A/N/: Hey. So, explaining this one-shot. First off, it's random and OOC. Just to warn ya. The story behind it is that me and my best friend Lydia got bored of waiting for the fourth book of the Inheritance Cycle to come out, so we made up what we thought might happen. Well, that is, what would happen if Fat Whin showed up in Alagaesia.
To explain Fat Whin: she's my best friend's dog, with whom she is obsessed. She has various Fat Whin slogans which she writes over everything, including rough books. This annoys James a lot.
Disclaimer: All Inheritance Cycle characters and scenarios are property of Mr. C. Paolini.
Characters who appear who are real (and their relationship to the author): Lydia (brains behind this story's plot), Libby (aka Me!), Abi (Best friend), James (best friend), Lauren (best friend), Ryan Batty (fellow classmate), Larissa (friend), Mr. Eggerton (teacher – and yes, that is his real name), Mr. Keith (teacher), Stella (school lab technician) and Fat Whin (aka Whinny, the Prosser family's chocolate Labrador).
Paramore also appear, all respective rights belong to them.
Hope you enjoy!
Fat Whin walked out of a bush. She sniffed the ground. This place smelled unfamiliar. How had she gotten here? One minute she was on the farm, and the next she was here. Very strange.
Fat Whin was a chocolate Labrador who was very cute, lovely, with a great sense of humour and undying loyalty. She was also, true to her name, very fat.
Whin looked up and saw a great blue something on the ground in front of her. It was an animal, and it smelt very strange. It lifted massive wings and began to take off. Fat Whin ran, jumped, and caught hold of one edge of the wing. The something flicked its wing up so fast that she was forced to let go, and she subsequently flew through the air and landed on her bottom on something.
"Ow!" said a human voice. Whin moved and looked down. She had sat on a very strange looking boy who was rubbing his head. The boy stared at her. "What are you doing on Saphira's back, dog?" he asked. Whin barked. The boy shrugged. "Oh well," he said. "You can tag along with us for a while."
A few days later.
"You will never defeat me!" the tall human laughed. Whin growled and picked up the boy's sword.
His name was Eragon and he cried, "No, Whin! You can't defeat him! You'll die!"
"Ruff!" barked Whin. Not likely. She had been taught by the great mentor Lydia the Strange and she would not be defeated by some old, skinny, smelly human.
"What are you going to do, dog?!" the human cried. Whin barked again and leapt forward, swinging the heavy sword, which was in her mouth. "No!" the human cried. But it was too late. Whin's mighty swing chopped him in half, and smote his dragon along with him. They fell to the floor.
"You did it, Whin!" Eragon cried. "You defeated Galbatorix!"
A week later.
"I now crown you Queen Whin of Alagaesia! May you live long and be prosperous!" The crowd cheered as Whin stood proudly, head carrying her new crown.
"Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!" the crowd chanted.
"Whin!" came a shout from the back of the hall. Everyone turned to look. The crowd parted. There, at the back, stood Lydia the Strange.
"Ruff!" barked Whin, and she ran to meet her.
"Whin!" Lydia said, embracing the dog. "I never thought I'd find you again!" She ruffled Whin's ears, tears in her eyes.
"Ruff," barked Whin, happily settling for a scratch behind the ear.
Now, she thought, we just have to settle the matter of my bed.
Later that evening.
"I don't see why I should have to be a dog bed!" Stacy whined.
"Because Whin likes you. You should take it as a compliment." Lydia replied.
"Humph," said Stacy, and she looked at the wall.
"Aw, Whinny!" Lydia cooed, scratching Whin behind the ears.
"Ruff!" barked Whin, leaning into the scratch. At that moment Nasuada jumped through the door.
"Hello everyone!" she said breathlessly. "I just came to say thank you to Whin, for making me her advisor."
"Whin says no problem," Lydia interpreted.
Nasuada nodded. "And I also came to ask you if...Well, if you be so kind...as to...um..."
"Come on, spit it out!" Stacy cried impatiently. "Stop spluttering."
It was hard to see, but Nasuada blushed. "I also came to invite you to my wedding."
Everyone leapt up at once, even Stacy, throwing a rather disgruntled Whin to the floor. "That's so brilliant Nasuada!" Lydia squealed. "Who are you getting married to? No, wait, let me guess. Eragon?" Nasuada looked at her weirdly and shook her head. "Ok, I give up, who?"
Nasuada blushed again. "Orrin," she said quietly.
Lydia hooted. "You'll be a queen! Queen Nasuada!" She stood beside Nasuada and waved her hands around randomly. "May I now introduce, Queen Nasuada of Surda!" Everyone clapped and Nasuada blushed more than ever.
It was at this moment that Eragon burst in, very red and looking rather upset. He closed the door behind him with a slam, and then sank down onto the floor in front of it.
"Eragon!" Nasuada cried. "What on earth is wrong?"
"Everyone...It's awful. I have some rather bad news. Before Galbatorix died, he used his last breath to turn Orik into stone!" Everyone gasped. "But that's not the worst!" Eragon continued. "In a very tragic accident, my cousin Roran and all the former villagers of Carvahall died very tragically at sea. Oh, they were pulled down to the depths of the briny deep, yes, oh, it was so very tragic!"
"Ok, we get the picture, it was tragic," Lydia snapped. "Have you anything else to add to your tale of woe?"
"Yes," Eragon dragged himself to his feet using the door handle and staggered as if he were drunk. "Before the end of the battle, Arya turned into vapour and blew away on the wind because of excessive magic use."
"Oh, how sad." Nasuada murmured.
"Didn't know her," Stacy sniffed.
"Good riddance," someone muttered.
"Tragic!" Lydia said, annoyed. "Just how does someone die from excessive magic use anyway?"
Eragon's eyes filled with tears. "She used too much power trimming her toenails!" Then he looked around angrily. "And just who said, 'Good Riddance'?!"
"That was me," Libby stepped out from the shadows.
"Waahhhh!" Lydia jumped so high she hit the roof, then stared at Libby in amazement. "Where on earth did you spring from?"
Libby shrugged. "I don't know. Do you?" Lydia shook her head. "Oh, well then. It doesn't matter. Now, I have some business to attend to. See you all soon. I'll send you my new address in the post, Lydia." She waved cheerily and was gone from the room.
"I can't take this anymore!" Eragon shouted. "F*** the lot of you. I'm becoming an emo. I'm going to go live in a tepee in the ruins of Carvahall and live with my grief. And no, Saphira, you can't come with me!" With that he stormed out of the room.
"That was interesting," Lydia commented dryly.
The next day, on some random mountain.
Libby puffed and heaved the heavy bundle up the last part of the track. She sighed carefully placed it on the ground. She straightened and pushed her fringe back from her face as she surveyed her new home.
An ancient temple on the top of a mountain. It looked like a series of white stone villas, complete with lush gardens and a swimming pool. Don't ask how all that came to be up here, or how the plants survived. Libby didn't know, and she didn't particularly care either.
She picked the bundle up again and set off for her front door. When she got there, she carefully carried the bundle through the doorway, through her open plan kitchen dining room and out through glass doors into one of her many walled gardens. She set the bundle down on the grass and unwrapped it.
It was Orik, turned to stone.
She smiled and placed Orik on his side. When he had been turned to stone he had helpfully been in just the right position so that, when Libby placed him on his side, he made a perfect seat. She positioned him to where he would give her perfect view out of the gap in the wall which looked out in turn onto the beautiful landscape beyond, stood back and admired her handiwork. Not a bad seat, she thought, as she sat down. Now all I need is a cup of tea, and I must send my new address to Lydia...
Back at the Palace.
Whin padded up to Lydia's door, Solembum the werecat beside her. Solembum knocked, and Lydia answered. "Hello Whin," she smiled. "And you must be Solembum. How nice to meet you. Do come in."
They walked inside and sat down on Lydia's sofa, while she took the armchair. She turned to Solembum. "I'm so sorry to hear about Angela, Solembum. Are you missing her?"
A little, Solembum replied. She made very good company.
"Well, let's hope Eragon will enjoy her company as much as you did. It is strange of her to go with him to live in Carvahall. Has she lived in tepees before?"
Oh yes, Solembum smiled. Many times. She has her own, in fact.
"That's good, as I doubt Eragon would want her sharing his." They all laughed. "Whin, you said there was something you wanted to mention?" Lydia enquired.
"Ruff," barked Whin, and looked at Solembum.
What Whin wanted to say, Solembum said smoothly, is that she has adopted me as her son.
"Oh!" Lydia clapped her hands together. "That's such a nice idea! When did you do that?"
When you were away visiting Libby. I have been a prince for a little while now.
"And how are you finding it?"
It is good. I like the attention. But I hate having to take regular baths. Erugh!
Somewhere in the city.
"Oh, sob!" Katrina cried, walking slowly through the dark street. "Sob, sob, sob!" she sniffed, tears running down her face.
There was a rush of air as Thorn landed on the pavement beside her. Whatever is the matter?
"Roran's left me, all my friends are dead, my father is a traitor! What do you think is the matter?" she shouted.
I hate to see one so beautiful so sad.
Katrina looked up at him. "You are a very polite dragon, you know."
Thank you. She sniffed again and wiped her eyes. Would you like a hug?
"Yes, please." Thorn wrapped his wings around her.
The next day, somewhere in the mountains.
Do you, Thorn, take Katrina to be your lawful wedded wife?
I do.
And do you, Katrina, take Thorn to be your lawful wedded husband?
"I do."
I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.
Thorn reached down and kissed Katrina as the crowd went wild. Well, I say crowd. The witnesses to this wedding were the two Lethrblaka, the two Raz'ac and an unhappy Murtagh. The Raz'ac cheered and clapped while the Lethrblaka screeched and reared up and down. Murtagh pouted and muttered under his breath.
"We have decided," Katrina called, "that we will live a secluded life in the mountains, alone. You can all come and visit once a year."
"What?!" Murtagh cried. "Thorn, you can't do this to me! I'm your rider!"
Thorn blew a puff of smoke from his nostril. I can do whatever I like. You can come and visit me once a year. Isn't that generous?
Murtagh stared at him, gobsmacked.
"Well, we must be going. We'll see you all soon!" Katrina smiled and climbed onto Thorn's back. He flapped his wings and flew away.
"That was nice. You'll have to book a visit to them into the diary, dear," one of the Raz'ac hissed.
"Yes, indeed." The other replied, before they too got onto the Lethrblaka and flew away. That left Murtagh standing alone on the plateau, except of course for Saphira, who had conducted the ceremony.
It looks like we have both been rejected by the partners-of- our-hearts-and-minds, little one, she said.
Murtagh looked at the ground. "I don't care," he muttered. "I never liked him much anyway."
Saphira sighed. Let me take you back to Illirea.
"Alright." Murtagh jumped on her back and they flew back to Illirea together.
Later that evening, in some random street in Illirea.
Murtagh swayed down the street. A little too much mead, I think, he thought to himself. He turned into an alley. Wandering down it, he wondered what he was going to do with himself. Thorn was gone. So was Eragon. Nasuada lived in Surda, a place Murtagh had never liked and had no desire to live. He might be able to stay with Saphira…
"Oh, it's all so pointless!" he cried, throwing his head back and raising his arms to the black night sky. He slumped down and sat for a while glaring moodily at the wall on the other side of the alley. Then, in a truly pessimism confirming fashion, it began to rain.
"Why?!" Murtagh wailed, looking up at the sky, from which the light rain that had begun to fall was quickly turning into a heavy stream of fat droplets. "Why do all the bad things happen to me?!" He put his head in his hands and quietly began to sob.
The rain got heavier until Murtagh was soaked through. He looked up, intending to violently curse the sky and whatever gods there may be again, when he noticed a dustbin. Might as well hide in there, he thought to himself. He got up and staggered over to it. Lifting the lid, he saw a full rubbish bag. He tossed it out and sat in the bin himself, drawing the lid back over the top. Raindrops beat out a steady rhythm on the top of his shelter, which lulled him into a quiet, dreamless sleep.
Early the next morning.
Ernie the dustbin man had always been a decent sort of fellow. Paid his taxes, looked after his family, always had a friendly word or two for his neighbours, helped old Mrs Figgins across the street. So when he opened the dustbin on Parrot Alley to see why the bin bag had been thrown out, his heart ached with sadness and pity for the pale, sick looking young man who was curled up inside. Poor lad, Ernie thought as he looked down on him. Probably been thrown out. A little too much drink, no place to stay. Sad, what the world becomes. He reached down and poked the young man on the shoulder.
"Here, son. Wake up like."
The young man opened one eye feebly and looked up at Ernie. His heart wrenched even more. Poor wretch, most likely no money, no possessions. Hardly no place to go when the world gets you into that state. Probably thought it would be best to die.
"Come on, son," Ernie said, offering him a hand. "Time to get you out of that bin." Ernie took his hand and hauled the young man with considerable effort out of the bin. The man stood inside it looking around blearily until Ernie took it upon himself to help him out. He then stood in the alley looked dazed as Ernie collected the rubbish and loaded it into his van. Then the dustbin man turned to him.
"I can't do much for ya, young sir, but I can give ya a lift. I goes most places in the city. You got somewhere to go back to?"
The young man looked up and down the alley, then nodded. "I'll be fine," he murmured quietly. "Thank you for your help."
Ernie frowned. He couldn't help feeling this young man wasn't telling him something. "Look, young 'un, if you got no place to go, go down to old Gloria's on Third Street. She'll sort something out for ya. It's her job, see."
The young man shook his head. "I'm fine. I have somewhere to go." He nodded at Ernie, then turned and walked away.
Ernie bit his lip, considered leaving it and going back to his truck. Then he shouted, "Before you go, will you tell me your name?"
The young man turned around, and smiled at him. "It's better you don't know. Then you won't have it on your conscience." He turned right at the end of the alley and out into the street. Ernie stared after him, and then sighed. There was nothing more he could do. He turned and got back into his truck, ready to get on with his rounds.
Two days later, Libby's mountain.
Libby was watering flowers outside her door when she heard footsteps coming up the gravel path. She realised that they must have been there for a while, only she hadn't noticed them, so engrossed had she been in her watering. She put the can down and stood up. At that moment the owner of the footsteps came wandering over the edge of the mountain top. He stopped and stared at her. She stared back at him. Then he walked over until he was in front of her. They both stared a little more, until the strange man asked, "Can I sleep in your dustbin?"
Libby blinked. She didn't think she'd ever been asked a question like that before, and had no idea what to say in return. "Um," she stated, trying not to look at this person as if they were a lunatic.
"I'd be no trouble," the man insisted, "I would get my own food and everything. I just need a place to stay."
Libby frowned. "If you want somewhere to stay, why don't you just stay in the house?" she asked.
The young man stared at her. She blinked back at him. After a moment of awkward silence, the young man said very matter of factly; "But I smell."
Libby couldn't help laughing. "You do! But you can have a bath, if you'd prefer to not smell."
The young man gave her slightly shy smile. "Thank you," he said quietly.
She smiled in return. "It's cool," she said, shrugging. When he stared at her, she rephrased; "It's fine. Why don't you come in? The sooner you have a bath, the sooner you won't smell like garbage." He gave her a proper smile at that and followed her into the house.
"By the way," she asked as they entered, "what's your name?"
"Murtagh," Murtagh said as he twirled around inside, taking in the airy, open house.
Libby blinked, and looked surprised for a second, then shrugged. "Oh well. That's cool. Bathroom's that way."
Meanwhile, over at the palace.
It was another eventful day for the palace inhabitants. Solembum was running wild after escaping from one of the servants' many attempts to bathe him, and they and Stacey were in hot pursuit. Meanwhile in the palace meeting room, Fat Whin and Lydia were happily greeting Nasuada and Orrin, who were visiting from Surda. Fat Whin and Nasuada had been in almost constant communication as Whin found she doted on both Nasuada's advice and brilliant cookery recipes. Orrin said he was almost tempted to sack the Surdan Royal Head Chef and have Nasuada replace him. However, Nasuada said she would string him up by his own ears to the castle battlements if he ever attempted such a thing, so he contented himself with the Head Chef's very acceptable cooking and didn't complain.
After formal greetings, informal greetings, cookery recipe swapping and Solembum running through the meeting room pursued by a hoard of servants and Stacey, the four dignitaries had sat down to have a proper meeting. Though, for them, a proper meeting mostly consisted of an informal chit chat and tea and scones. They knew the only one of them who really took it seriously, that is Orrin, would do everything later, as there really wasn't much to organise in such peaceful countries.
"Any special mentions before we start on the scones?" Lydia asked.
"Well," said Nasuada, "we do need to decide where we are going to hold Elva's funeral. I thought at Helgrind. It's the only building resembling a church ever mentioned in Alagaesia, and I think it suits Elva's style, don't you?"
"Definitely." Lydia nodded. "It's her all over."
"I didn't know she was dead," Orrin interjected. "What happened to her?"
Nasuada grimaced. "She was run over by a herd of stampeding Urgals."
Everyone grimaced. "Nasty way to go," the Surdan King muttered.
"So, everyone is agreed, we'll hold the ceremony in Helgrind?" There were murmurs of acknowledgement.
"Ruff!" Fat Whin barked, and the matter was settled.
Meanwhile, outside.
A thin figure in a long black cloak slipped out of the shadows. The figure made it's way up the sunny street and in through the palace gates. The guards didn't stop whoever it was; they were too busy watching a fight between a bumblebee and a hummingbird. The bee was winning, and one guard enthusiastically cheered it on while the other cried in vain for the hummingbird to keep fighting. The figure slipped past easily and made its way up the road that led to the palace. The figure laughed an evil sounding laugh and threw back their hood to reveal…Abi! Abi laughed again and looked up at the palace. "Soon," she whispered menacingly, "soon we shall have our revenge!"
Two days ago, in a mysterious tower in the dead of night.
A hunched, black-robed figure leaned over a simmering cauldron. The room was dark, but a few strange, mystical objects could be made out in the gloom, and firelight bounced off the many glass jars containing strange substances that were set out in tightly packed rows on the shelves that lined the walls. On the floor just in front of the cauldron, a young, thin blonde girl was sitting slumped, staring into space. It was obvious she was under the effect of some sort of drug that was keeping her stupid and lethargic.
The hunched figure straightened up, destroying the previous image of old age or crookedness. The figure under the long robes had the shape of an average sized young man of middling height. This young man had brown hair that was cut short at the back with longer sides ending in a long fringe which hung over his eyes. Eyes which, as he stared at the contents of the cauldron, held a manic fervour.
"This is it," he whispered, "the product of years of hard, back breaking work, is here, in this cauldron." He pointed at the girl on the floor. "Rise," he commanded, and she did so. "Come here," he beckoned, and she came close to the side of the cauldron. The robed man sighed. "It's a pity to have to use you, Abi, but someone has to take the blame, and it's obviously not going to be me." Abi made no reaction and gave no indication that she had heard the robed man speak.
"I have made this potion in the hope that it will fulfil my greatest goal," the robed man continued, oblivious to the fact that his listener had no capability to hear him. "All this time I have searched for the answer, searched for someone who shared my goals. No one was forthcoming. I was alone, completely, in my heartache. So I designed my plan, my fail proof plan, which tonight I will put into action. Once this potion is brought to the boil, and you drink it, I will have you fully under my control, without you being a zombie like you are now. No, you will be yourself. The only difference?" he asked the room at large, and, upon receiving no answer, returned to his monologue; "You will hate her. You will want to do this deal. You will feel it is right, to want revenge for the terrible acts that were inspired by her!"
The robed man continued to pace and speak for a while, continuing to refer to the mysterious 'her' and generally spew his own propaganda about how he would rid the world of the mysterious, unnamed lady. Abi stood, zombie-like, by the cauldron, staring into space. When the robed man finished his rant, he returned to her. He drew a long vial from the voluminous sleeve of his robes and dipped it into the potion. He turned his head and looked at Abi for a long moment. "I'm sorry, Abi," he said solemnly. "But it had to come down to this. You know you want to end it just as much as I do." He held out his hand. "Drink," he instructed.
Abi stretched out her hand and grasped the vial. Bringing it to her mouth, she tipped her head back and poured the contents down her throat. She stood still for a second, swallowing, then began to choke, falling to the floor and writhing horribly. The robed man stood watching. Suddenly she went still. The room was silent. Then a pale hand gripped the rim of the cauldron.
Abi pulled herself up from the floor. Gone was the stupefied zombie look. This Abi had an evil glint in her eyes. The robed man said nothing. He turned and was gone from the room. In seconds he was back, carrying two items. One was a long black cloak. Abi picked it up without a word and fastened it around her shoulders. The second was held out to her. She reached for it, pausing as she touched the cool handle.
It was a small, sheathed dagger.
After the momentary hesitation, Abi gripped it firmly and strapped it to her belt, out of sight under the cloak. The robed man nodded. "You will carry out your duties?" he asked.
"To the letter." Abi's voice was strong and confident, holding just a slight undertone of malice. The robed man smiled. His plan was working perfectly.
He spread his arms and engulfed her in a hug. He then pulled away and looked at her. "I am sorry Abi," he said.
She looked confused. "For what?"
"Oh, nothing," he waved a hand absentmindedly. "Now, you know what to do. Make sure you don't let me down."
Abi smiled. "I won't."
The robed man smiled. "Good." He raised his hands to his chin, balling them into angry fists. "This time," he declared, "this time, I will have revenge! Revenge, sweet revenge, that will make Lydia Prosser regret the day she dared to write 'Fat Whin' on my arm! On every science sheet! She will regret stealing my rough book to write 'Fat Whin' all over it! And, most of all, she will regret the day she stole my, James Jones', pen!"
Back to the present, at the palace doors.
Abi smiled. She had made it this far. She took a step, preparing to walk in through the palace doors. However her plan was foiled by a large, blue and rather ungainly something falling out of the sky right on her head. Abi was squished, and she really didn't feel so good.
Saphira, on the other hand, felt fine. You may have guessed that it was her who landed on Abi. She didn't feel a thing, however, and simply shuffled her wings into a comfortable position and walked in through the palace doors, on her way to visit Solembum.
Abi was left feeling decidedly poor, squashed on the ground. Thankfully she was found a few minutes later by some guards who were on patrol, who also found her dagger and concluded that she was up to no good. She was thrown into the dungeons where she remains, playing Monopoly with her chatty and very annoying cellmate. Unfortunately, neither of them have yet won a 'Get out of Jail free' card.
Fat Whin was informed of the news, and all the inhabitants of the castle were sad to see one of the Queen's mentor's great friends go so badly astray. They never made the connection to the dastardly James Jones, who is probably plotting another 'fool proof' plan to assassinate the Queen. One wonders how far he will get this time.
Not far, judging by his previous schemes, some of which included the failed 'Cooling Curve Heist' (an evil plot to steal every thermometer and flask in the country so no one could do the cooling curve experiment. This plan was supposed to be carried out by one brainwashed Larissa Tasker, who was discovered doing her evil deed by the heroic Stella, and was carried away in chains. Or handcuffs, seeing as we were still on Earth then), and the devious but failed 'Paramore Scam' (another evil scheme masterminded by James which intended to divert all the profits from band Paramore's whole operation and send them to an offshore bank account owned by Jones. He brainwashed classmate Ryan Batty to act as his puppet during this operation, but Ryan was discovered by the gallant Mr. Keith who was monitoring the actions of all pupils in the Key Skills class at Mr. Eggerton's request. Mr. Keith managed to shut down the diversion and all lost profits were restored to Paramore. The artists were very grateful and gave a live concert at the school to show their appreciation of Mr. Keith's heroics. Mr. Batty was charged and faced ten years in Her Majesty's Prison Cardiff for serious internet fraud). James' involvement in these schemes was implicated but never proved, and he was an infamous figure back on Earth with many other less well know scams under his watchful eye. Will he do the same here in Alagaesia? Who knows…?
However, although Abi's tenure in Alagaesia has ended unhappily, another of Lydia and Fat Whin's great friends has found complete happiness. As we take a last look through the palace doors upon leaving this story behind, we see that Lauren has finally fulfilled her lifelong dream – to become the palace toilet cleaner.
A/N/: Hope you all enjoyed it, and it perhaps made you laugh. Any R&R is welcome. Thanks for reading.
StuffRocksInnit xxx