Sja Fram [Inheritance Cycle | Eragon Fanfiction]

Chapter XXXV: Tronjheim

Orik pointed at Tronjheim's white pinnacle. "Fresh meat and pure mountain water await you up there," he told Saphira. "You may stay in any of the caves. Once you make your choice, bedding will be laid down in it and then no one will disturb you."

"I thought we were going to stay together," Eragon protested. "I don't want to be separated."

Orik turned to face the Rider. "Rider Eragon, I will do everything to accommodate you, but it would be best Saphira waits in the dragonhold while you eat. The tunnels to the banquet halls aren't large enough for her to accompany us."

"Why can't you just bring me food in the hold?" Eragon asked.

"Because," Orik said with a guarded expression, "the food is prepared down here, and it is a long way to the top. If you wish, a servant could be sent up to the hold with a meal for you. It will take some time, but you could eat with Saphira then."

"I'll eat down here," Eragon responded, unsaddling Saphira and passing her Zar'roc. Saphira took off with an explosive leap.

As she disappeared over the rim of Tronjheim's peak, Orik let out a long breath. "Ah boy, you have been blessed indeed. I find a sudden longing in my heart for open skies and soaring cliffs and the thrill of hunting like a hawk. Still, my feet are better on the ground – preferably under it." He clapped his hands loudly. "I neglect my duties as a host. I know neither of you have eaten since that pitiful dinner the Twins so fit to give you, so come, let's find the cooks and beg meat and bread from them."

Eragon and I followed the dwarf back into Tronjheim and through a labyrinth of corridors until we came to a long room filled with rows of stone tables only tall enough for dwarves. Fires blazed in soapstone ovens behind a long counter.

Orik spoke words in an unfamiliar language to a stout ruddy-faced dwarf, who promptly handed us stone platters piled with steaming mushrooms and fish. Then Orik guided us up several flights of stairs and into a small alcove carved out of Tronjheim's outer wall, where we sat cross-legged.

Once our platters were empty, Orik sighed with contentment and pulled out a long-stemmed pipe. He lit it, saying, "A worthy repast, though it needed a good draught of mead to wash it down properly."

"Do you farm in Farthen Dûr?" Eragon asked.

Orik shook his head. "There's only enough sunlight for moss, mushrooms, and mould. Tronjheim cannot survive without supplies from the surrounding valleys, which is one reason why many of us choose to live elsewhere in the Beor Mountains."

"Then there are other dwarf cities?" I asked.

"Not as many as we would like. And Tronjheim is the greatest of them." Leaning on an elbow, Orik took a deep pull on his pipe. "You have only seen the lower levels, so it hasn't been apparent, but most of Tronjheim is deserted. The farther up you go, the emptier it gets. Entire floors have remained untouched for centuries. Most dwarves prefer to dwell under Tronjheim and Farthen Dûr in the caverns and passageways that riddle the rock. Through the centuries, we have tunnelled extensively under the Beor Mountains. It is possible to walk from one end of the mountain range to the other without ever setting foot on the surface."

"It seems like a waste to have all that unused space in Tronjheim," Eragon commented.

Orik nodded. "Some have argued for abandoning this place because of its drain on our resources. But Tronjheim does perform one invaluable task."

"What's that?" I asked.

"In times of misfortune it can house our entire nation. There have only been three instances in our history when we have been forced to that extreme, but each time it has saved us from certain and utter destruction. That is why we always keep it garrisoned, ready for use."