Hello everyone this is Twubs :)
This is my first fanfic, I've been on the site for a few years and this fic has been in my head for just as long. As you can tell by the summary it's a Roran!SI in the Inheritance Cycle.
I am not a frequent writer as you all will find out shortly, but I'll try and do this story justice and see it through to the end. If you see any grammatical errors, point them out and I will try to fix them. Hopefully I'll pick up a thing or two about writing along the way.
Disclaimer: Christopher Paolini owns everything. I own nothing.
He woke up on a bed of hay, in a body that wasn't his, or at least wasn't all his? Something isn't right. Looking around he was in a very sparsely decorated barn/room? He couldn't tell. The room, as it was obvious now, looked like it belonged in the 10th century or earlier.
Standing up seemed like the next order of business and it only brought more questions.Where am I? Looking down at his hands he had the strangest feeling of disagreeing with himself. Something was out of place but also in place at the same time. His body felt foreign but familiar. His hands were callused because he worked on a farm all day but he also worked in an office. What the fuck is going on?
Everything hit him all at once, his name was Roran but he used to go by another, in another world, WHERE RORAN WAS A BOOK CHARACTER!
Rushing around the room he tried to make heads and tails of things. Ok the last thing he remembered was…the last thing he remembered was…...his name was…..nothing…..nothing was there. It was there but it wasn't, it was a panicking sensation, he was panicking. Oh God what is happening!?
Ok breathe, focus on breathing, look inward.
After repeating this mantra over and over he slowly began to calm down and assess the situation. His name was Roran, he was born in Carvahall to Garrow and Merian, he had a little cousin named Eragon who should be in the spine hunting for the next few days. He was also a 25 year old nerd born in Texas. It was all so confusing, deciding not to focus on it, he went about his morning routine. Realizing he has been standing still for the past 5 minutes he starts to throw on the only clothes he can find, if you could even call them clothes.
Opening the door and stepping into the main building of the shack that was apparently his home, he finds his father Garrow stepping out the door.
"Coming?" His father manages to grunt out between breaths.
Thank God a distraction. Anything to keep him from thinking. The walk out into the open air confirmed everything the books said about the farm. Around 100 feet from the house stood the barn he knew held the livestock. This was their destination, Garrow would start milking the cow and Roran would collect enough eggs for the 3 of them. Eragon was always a late riser, Garrow knew how hard their life was and allowed him to sleep in some days. Being the eldest, Roran wasn't as lucky.
Everything I need to know about Rorans life is readily available but not my past life?
Perhaps that was a good thing. Thinking of his family made him wonder if he left anyone behind, it's easier this way.
After cooking the eggs over the fire, he refused to allow himself to focus on his merging? What else should I call it? The rest of the day came and went. Roran didn't sit down until that afternoon and the thoughts he had been avoiding all day caught up to him. All he could think was what was going to happen, to his father, to Eragon, to everyone he knew actually. It was that night that he made a decision that would change the history of Alagaesia forever.
You would be surprised at how much free time people had in the middle ages. Most of the chores and tending to the fields was completed by noon. Another 2-3 hours until other small things around the farm and they called it a day. Most of the long nights and early mornings happened during harvest season. As it was he had about 3-4 hours of sunlight left to do what he wanted. It was hard to tell without a watch.
In the end it took him 2 days to figure out when in the timeline he was dumped in Rorans body. It was a tremendous weight off his shoulders that Eragon wasn't going to show up with a blue stone yet. It didn't click until Garrow mentioned that he had another half year until he was 16. That puts him roughly a year and a half until Eragon found Saphira in the Spine. At least I have some prep time. Another day of planning lead him to one person, Brom the storyteller. He had to convince the ex-dragon rider to train him and teach him the ancient language, it was absolutely crucial. So before he could convince himself that telling Brom everything he knew was a bad idea, he told Garrow that he was taking a trip to the village.
A swift nod and a quick question was all he got from his father. "Will you be back before nightfall?"
"Aye, I do not plan on being long."
"If you do not, find a place to stay for the night. It is a dangerous trek with no sunlight. Horst would be willing to host you for the night."
"Yes, Father." He was inside the house before I could finish. He says the same thing everytime. He must think I am going to visit Katrina. He wasn't the same person, he couldn't find the same excitement that usually came with thinking about her. I can't put her in danger, I'm not even sure if I like her anymore. Pushing it to the back of the list of things he needed to worry about he set out on the road.
In the end it was about 4 miles to the village not 10 as Paolini had described in the first book. It is a good thing or else I wouldn't be able to make it back in time for nightfall but it also means that my book knowledge isn't as infallible as I believed. It was the first thing that wasn't accurate from the books. At least I know where the old storyteller lives.
Walking up to the house I could instantly tell how much better built it is than the rest of the village. Brom hid it well but almost immediately I could tell that it was better engineered than other buildings in Carvahall. The way the ends of the planks were perfect but the appearance came off as worn, the dirt was perfectly distributed to help drainage, only certain spots were allowed to collect water but it seemed intentional. The nails in the wood were still gleaming almost unnaturally. Many thoughts ran through his head.
How has no one noticed this? Are building techniques really that far behind compared to my other worlds?
His thoughts were interrupted by an itching at the back of his mind. Almost immediately he realized what was happening. GET OUT! The foreign mind recoiled as if struck and fled. Brom was at the door in less than 5 seconds and was currently unsheathing a sword with a blade the color of blood before I could realize what was happening.
Zar'roc
As if a light switch was turned on in his head, a decade of self-defense training was taking over his mind and preparing itself. Ignoring the fact that he just recognized another mind touching his, he immediately got ready to step into Broms guard and take him to the ground where his jiu-jitsu would undoubtedly dominate. Luckily Brom decided to break the tension.
"Roran? What are you doing here?" Brom supplied.
Once Brom realized he was staring at the legendary sword, his eyes narrowed.
"I think we should talk inside, there is something we need to discuss." Was the only thing I could croak out. That's the best I can think of? This body isn't used to adrenaline it seems. His hands were already shaking and tingling.
Brom looked as if he would deny the offer to talk. After a moment of hesitation Brom sheathed Zar'roc and stepped to the side to allow him in the house. He wore the face of a battered old man but his eyes told a different story. This was the man who survived the fall, the same man who slayed Morzan and his nameless dragon. Who knows how many other Forsworn deaths he orchestrated.
"Tea?"
"That would be great thank you." Normally I would decline but I decided that extending the first olive branch would be the best way to diffuse the situation. Broms posture relaxed the slightest bit but it was obvious he was ready to act at any moment. Does he think I am an agent of Galbatorix?
I took a seat at what appeared to be the kitchen table and prepared myself for the upcoming conversation.
"What did you want to discuss?" Brom started from the kitchen.
"I don't know where to start to be honest."
"Maybe you could start with how you could feel me touching your mind. Or how your mind feels 30 years older than it was the last time we met." Well that was one way to break the ice.
"25 years older actually." My answer caused Brom to literally pause what he was doing for a second. "I don't know is the answer to your first question."
Brom sat my tea down on the table between us. Zar'roc was in the kitchen forgotten. "How is it that your mind became 25 years older?"
"That is another answer I do not have. What I do know is that I fell asleep exactly 3 nights ago and woke up the next day with another life's memories."
Broms eyebrows furrowed even further. With the adrenaline wearing off, Roran was just now noticing that his appearance was more like the books description, than the movies. A white beard that would make Dumbledore jealous covered his torso and he was obviously past his prime. While his body held strength, his soul seemed tired. I am surprised he's even made it this far. Time has not been good to him.
"And how does this affect an old storyteller? I am afraid I may not be of any aid to you." Was Broms response.
You're the only one who can help. I decided to rip it off like a band-aid. "In approximately a year and a half, Arya will be attacked by Durza while ferrying the dragon egg you stole from Galbatorix. Your son, Eragon, will find said dragon egg and will mistake it as a blue stone, it will hatch around a week after that…." I stopped to let it sink in.
His tea found its way out of his mouth and onto the floor. After he regained his composure he started speaking in another language that seemed to vibrate the very world. It was as if nature was bending to his will, that's exactly what's happening, I realized. Was he casting wards? Was he about to kill me? This is the power of the ancient language.
"How?" he says immediately after finishing what I assume is a non-eavesdropping spell.
"She uses a spell to transport it out of Durza's grasp, it almost kills her."
"No not that! How do you know that will happen, how do you know about the existence of an egg, how do you know of Arya?! All of these things are a very well guarded secret that a farm boy should have no knowledge of." He's surprisingly well composed.
"In my other life, we were all book characters, a fantasy story." I pointed at him "You." My finger pointed back towards my chest "Me, everything about this world, this reality was a book series written by a 15 year old." I finished with a slump in my chair, it felt good to finally tell someone. 3 days of silence and no outlet took its toll.
There was silence for at least 5 straight minutes where I could tell Broms mind was trying to process what I had just told him. "I can't tell you everything I know, the future needs to be preserved. For me to make any impact could be catastrophic."
"Then why seek me out" Good point Brom, why did I?
"A lot of people die, there is a war coming, we win but…..at such great cost. Everyone loses, everyone wins." Do I help? Do I do nothing? Just tell me!
"Such is the reality of war" Brom cuts in sagely. He would know more than I…...
"I can help so many with my knowledge, don't I owe it to them to try?" I asked with averting my eyes to the floor.
"You owe nothing to anyone...but you are already changing everything just by talking with me. The day you woke up as more than you were, the world changed, for better or for worse is yet to be seen." That hit me like a sledgehammer. Intellectually I knew that, but in the back of my mind I thought I could play along, make sure Eragon becomes the hero to defeat Galby and take a back seat. It was obvious that isn't the case anymore.
My eyes hardened "Then I will need help."
"And you will have it. We will evaluate how exactly I can help you at a later date. You have already given me much to think on." As he stood up he motioned for me to follow him. We stepped back outside and I couldn't help but wonder how easy that was. Was he in my mind the whole time? It was the only explanation I could come up with for his cooperation.
Yes. Broms old wizened voice cut through my mind like a knife through butter. Does my ability surprise you? You didn't think an untrained mind as yours could detect me unless I wanted you to? I was careless when you were in front of my house, I didn't expect you to detect even the most obvious of invasions. It was the reason I was so startled when I opened the door. Your inability to protect your thoughts will have to change first and foremost.
How much did you read? Was the first thought that came to my mind as we stopped in front of his door.
Brom was quick in his response. One does not read the mind like a book. I know nothing besides what you told me, I only sought the truth in your words. If I desired I could feed you images to make you think of what I want to know. I will not invade on your privacy like that, you have my word. Consider that your first lesson. Go home for tonight, I need to think of the best way to get you ready.
So I did as I was told and made it to the farm as the sun dipped behind the trees.
A/N: Reviews are appreciated.
