Hi,

I wrote another one shot... (it is even weirder than the previous), about Islanzadí. As we don't know much about her personality or how Evandar's death affected her I have written about her.

Tell me what you think about this 'masterpiece'. (Honestly - I don't long for flames but nobody ever says a bad word about my work and I do not think it'd be just so good. So feel free to criticize.)

Oh, and about grammar mistakes... I've been learning English for two years. So... yeah.

Disclaimer: I'm still trying to handle the truth that I'm a very weird, occasionally crazy young girl writing her daydreams and not Christopher Paolini. It's hard, I can say. And actually... he gets money for it. Me not. Bad news, I know. But seriously...

Here we go:

Riossa

The woman walked silently in the forest. Other times, she had sung during the journey, but now, it was not that time. That time ended and never would come again. Her long white tunic swept the ground behind her back, making the leaves softly rattle on her way. The sound was peaceful but sad, like the last shadow of a great war.

The forest around her was silent and dead – mourning and frightened. The leaves turned brown with the coming autumn. The whole world seemed to turn colourless and brown, loosing every other shade. She turned to the right and slipped through under a low branch. The path to the lake was well-hidden: this place was only used by the queen or king. Some months ago by a king; now by a broken hearted young queen.

»"Are you sure you can..." She doesn't need to finish her sentence, the man understands her better than anybody on earth - instantly. She tries to step back with a shy smile on her face, wanting to free her hand from his. Wanting and not wanting at the same time. He steps back to her and kisses her lips sweetly not letting her escape. She doesn't want to; she's just uncertain. But curious.

"This is my place and I bring here whoever I want to. And I want you." He continues whispering into her ear – she knows she shouldn't fall for him again, but just can't stand it. Every other time she is able to act like an adult, like a matured, respectable, serious woman. But not with him. He just doesn't let her.

She smiles into his mouth and lets him lead her wherever he wants to. Right now, he wants to the secret, royal lake. The secret, hidden place used by kings and queens only, the only place he can officially be alone. Yet, her king wants to share this place with her.

She feels his eyes on herself, the man observes her reaction. She knows but can't help: her mouth falls open and a soundless whisper escapes her.

"How beautiful…"«

The war was over, the suffering, the killing pain was over. She hoped it was over as she was not able to live through another wave of attack of her traitor heart. Dull ache remained in its place, a hole in her chest determined never to be whole again. Memories whirled around in her mind and a tear-drop escaped her eyes. The first, for months. The first maybe, since the battle. The first, since he had passed.

A petal was blown by the wind bringing the soft flagrance of the riossas with. She inhaled deeply, letting her tears break the cold surface. She stood there for a moment, burying her face into her hands, her shoulder shaking, her mind recalling every time this flagrance embraced her, kissed her, every time when this happiness-bringing scent surrounded her, overwhelmed her.

»"Where are you, love?" She hears his voice closer now; he's searching after her playfully. She squats on her heels in the back of her garden, cupping a white flower, leaning into it, inhaling the soft, sweet scent deeply. This is her newest creation, the best she has ever sung. She can't wait for him to find her, yet she doesn't say anything, just closes her eyes. He will find her.

The man steps behind her, a rock grates as he kneels down to her. She feels his arms embrace her waist and with a sudden pull he yanks her into his lap. Her long raven hair is whirling among his fingers, she turns half back to him, he kisses her softly, lovingly. He draws away too soon though. "Let me see…" She embarrassedly shows him the white flower she has created, fearing his reaction. He caresses it gently, understandingly.

He kisses her again and she sighs. Nobody else would understand her, he's the only one not commenting the innocent, pure shade she has sung into the flower. Riossa, she decides its name. It will be her flower, their flower forever, the one she'll plant into the secret garden next to the secret lake. Symbolizing their ever-lasting love. She remembers her promise and a tinkling laugh escapes her lips.

The colour is innocent, the flagrance is soft but deeply passionate. What else could describe her more than this flower she has created, this riossa? She lets it fall to the ground and sinks into the lake of desire and passion.«

She walked by the deep lake, sat down onto the root of the old oak and just watched the world around her. It was so odd, looking at the same and seeing different. Shadows played on the surface and she saw the past play to her cruelly, saying she should die as her life had no sense at all. The voice whispering in her head was unfamiliar yet tempting and kind. The present was torturing – did she even have any future?

She wanted to disobey, to stay back from the temptation but it had grown stronger since the last time. Its voice was louder, cleverer, kinder. She knew she wasn't allowed to do this, but suddenly she couldn't remember the reason. She closed her eyes. Tell me, why… She knew he would answer her, yet a sudden wave of disappointment shook her when his voice, that soft, caring voice, only sounded in her heart and in her mind.

She did have something to live for, but it was too far away now… Too far to save her…

»The young girl is playing in the grass. Her eyes are large and vividly emerald, painfully emerald. Magic flows around her, wrapping her little, childishly round body into a warm, soft, safe quilt. It defends her and amuses her. A silver hairy man is kneeling next to her, enjoying the amazing sight as the only two years old girl blows bubbles around her face, making them play and swim in the air around her head and her fingers, glistening in different colours.

Everybody can see her favourite is the emerald: that one is the most exquisite, the one rarely leaving her little hands. She laughs and lies back into the grass playing in her own dream-world, not being bothered by the many elves around her, the elderly and the wisest of her kind. She keeps making the bubbles whirl around her head.«

She stood up not really knowing where she went, just far away from the images, appearing in her mind without her permission. She didn't see from her tears, but her feet knew the way, better than everything on this earth. They led her deep into her secret garden she had built and cared for some time ago – some time which seemed several eternities now. Her strength left her alone, just as everybody and everything left her alone.

Alone with her troubles, alone with her pain, alone with her thoughts. Nobody was allowed to come here besides her. Nobody was going to come here besides her, nobody was going to save her from her bitterness or pain. She let the loneliness and bitterness conquer her heart hoping it would ache less. Just a bit less… It was all she wanted, all she needed. Just a bit less…

She would have done everything to ease on the pain she felt, on the hole in her heart which threatened with swallowing her. Just ease on this pain… She felt her heart bleeding, her love bleeding, her life bleeding. It was just too much suffering to bear, too much pain to fight against.

Why does it hurt so much? She asked from the sky she didn't see. Nobody answered her and her strength left her, she collapsed to the ground, beating herself hard against the marble, but she didn't feel, she didn't care. It was nothing in comparison.

»She opens her eyes wondering what have woken her up. She discovers immediately: his absence. She moans quietly hating the duty he has put on himself. She knows he must do everything for his kind, his heart gives him no choice, but she wishes, not the first time, that he was a bit less patriotic.

She turns onto her side, pulling the blanket with her, then sighs and stands up. She couldn't sleep and rest knowing he is somewhere working. He must be somewhere around Vrael, she guesses. Evandar has a good heart, he's wiser than his age and he has all the intentions to be important, to be able to help the Order, the queen, the Kingdom, whatever. She shrugs herself: if this is what he wants to do… some work for the government won't kill him.

She smiles to herself: his heart was the one making her fall in love with him. She walks to the window and stretches her body, happiness filling her heart. She glances at the garden critically: something is still missing, something is not perfect. She wonders if she could sing a flower for their love, and a quiet, tinkling laugh escapes her lips. She will – if they are still together in five thousand years. She closes her eyes and leans her head onto the frame of the window. This is a happy day.«

She lay there very long, bleeding from the heart, waiting for death to come. Her blood painted her white clothes ruby-like, the pure white marble ruby-red, her garden ruby-red. Her pain crawled forward on the marble, up the stocks, into the flowers painting all the petals ruby-red with her blood. She bled from the heart and she painted her beloved riossas ruby with the blood of her heart.

Hours after, when death still didn't come, her pain eased. It moved into her riossas surrounding her inside the secret garden. She lifted her head some eternities later wondering how the world could still exist, how the world could still seem the same. Seem the same for everybody else, but new for her. Her heart was surrounded by a thick armour, an armour made from a marble, painted bloody ruby-red.

The armour would defend her during the next century from everything that could wound her heart, not letting any emotions enter. As time would go by, some would brush her soul, but neither of them would cause her pain – neither happiness. She would never fly again with an emotion, she would live numbly. But she would live.

She returned to her world without showing the change. Only a hidden lake had witnessed it; everything else died: the emotions in her heart behind the strong armour, the riossas, with the poisoning blood of her painful heart. And a used to tinkling-laughy young woman.

»In Du Weldenvarden, near Ellesméra, there's a hidden lake. In summer evenings, soft wind breezes the surface, bringing the scent of blooming wild flowers. A singing brook brings water into it. Where the brook flows into the lake, an old oak is standing, wise with the years the elves spent at his roots. Nobody walks here nowadays; the lake is hidden, the trees hide it. Long ago, a beautiful black woman loved this place, but sadness conquered her heart and the lake became forgotten.

The oak's branches lean above the water, painting shadows onto the surface. Fragile petal is blown by the wind. It dances around then falls onto the water. It brings the scent of riossa with it – the flagrance is familiar, too familiar and not sensed since the black woman left her garden behind her back. The flowers, all the riossas, died, such as the emotions in her heart.

The old oak wonders at this sign of new life. Maybe the world will sing around the secret lake again. The ruby riossa-petal swings on the surface then a weak wave comes and it dances into the depth.«

That night, a fire was burning deep in Du Weldenvarden. The flames shone with furious, nearly painful ruby light and cleared and destroyed everything in that area. Some days later when the temperature got low enough to go there, only a large circle of black ash could be found covering strangely coloured marble. It was suspected that there had been some building or path on that place before the fire, but nothing remained to tell the tale.

Only the lake besides it, got poisoned by the ash, some of the old trees surrounding it, and the never-passing bitter scent in the air.

Now, what you think? Should I write more like these or... better not? I know it was way too much tragical and theatrical with much repetitions.

Amiréa

BTW If you liked reading more fanfics from me like this, I gladly accept any ideas or challenges. I love challenges.