AN/ Hello, this is my first Inkheart fic. I'm planning around three chapters.
This is entirely pointless introspection into Dustfinger.
Something I'd like to get out of the way: Farid is not a perfect character, nor do I view him as such. He's sexist, selfish, and inconsiderate. But in light of his upbringing, these traits are quite understandable. So I LIKE him, but that's as far as it goes. There will be no fawning over his character here. Fangirls warned.
Dustfinger had never really taken time to appreciate the experience of blood running through his veins before. Until now. Now he felt the rushing and the longer he remained still the more he noticed the tremors that ran through his body with every pulse of the muscle at the core of his being. His heart was like fire, whimsical and needy.
He felt as if he should be panicking: waking up was almost alien to him. It was as if he was experiencing everything for the first time.
To him, moving from where he had rested for the night was almost a shame, as if he were breaking a solemn spell. Maybe he was. He had been dead after all.
First he knew he had to face Roxane. His heart, broken as it had been, was at least partially restored, and he could feel himself wishing to see his wife. He knew that there was truly no way to make anything up to her, for his promise to never leave her again had not been kept.
He had been dead. How long had he feared death? His entire life, he reflected. Now that he had faced his worse fear, what could daunt him? He could no longer indulge in cowardice. Since his return, no; since his marriage, he had been hiding from his responsibilities. No more running.
He did not deserve her. This was what Dustfinger decided when Roxane forgave him. Again.
When Brianna arrived at the farm, he attempted to speak with her. He was far more excepting of his mortality now, and he could not bear any thought of dying before making amends with his only remaining daughter.
She wouldn't hear a word from her father, but he thought her gaze strayed towards him in ways that weren't always hostile.
The night of Brianna's arrival, he sat down to eat one of Roxane's painstakingly made meals, when a thought sprang into his head. Where was Farid?
He had honestly not spared the boy much of a thought on his journey home. He had felt a well of relief in his heart knowing the boy was alive. But he hadn't truly thought of the implications before. He knew the child was devoted to him. He knew how it felt to awaken to the world after death, but Dustfinger had risen knowing that his loved ones were safe. Farid, who was so afraid of the supernatural, returning from the grave to find that his father-figure had sacrificed himself for him… What had become of the boy?
His swift inquires did not surprise his wife, in fact, he suspected that she was surprised that he had not yet asked. Brianna shifted in her seat and looked nervous.
He looked more directly at her and said, "Brianna, do you know what has become of him?"
Brianna looked down. "There is a man named Orpheus, who Farid works for now."
"Orpheus?" Dustfinger pondered this. The man was in his world now? He had claimed that it was impossible to read himself into a book. Perhaps he had acquired the talent? Or maybe someone else had read him here…
Even so, if memory served, Farid had hated the man. What had he called him? Cheeseface, that was it. Why would he work for such a man now?
"How do you know this, Brianna?" asked Dustfinger.
Brianna looked distinctly ashamed. Roxane answered for her. "She has worked for the man herself."
Dustfinger wondered, but did not inquire. He hardly had a right to his daughter's affairs now.
"I…" Brianna trailed off. Gaining a determined look, she said, "He seemed to think the man could bring you back to life. That's… apparently not so far-fetched as I thought." She looked uncomfortable as she said this.
"Ah," Dustfinger ventured. So that was it.
"But I came here because of him!" Brianna suddenly said. "Orpheus has tied Farid up and says he'll kill him."
Dustfinger studied his daughter, his countenance darkening. He was fairly sure that she had been undecided on whether to impart this information until this conversation. No matter; she had told him, and now he knew.
Dustfinger sighed and looked at his wife, and the acceptance in her eyes pierced his heart. "I'm afraid I have to leave you again, my love."
To be continued…
This is going nowhere except scenes that you've already read being repeated from a different perspective…
