Chapter 2: Winter

"What do you mean it's in the hands of a poor farm-boy?" Brom was sitting in his hut, a bowl of water in his hands with the image of an armoured gladiator visible. The rich, accented voice rose from the hard shell of water, a clear tone of annoyance in it. "Does he even know that he's holding the fate of Alagaësia in his hands?"

"No, Ajihad. The boy thinks it's just a polished stone," the old story-teller replied, turning back to his pot to check on his dinner. "I told him to keep it safe, not to let anyone else know about it."

"Is he trustworthy?" the dark-skinned man's eyes narrowed.

"Of course. He doesn't know anything, why do you think he came to me first? It was my stories of the riders and magic that brought him to me." Brom huffed, looking like the man in the bowl should already know this.

"Then how did it get there?"

"When was the last time you checked on its convoy?"

The muscle-bound gladiator leant off to one side, muttering silently to an advisor. "We trusted that Arya would be able to keep the egg safe. I will send out a convoy first thing tomorrow morning, and request a magician to scry for her immediately." Ajihad nodded in a direction other than the water, signalling to the Varden's best magicians to start the search. "If anyone can find her, it would be the Twins."

"We can be sure that she had been intercepted. Although why she sent it towards me I don't know. It would've been in much safer hands with you."

"At least we still have it. Brom, you must have that egg in your possession as soon as possible. Offer him anything for it. I will send a convoy to collect it as of tomorrow. We almost lost it once. We can only hope that the elves are alright." The man's expression softened slightly. "It is good to see you again, Brom. Only next time I hope it is under better circumstances."

"Aye. I will contact you again when it is in my possession." After a few moments of pleasantries, the water returned to exactly that. The old man drank the water, then filled his bowl with the stew he'd just finished cooking.

"Eragon! Wake up!" Eragon awoke with a jolt, the sapphire stone held tightly against his chest. He took a moment to collect himself when he heard someone knocking at his door. "C'mon Eragon! We have work to do. It's not like you're still in the mountains having some time off!" Eragon quickly pushed the stone under his covers as Roran appeared in the doorway.

"Hey shut up Roran." Eragon flipped over, moving the stone to against the wall, burying it under his tattered sheet. "I'll get up when I'm ready. I thought the crops were in already. Isn't it snowing?"

"Maybe. I just thought it would've been better if you didn't spend your entire life sleeping, or wasting time."

Eragon reached towards one of his shelves, throwing a small stone towards his cousin. "Get out of my room! Maybe if I wasn't lazy enough I would get up and beat you the same way I did last time!"

"I let you win and you know it!" Roran had ducked behind the doorframe to dodge the thrown rock. "But if you want a rematch, you're on!"

"Roran, leave Eragon alone!" Garrow shouted at the eldest of the two. "You may have been picking crops all week but Eragon had to climb up the mountainside. If you ask me, you've both done the same amount of work. Now get in here and stop asking for a fight. It's too cold to go outside without wearing all of your clothes at once, and you're not fighting inside." The old man shouted from the kitchen table. "Besides, breakfast is ready."

Roran left Eragon's door and took a seat beside his father. Eating whatever was on the table within reach. Eragon took a moment to put the stone in a better hiding place, moving it to underneath his bed instead of on top of it. As Eragon slid the stone under the wooden frame, he heard a slight squeak coming from under his bed. Damned rats, he thought absently to himself. After running his hands through his hair, Eragon stepped into the kitchen and sat down opposite to his cousin. They both eyed each other for a moment before remembering Garrow's words and eating in peace together.

"Isn't this better? You're both going to have to get used to this because you're not going outside until the traders are here. And that could be any number of weeks away." Garrow placed his hand on Roran's shoulder. "So Roran, you had better calm down and get over the fact that Eragon went away for a week. And Eragon, you shouldn't push your cousin. He'll be leaving before the end of next year so enjoy the time you have together while it lasts."

Eragon stopped eating and looked at his cousin. A deep resonate sadness suddenly ran through Eragon. Roran was leaving? "But...why?"

"I'm sorry, but I have to go, I can't live here forever," Roran sighed, and tried to look as apologetic as he could as he sprung the unpleasant news on his younger cousin. "I'll be here until Spring anyway. We have all Winter together."

Eragon turned away from the table and left for his room without a word, hiding the mask of anger and sorrow that his face had become.

"You told me that he knew already." Garrow spoke quietly to Roran.

"Of course I hadn't. Because I knew this would happen. I was going to tell him eventually."

"Well, you should talk to him, since you should've told him weeks ago."

Roran groaned slightly, but he knew Garrow was right. He should've told Eragon the week, no, the moment after he knew. It was hard for him to remain happy knowing that it would've been the last few weeks he was spending with his cousin, outside the occasional visits he would make back to Carvahall. But he knew that it would never be the same. He got up from the table and slowly made his way over to the closed door that now hid his young cousin.

Roran knocked lightly on Eragon's door, receiving no answer in reply. He tried again and still got no answer. "Eragon... I was going to tell you about this, but you should know that I can't spend my entire life here."

"When? When were you going to tell me? The week you were leaving? A day before? The hour the cart pulled up to take you away? When Roran? When were you planning on telling me?" Eragon tried not to let his hurt show, but there was no stopping it. Roran and Garrow were the only family he had, and now he is forced to accept the fact that his family is breaking up.

"Eragon, I couldn't tell you. When was there a time to tell you?" Roran stood at the closed door, no answer coming in response. "Eragon?" Silence.

"Leave him be Roran. We can't go anywhere for a few days at least, he'll come around eventually." Garrow stood behind Roran. The old man guiding his son back towards the table to finish eating.

Eragon knelt on the floor, his face buried in his hands, leaning on the side of his bed. He had spent his entire life with his cousin, living together and tending to the family farm. But that part of his life was coming to an end. Roran was right, he knew this time was coming eventually. But to hear it coming at such a needy time, and to hear it from his uncle instead of his cousin didn't help the situation. And he was expected to take the news like it was nothing. To continue his life as normal for this time of year. Although normal for late Fall was to finish clearing the harvest, with the early snowfall there wasn't anything to be done, or to start doing. All he could do was wait.

Eragon reached under his bed and picked up the sapphire blue stone. Trying to clear his mind of the sad news, Eragon stared at the stone for a few moments, he ran his hands over the flawless surface a few times, the cold stone becoming warm to Eragon as he continued to rub it. Eragon still hadn't set his mind on whether or not to sell the stone for supplies, but the village story-teller had told him to hold on it. Let it never leave his sight. What did he mean?

Brom was known to speak in riddles to many, if not all of the young population within Carvahall. Eragon asked the old man about it once, he only said that it broadened the mind and opened the soul. No doubt another riddle, Eragon had thought to himself after such incident.

But if he did say it as a trick towards Eragon, then what would he have meant? What was the real reason he told him to hang onto it? It was all a little too complicated for Eragon to comprehend at that moment. But the thought had taken his mind away from his soon-to-be missing cousin. Eragon was sure that the old man wanted him to keep it a secret to everyone. But that was the only thing he could pick out from their conversation. Whether it be to keep it from his family, because of Garrow's obvious dislike towards magic, or, the entire world, because of its obvious assumed value. But there was still something about it that made Eragon feel different. More powerful. More useful. Just, more.

Weeks had passed and winter had 'officially' started, Eragon had slightly gotten over the news of his adoptive brother's soon departure, and the snowfall had continued without fail. It was only in light sheets, but it was just enough to make the ground an extra inch higher. Every day since Winter had started both Roran and Eragon would trek down their road and check to see if the traders had passed into town. It was the second week of Winter, and even if the traders had found delays, it would be unlikely that they would venture up towards Carvahall because of the snow. They had only just made it last year, and Garrow had asked around because of their tardiness, and every one of the merchants agreed that if it was any worse next year, it wouldn't be worth the effort to travel the distance up to Carvahall.

Fearing the worst, Garrow was reluctant to inform both Eragon and Roran of their misspent hopes, but it was better the traders just not show up, rather than hear it from him, since he knew all along that it was pointless to wait for them. Unfortunately, a trip into town would prove almost impossible with the conditions as they were. The small family of three would have to spread what they had far, and ration what they could for as long as possible.

There was a slump over the house, the seemingly impossible thought of the traders actually covering the dangerous roads between Therinsford and Carvahall became less and less likely as each day passed. There was nothing happening indoors to conserve energy, thus saving food. And boredom was the only feeling that managed to escape the two younger occupants of the small hut. Garrow always managed to busy himself with some form of chore or pet habit. Eragon and Roran, however, usually ran out of things to do before lunch. Which left the rest of the day to either talk about nothing, or spend time in their room.

Eragon spent the time in his room with the polished stone on his bed while he would sort through anything else he had collected over the years and re-arrange the small rocks and trinkets in a fashion that suited him for the time being. Because, no doubt, tomorrow he would have the same time to do the same thing over and over again. Occasionally he had heard noises outside his door, which caused him to jump onto his bed and cover the stone on the risks of someone else finding it, and asking of where it may've come from. Granted he was keeping its existence a secret from his family. But the wealth he might gain from it would go straight back into the family. Garrow would decide on what to do with the money after Eragon had delivered it to him. He wouldn't say how he got it, but it would've been 'like magic'.

The weeks passed by and the continual nothingness occupied most of the space in everyone's mind. Winter was drawing to a close and the sun had decided to show itself once more. Although its warming characteristics wouldn't start to take effect for another week or so, it was nice to be able to see the sun rise over the trees just after lunch. It quickly became routine and thus continued for the three. Eventually, there were droplets of water forming on the edge of the ceiling, indicating that outside would become reachable once more, other than to re-stock up the house for the week. Eating only one and a half meals a day took its toll on the three, but in the end they had survived the unforgiving cold and would start the season of Spring with high spirits. Much like last year.

The cold had passed, and the season of rebirth had began. Roran had packed his bags over winter and waited for the day of his work to begin. It could happen any day. And he was prepared for it. Although there was quite a bit he wanted to do in town before he left. He had wanted to do it before winter, while the traders were in town. But, as they had never showed up, there wouldn't be a chance for him to say anything to anyone that mattered to him. Not that there was anyone out there anyway.

And so the routine of every year began. Both Eragon and Roran would plough out the field, using as much of the area they had, while Garrow would follow behind the two planting the seeds he managed to collect and preserve over the previous year. Of course, there were many more seeds than he could fit, but, as usual, it was likely that some wouldn't grow, thus needing replacement before anything else happened.

The days dragged on, and the workload was as sudden as it was large. And as the sun fell on each day, did all three of the family members retire into the house. Eragon immediately retreated into his room, only coming out for some food and final words of the day. Otherwise he spent it sleeping, or, wondering what he could bargain for the stone. He had given it quite some thought over Winter, and although he didn't know much about bartering or pricing. Many times had he seen wares which was far out of his price range, and from the simple images of the past, he managed to assume that it was worth roughly triple anything he'd seen before. Just because of its sheer size. Although the weight would be something that brought it down in value because it was much lighter than it seemed. As if it was hollow. And Eragon had proved it many times just by giving it a slight tap every now and then.

The stone sat still on his bed, Eragon watching it intently. This is our ticket to wealth. He thought to himself. No more back-breaking labour all day, every day. We deserve this after so many years. Eragon flicked the edge of the stone with one of his fingers. The note was pure, as usual. But the pitch of which it was set had dropped slightly. Slightly confused. Eragon tapped it again, but in the centre. Once more, the note was significantly lower than any time days before it. Eragon shrugged it off. Yes, it was strange. But it was still valuable.

"Eragon! Supper's ready!"

Eragon heard Garrow's call and turned to leave his room, before pausing and turning back, forgetting to hide the stone. As Eragon took the single step back towards his bed, he stopped to gaze at the stone once more. After so many years... He thought. Eragon reached out to the stone, but just before he touched it, another pure note emanated from the stone. He recoiled slightly. Baffled at how the stone sounded all by itself.

"Eragon, it's getting cold!"

He didn't have time to think about it. It was something for later. Eragon picked up the stone and hid it once more underneath his bed. Something wasn't right.