as far as she could and grab his shoulders, scrambling up the back of the chair, trying to get as high as she could. Kilar never got impatient. Narda would beg and plead and all Kilar would do was ask her, politely, to leave him alone. Though the young elf was sad, she would nod and leave the room, quietly.

"So... Narda. Please go on with your plea." Kilar said after a few moments of silence. Narda nodded, setting her tea down.

"Not a ‘plea’, dear Kilar, but a friend going to another asking for advice. I don’t know where to go from here, Kilar! I yearn for so much more. I am the only elf my age in this whole village! No other elf exists that can be my companion. All elves think of me as a child, but I am not a child, Kilar. I am an elf-maid, now. A full grown elf woman! I am fully grown, though my ears have not quite grown to their full length... but, my parents-" she was cut off. Kilar cleared his throat and Narda fell silent.

"Narda, my dear friend. I have known you, your whole life. I knew your parents, as well. Jínea, your father, was my closest friend. He was the only other child over two hundred years ago. Ilandì was very much older than your father and yet, they still found love in one another. By giving birth to you, Narda, they committed the highest form of love possible! Is that what you yearn for?"

Narda nodded. Her want for a companion was so great she could not speak further. They remained quiet for a while after that. Narda sipped her tea, trying to make herself speak.

Finally, "That is why I came, Kilar-elda. I need advice."

Kilar nodded slowly and wisely. Setting his mug down, Kilar closed his eyes in deep thought. Narda recognized Kilar’s way of thinking. She bit her lip in waiting. Narda never was one to be patient like other elves. She took a quiet deep breath and looked down at her hands.

The moments seemed to drag by, leaving Narda in a frantic edge. All she wanted was to be able to peek into Kilar’s mind and read what he thought. She bit her lip again, staring at the calm face of the elf before her. Resisting the urge to sigh loudly, she drank the rest of her tea and took another deep breath.

When Kilar finally stirred, Narda looked up suddenly, anxious of his words that he had not even uttered yet. He picked up his tea, took one drink and finished it and then smiled at Narda, who couldn’t even smile back. All she wanted to say was "well!?" but she knew better. Though Kilar was her friend, he was still her superior.

"Narda," he said softly with an air of sorrow for her predicament, "You know how uncommon companionship between elves is. It’s very hard to find someone who wants to share so much with you and forget about age differences. You are the youngest in the village, Narda. Everyone is at least a hundred and fifty years older than you." Narda nodded, knowing his words were true.

He continued, "So Narda, I think you’re only solution is to get away from here. Go somewhere, like you’ve always dreamed. Go to Ellesméra or Kirtan and find companionship there. I am sorry, but what you seek cannot be found here."

Narda let a tear fall from her youthful hazel eyes. Her biggest, wildest dream was always to go somewhere else. Somewhere where she could find adventure, but the thought never went beyond her own dreams. She knew she would miss her parents, always wanting to return home. In that, she knew she was a child. She could never leave her home, because she knew, she knew she would never truly leave.

Narda finished her visit with Kilar. Exchanging pleasantries with a smile and chatting happily about their gardens and how Narda has accomplished in singing her home. Some time later, Narda left Kilar’s home. She hugged him warmly as she left. Kilar was always there for her. She teased with him one last time.

"You better watch out, Kilar-elda, you’re hair may grow grey in the years to come." Kilar laughed.

"Oh, but I am still young, dear Narda! I may be almost 300 years old, but I am still younger than almost everyone in this city," Narda’s smile was large as she left the elf on his front step and started down the street toward her home.

It was late, much later. Though the moon was shining on her when she entered her home town to visit with her friend, the night was so much darker, it would make a human stumble in the blackness, but to an elf, it was nothing. Her vision was keen and she saw every rock and branch in her way. As she entered her house, Narda considered Kilar’s words.

She changed into proper sleeping garments and snuggled into her unique bed and fell into the sleeping trance all elves had instead of sleep. Her dreams were vivid and clear as well as her mind was aware of everything going on around her. Since she lived alone, very alone, nothing happened in her home, so she slept long and peacefully.