We were strangers
Starting out on a journey
Never dreaming
What we'd have to go through …

- Richard Marx and Donna Lewis - At the Beginning

~Chapter Six~

~New Dawn~

A dark room. A distracting symphony scratching unease into the air. And a table, piled with a sumptuous feast.

Her brothers sat at a table, but both were still, and silent. Brinley sat at the head of the dining table, little Brinley, with Zachary to his right. Fabiola called to them, but neither looked up. She crossed the hall and spoke again, but again, neither answered. As soon as she touched Brinley on the shoulder, he looked up, and sorrow was etched into every line of his young face.

'It's the end of the world, Fab,' he said, and smiled sadly. Zachary stared into space, and the music stopped. Suddenly, the only sound in the world was a child's crying beginning in another room.

oOo

Fabiola gasped awake in the pre-dawn light. She took a moment to calm her pounding heart, and try to figure out why on Alagaesia she should be graced with such a worrying dream. It was one of the oddest dreams she had ever had. She shook it off, as she pushed herself to her elbows, trying to shake off her unease. The camp was still quiet, the gigantic blue dragon sheltering the boy like a mother, and of the other one (Murtagh, she thought grudgingly) nothing could be seen but a roll of blankets and a clump of black hair.

Fabiola struggled to her feet as silently as possible, and ran a hand through the snarls in her hair. Today would be important, she realised, and she wanted to look presentable.

There hadn't been much conversation last night after Eragon had proclaimed he would let her stay, like the gracious princeling he was. Murtagh hadn't said anything, she thought as she shuddered through the freezing water of the nearby stream, feeling self-conscious. She prayed to whatever deities might be listening to keep both boys away for at least a half hour.

The water was like ice, but in a way, welcome. It was nice to be clean again, and be able to brush her hair out. As she fought the tangles from it atop a rock in the sunlight, she let her mind wander over the events of yesterday, as she tried to clear her mind into order.

The bloody horse had been difficult to mount, but not impossible. And the silence had been beyond uncomfortable, but she had dealt with it, admirably, she thought. And now, there was only the darkly stretching future to contend with.

It was the first hour after dawn by this point, and she knew the camp would be awake. She stalked towards the break in the trees, feeling oddly hesitant, before realising what the trigger for the feeling was.

She was camping with boys after all. And she couldn't repress all of the instincts born into her from years being mildly civilized. She squinted as she stumbled forward, in a laughable attempt to preserve the innocence of her eyes, whilst humming a disjointed melody and stepping on some large loudly cracking branches.

She knew she was being inherently foolish, but still felt like she must keep up appearances. At one point in her life, she had been a "lady of class".

Sort of.

Eragon looked up as she entered the clearing. A small fire was burning and he was boiling something over it. She smiled hesitantly at him, wondering if this would be suitable behaviour, relieved when he half-smiled in return. But his face twitched slightly as he leaned forward, and as Fabiola approached the fire, she noticed he had dark circles under his eyes and there was a healing cut on his cheek.

'Are you alright?' she asked him concernedly.

'I … have a few broken ribs,' he said, smiling sheepishly. Fabiola made a noise of distress.

'Oh, no! How did you get those?'

'Um … Ra'zac?'

'Oh. Right. Sorry. It's been a while since I was on the run. It could take a bit for the logic to kick in properly.'

She sighed, and looked back up at him, her dark eyes frank.

'I'm sorry. I promise, I'll get better.'

He shook his head, waving it away.

'Don't worry about it. I just didn't sleep very well, but Murtagh reckons they should be healed in a few more weeks.'

Murtagh, eh? a voice piped up bitterly in the back of her head. So he's a healer now, too, is he? Hmm …

'When were you attacked?'

'About a week ago, I think …'

Fabiola sighed, and nodded.

'In fact, I'm just about ready to change the bandage …' he hedged, and Fabiola stood back.

'Fine. I want a look.'

Eragon blushed (Fabiola found that a little amusing) and tugged off his tunic. His fingers, though fumbling managed to untie the bandage, and he exposed a blotchy side. She managed to hold in her gasp with difficulty and remain blank. It was an effort, but she decided he would have preferred silence to hysterical screams.

It also might have worried the other one a little …

'It's … pretty nasty,' she managed at last, disguising very well the flashback she was having.

oOo

'Brinley! What did you do??'

His little face quivered.

'I f-fell,' he whispered, his bottom lip trembling. He was heavy, but Fabiola hardly felt this as she lifted him in her own young arms to tote him off to the healers and have them frown and hem and hah over him.

Brinley. Angel face, sweet eyed, joker, trickster, child … little Brin, apple of his mother's eye …

oOo

'Fabiola?'

'Yes. Sorry. You know, my little brother broke his rib once … 'Course he was only a young little thing. Kicked up one hell of a fuss, though …'

She met his confused eye.

'You're doing well. Healing up fine. So long as you don't overexert yourself, you'll be fine.

'I thought you were a tailor.'

The remark was sudden and unexpected, especially as it came from Murtagh, and she hadn't realised he had entered the clearing. She jumped, and Eragon laughed quietly. Fabiola smiled awkwardly, as she turned around to address him.

'That's true. But you learn the oddest things in a shop with twenty other women. One practised as a nurse in her free time … nice woman. But you got all sorts. Pirates, gypsies … merchants wives, travellers … quite an odd bunch we were. I was just another in the mix – but of course, to them I was just an ordinary young seamstress, trying to scrape a half-way decent living in the slums … But they shared stories, and I listened. You can learn a lot from people.'

Fabiola smirked.

'I also had a hell-raiser for a brother. Mostly returned to me in broken condition, and guess who had to pull him off to the healers? Yep. They tried their best to inspire and interest of healing in me, but it wasn't my thing. Nice of them, though,' she mused.

She stood up, and turned back to Murtagh, who was holding the limp bodies of two rabbits.

'Breakfast,' he answered her enquiring gaze, allowing himself a brief smile.

'Fine, but you skin them, I'll cook them,' Fabiola said, casting an apprehensive look at the bodies.

'No fan of blood?' Murtagh wondered aloud, as he took out his knife, and knelt over a smooth rock to be used as a work-surface. Fabiola shuddered.

'Blood, I can deal with, but ripping the fur off a little rabbit … ugh. Gives me the shivers. It's terrible, isn't it? I'm not very good at being on the run, really.'

Murtagh smiled again, and Fabiola took a moment to get a measure of him.

She had been in a whirl since yesterday, and her thoughts of this stranger were all confused. The warmth of being at his side as his "fiancé", the terror of his knife at her throat, and the tenseness of both their bodies riding his grey warhorse … his silent menace behind Eragon …

Suddenly this was all apparently over. He was no longer a threat. Apparently. And neither was she. Apparently.

She knew it was a lie between the two of them to keep Eragon safe. Or ignorant. She didn't know which. But they would talk about it soon, and Fabiola felt a little nervous …

He was tall, taller than Eragon, and dark. Quite handsome too, but Fabiola was too wary to take much interest at the moment. Though a terrible judge of age, she guessed him to be older than she was, though likely not by too much. He was dressed in dark colours, with occasional glints of silver heralding his impressive array of weaponry, stretching from the dagger jammed into his boot, to the silver sword just peeping from under his black cloak. His bow was lying next to a log, and his quiver was strapped across his cloak.

'Did you know Brom well?'

The question was sudden, and came from Eragon, interrupting the flow of her thoughts. Fabiola blinked up at him, before answering.

'No. I had heard of him, back in the Varden, but only snippets. I was never let in on such counsels as were held there … I was a little on the young side … and the stories were kept quiet enough … around me, anyway,' she said, slowly, feeling her oaths trying to force more words from her; words to expose her, words to reveal … she fought them, and went on.

'But I do know that they considered him a wise, good man, and though I only met him briefly, I believe as much myself.'

Saphira stared at Fabiola, as Eragon looked down, and seemed pleased.

'If you don't have a horse, how are you going to keep up with us?' Eragon furrowed his brow. Fabiola was dumb-struck for a moment.

'Ah, shhhh … ugar. Wh – how fast are you travelling?'

Eragon suddenly began coughing, his hand pressed to his rib. Fabiola rubbed his back in a motherly fashion, and looked expectantly to Murtagh, who took a moment to answer.

'Not fast. Just a walk.'

'Oh.'

How depressing. Damn, these boots might have been made for walking, but the body supported by those boots was weak, easily tired and really not a fan of physical challenge.

'I'll just have to walk beside you for a bit then.'

She could hear the difference in her voice herself.

'Don't be silly,' Eragon said, stretching hesitantly, seeming pleased when nothing tore.

'I'm taking Brom's horse. You can have Cadoc.'

'Oh. Okay. Sounds good!'

She left to fill a cooking pot with water from the nearby stream, and by the time she returned, and rabbits were laid neatly butchered on the surface waiting for her, and Murtagh had disappeared to see to his horse, or something. Eragon was pulling a plant out of his saddle-bags, and Saphira was rustling her wings restlessly.

Fabiola popped the merry little corpses into the water, and shoved it onto the fire; Eragon tossed her a sprig of something, which she dumped in too, and then a sprig of something else. Soon, it was simmering away. She dumped the stew into bowls, and passed it to Eragon, without looking at him, trying to concentrate on not burning her fingers or the pot, and then held one out for Murtagh, who took it with a word of thanks too. She poured her own portion, and munched without much zeal.

But it wasn't too different from being at home, really. She had eaten in the kitchen of her landlady's house, normally, a matronly woman who chattered away to the girl as they usually cooked together, and Fabiola would eat with her, her young son, and until her older daughter had gotten married, her too. They cooked over a fire too, scant as it was when rent was lean and there was no money to buy fuel. Sometimes, Fabiola would take a meal in the local tavern when they needed a hand on the bar, or when she would be asked to do waitress work, as much as she detested such occasions. But the banter around the fire late at night was always fun.

How had her life changed so drastically in such a short space of time? Fabiola briefly wondered what life would be like if she had a normal life, and family. It was an odd thought, but not entirely new. She had spent long hours as a lonely child in the Varden, as her older brother trained and her younger one was sleeping, or healing, or hell-raising imaging her ideal family. A strong, kind father, who smiled like her young tutor Arion, who was tall and strong enough to hoist her onto his shoulders like Jörmundur in a good mood, and who could be counted on to always be there for her. A pretty mother, with a gentle smile like Ambry, with shiny hair like the elf girl who came and moved like a dancer through the streets, the most beautiful thing Fabiola had ever seen, and a mother who sang her songs and lullabies. A mother. Her mother.

She had been a different child to the others, grave and serious, with her big wondering eyes. Others found her a little unsettling; with the eyes that watched and understood; too much like a shadow from ages past, with all the innocence and youth of a babe. She didn't fit anywhere, a child of the Varden, a noble in all technicality, growing up on the bounty of the Varden, the natural order of the world reversed completely. Had things been different … how different things would have been.

She had never had a place. Maybe this was it. Death in the protection of the future, because it could only end in death for her. Ironic, true, but wasn't that life?

Her life, anyway.

'Not a bad day for the ride,' Eragon remarked absently, looking into the horizon. Fabiola agreed nervously.

The time came to leave the clearing. The fire was doused, bags packed, general area cleared, and little vestige of their visit was visible. The boys mounted their respective horses with surety, though Murtagh watched Eragon hawk-like as he struggled on before climbing up himself. Fabiola couldn't help but marvel at his grace, before clambering up herself, and blushing at how awkward she must look. The useless bow sat awkwardly across her back, making for an uncomfortable ride. She sighed, and patted the horse's head as she sat on the leather saddle. He snorted, and seemed genial enough. More so than her poor crabby mare. But having little experience of horses, and only her own methods of horse-riding, she hoped she wouldn't hinder Eragon and Murtagh.

She needn't have worried. They took a slow pace to avoid causing Eragon any extra pain. Their path was wide enough to allow the three to travel abreast. Eragon coughed, and winced, clutching his side, but didn't say anything. He and Murtagh continued a conversation about hunting that they had begun earlier in the clearing. Fabiola smiled to herself.

Boys, she thought fondly, and began digesting all that she had heard as she rode uncomfortably on.

xXx

A/N: Hello, hello and welcome to another gripping instance of Fabiola's life. Hmm. I'm sorry it's so boring, I'll try to pick up the pace. This isn't beta'd either, but my lovely new beta who shall henceforth be refered to as Dangela because I can't remember her username -shockhorror- will get around to it, becasue she's lovely. Alright? ENJOY! REVIEW! MWA! xxx - Wraithlike