21. Fight for You

Before beginning the day's activities the following morning, the ten young Dragon Riders and their siblings met for a brief discussion of how they wanted the fighting demonstration to proceed.

"Yesterday it sounded like they want to see us fight first," Var said. "Brin, how do you feel about that?"

"Fine. But if any of them ask to fight us, I'm not sure. You know the rams—all of them—would line up to fight me. Especially after that idiotic statement I made yesterday. And I'd probably be really tired by the end, so one of them might actually stand a chance."

"You only said you would consider a male as a romantic interest if he could defeat you," Keeta reminded her. "You didn't promise to be their mate."

"It probably amounts to much the same in their minds," Brin said. "But I'd fight any of you. I'd be far more evenly matched with the six of you who became Riders before me than with any of them."

"I'm sure they'll request to see you fight all of us," Ajh joked. "If only to see you fighting more. Funny how fighting really gets those rams going."

"I wouldn't say funny," Brin disagreed. "Really annoying seems more appropriate." Ajh and Keeta laughed.

"Well, I guess we don't have to follow the same rules each camp," Var said. "Since what Brin suggested is a likely outcome among the Urgralgra, we can simply deny any requests for participants to fight with us. But we might do differently at the dwarf Camp next year. Or the human one the year after."

"We do need to lay some ground rules for the questions," Brom muttered. "Such as, 'No questions about sweethearts, romantic interests, or marriage proposals.' That got old." The others nodded vigorously.

"It seems there are a fair few female Urgals interested even in you, dear brother," Zadí teased. "Though you look like an elf."

Brom reached out to tickle her, and Zadí squirmed away. "You sound so shocked, sweetie," he replied as if affronted. "But no one here is as idolized as Brin."

"Are you really surprised?" Zadí relentlessly continued.

Brom sighed. No comment, dear sister. Stop. You know how she hates that.

Zadí looked properly contrite but didn't reply—verbally or mentally—to Brom's mild reprimand. His mental communication was so brief that no one mentioned it, though several of them guessed what he had done.

After a sympathetic look at Brom, Var's business-like manner returned as he said, "They're starting to gather. I would imagine they're looking forward to this more than anything else, even the dragon rides. Let's make it a memorable day for them."

-:-:-

So they did. After a brief welcome and explanation, the seven young Dragon Riders began to demonstrate all manner of combat methods. Will and Var went first with the hand-to-hand wrestling the Urgals preferred. Their horns were long enough to allow them to smash and ram one another, which they enthusiastically did, much to the delight of the rapturous onlookers.

Brom and Ajh went next with a riveting sword fight. Brom emerged the victor thanks to his extensive study with his father.

The crowd responded to Ajh's cheerful, "I could defeat you in a cooking competition any day," with a roar of laughter.

Nefin and Keeta individually demonstrated their specialties—archery and ax throwing, respectively.

And then, to the spirited chant of, "Br-in, Br-in," Lena and Zadí pushed a reluctant Brin out into the clearing between the small and large groups.

"Who should I fight?" Brin called. "Out of my companions, gentlemen," she quickly added. "We're not opening this to the general public today." A few disappointed groans filled the air at this declaration, but they were quickly quelled.

True to Ajh's prediction, one of the rams—Rintog, actually—said, "All of them. One after the other."

Brin shrugged unconcernedly. She had fought all of them before, and it wouldn't be any different. Or so she thought. One look at Brom told her something would be different there. She was almost nervous to find out. He stayed where he was, however, and Var stepped forward with a wide grin on his face—more for show than anything, Brin knew—pretending he wouldn't be subdued within the first few seconds.

Brin immediately saw that Var would be theatrical just to provide good entertainment. He recklessly blundered forward, arms swinging and head down. She played along with him at first, allowing him to catch her on his first lunge, much to his surprise. She laughed at his expression and kept laughing as she elbowed him as hard as she could in the gut and swept his feet out from under him when he doubled over in pain. Var was too strong to pin to the ground, so Brin drew a small knife hidden in her boot and hurled it with perfect aim to land, quivering, in the ground right beside his neck, clearly demonstrating that he would be dead if she wanted him to be.

Var cautiously eyed the knife as he inched away and sat up. "That was quick," he muttered. "Really, Brin."

"Just following your lead," she quipped. "Trying to put on a good show. You know I'd never hurt you."

"I'm glad you have such a good aim." Var accepted Brin's extended hand and quickly got to his feet. "Go ahead, Will."

"I'm not so sure." Will acted reluctant, but Brin knew it was also for show.

"Come on," she said. "I won't hurt you. Much."

Will chortled. "That's reassuring. Glad you're my cousin. And friendly. Usually."

Brin smiled as they faced each other and danced away from his first aggressive attacks. Finally, after some appreciative cheers from the crowd, Brin lighted on Will's back and quickly subdued him with the familiar technique she had learned from Aunt Willow and mastered practicing with Uncle Varhog. When Will hit his knees, Brin let go and sprang back to the thunderous applause of the spectators.

Brin retrieved her sword to fight Ajh. Ajh was an excellent swordsman, so they feinted back and forth for a few minutes, but Brin ended the short duel by disarming him with a decisive maneuver and pressing the dulled edge of her blade to his throat from behind. Brin knew half a dozen ways to escape such a trap, but Ajh didn't seem to. Or if he did, he wasn't going to use them. He pled defeat right then.

After each successive triumph, Brin looked over at Brom, questioning with her eyes as to whether he was going to fight her. Each time he steadily returned her gaze and shook his head almost imperceptibly to answer her.

Brin insisted Keeta keep her ax in their standoff. Keeta was so short compared to her that Brin didn't feel it fair otherwise. Keeta, though so often sweet and silly, was a fierce fighter when she wanted to be. Her small stature gave her a few advantages, which experience had revealed to her, and she used them to keep Brin hopping for many minutes, swiping at her legs and rolling between her feet on many occasions. But Brin finally ended this match as well, with Keeta pinned to the ground and her arms held tightly behind her.

When Brom once again denied her silent query, Brin raised her eyebrow at Nefin. "Want a go, Nefin? Elf versus Urgal. You might have a chance."

"Not likely," Nefin said with a faint smile. "But I'll go. Don't want to seem like a coward."

"None of you are cowards. If it was you and your arrows against me and any of my other weapons, I'd be dead in a heartbeat. I've never seen anyone as fast."

"All you need is a shield and some good armor," Nefin returned. "Then you would eventually get to me and have your say."

Brin smiled ruefully. "I didn't choose this. I'd rather be a mother of ten."

"That could be arranged," Rintog shouted from the front of the onlookers.

Brin ignored him. "Shall we?" she asked Nefin.

Nefin nodded and drew his sword. Brin fought him carefully, knowing that if Brom did want to fight her next, she would need to be even better still than she was with Nefin. Nefin exploited all of his elven abilities to the fullest—speed, agility, and strength. He combined them once in a powerful jump, which proved to be his downfall. As a collective gasp of awe left the crowd when Nefin leaped ten feet in the air to sail over Brin's head, she also jumped and snagged him around his ankle. She knocked the sword from his hand as he sprawled unceremoniously on the ground, placing the tip of her own against his throat.

"I submit," he croaked under the pressure of the blade. "Got a little cocky, didn't I?"

"I'm sure it would have worked almost any other time."

"But not against you." Brin helped him to his feet, then Nefin asked, "How about you Brom? Are you in the mood to be humiliated today too?"

"Sure," Brom lightly replied, though his green eyes blazed with a determination Brin had never before seen. Her gut clenched nervously, and she wondered what he was thinking.

Guess I'll finally find out, she thought as Brom drew his sword and stepped forward to face her. Why did he suddenly seem so much handsomer than his already unbelievably good looks should have allowed? Was it because his face was set with that mysterious, unwavering resolve? Brin felt Brom enter not a Rider's fighting mind but his place of single-minded focus. She had seen it so many times when he practiced in the Cave of the Eldunarí with Blödhgarm, and she shivered unconsciously that she was the object of his attention right then. It was completely unsettling.

The corners of Brom's mouth twitched up slightly as he seemed to realize what was going though Brin's mind. She kept her eyes on him and continued circling to match his own movements, while simultaneously trying to clear her mind without closing her eyes or shaking her head.

Brin decided that she didn't want to be on the defensive at the same moment Brom sprang forward and begin the fight. She advanced at the same time, and their swords clashed with a ringing crash. He stepped even closer and drove down against her blade with all of his strength. Brin lowered her weapon to maintain her grip and was glad her mental gasp didn't actually come out of her mouth. He was so strong! But he rarely showed it. Why did he seem even stronger than Nefin? It must have had something to do with his unknown purpose for this fight.

Brin twisted to the side and resisted the urge to spin all the way around, knowing Brom would immediately seize the advantage that would give him. She retreated rapidly, sword angling every direction to parry his thrusts, and he advanced at the same pace, giving her no opportunity to recover. But she continued to resist him with almost the same level of defiance he seemed to be exhibiting. There was no way she intended to give into the desperation she was beginning to feel. What was Brom playing at?

The fight dragged on for many minutes, and soon they were both glistening with sweat and breathing hard from the exertion. Brom never lost his dogged focus, and Brin was increasingly frantic in her efforts to hold him off. She was only vaguely aware of the crowd bellowing their approval from all sides. From the look in Brom's eyes, he was completely oblivious to it. She was all he saw or cared about, and it was more disconcerting now than it had been at first. When his ghost of a smile from the beginning of their fight took on slightly more substance as he sensed her thinly-veiled panic, Brin abruptly lost control. Brom pounced on her lapse with lightning speed.

Before Brin even registered what went wrong or how it happened, Brom had her pinned from behind and slightly to her side. He wrapped one strong arm around her torso nd over her arms just below her elbows to keep them by her sides and held his blade firmly against her throat with the other hand.

Brin's heart hammered in her chest, and she imagined Brom could most likely feel and hear it. The half dozen ways she knew to escape him paraded mockingly through her mind, but she found herself completely unable to act on any of them, thanks to the absolute distraction of his strong body pressed tightly against her.

Then his mouth was next to her ear and in a fierce, low voice that sent chills—good chills—up her spine, Brom whispered so only she would hear, "I'll fight for you, Brin. I know I seem quiet and timid compared to these rams, but I love you, and I'll do whatever it takes to prove it, to prove I'm worthy of you." He paused and breathed heavily for a moment, struggling to slow his pounding heart, Brin guessed.

He rested his forehead against her horn then demanded, "Now tell me how you could get away so I can learn. Someday I'll catch you and you won't be able to escape."

Brin carefully turned her face toward his—he kept his sword right where it was and didn't relax the pressure against her throat at all—and found herself staring straight into his intense green eyes. Their lips almost touched. Her eyebrows raised in surprise at the tendrils of energy that seemed to crackle between them. She tried to move her face back but he stubbornly shook his head and pushed the blade at her throat deeper. If it hadn't been dulled with magic, he would have already drawn blood.

"Tell me."

"My horn," Brin gasped, and he eased the pressure just barely. "I could turn my head and jab you with it. I could bash the back of my head into your face, bite your hand, or drive my foot up between your legs. Get my shoulder down under your armpit. Stomp on your toes. Kick your knee backwards."

"Good." Then Brom surprised her by mentally adding, I'd kiss you right now if you weren't an Urgal, though that might only be a problem if the Urgal loves the other as a mate. I may not be as tall or strong as those rams, but I'm strong enough, and I'll fight for you. For however long it takes. I'm not perfect and you are worthy of me. No one is as amazing as you. I could never do better, and I'll love you forever. There. I've finally said it, even if it was only in your mind. Not because I'm afraid to say it out loud, only because I know how much that would embarrass you. He smiled faintly. But at least you know. He looked as if he was seriously considering still kissing her, which made Brin's stomach flutter with a completely different kind of nervousness, then he abruptly released her and stepped back. He raised his eyebrows, effectively asking, Are we done?

Brin nodded slowly, still slightly dazed by what had just transpired. Brom had never been so bold, and she was still trying to determine what to make of her jumbled emotions. He never took his eyes off her as she absently rubbed her throat. Nor could she look away, though she wanted to and tried. She was held captive by his eyes as surely as she had been frozen in place by the feel of his powerful body.

The most coherent thought that made its way to the surface of the swirling pool of emotions was gladness he had implied a similar scenario would happen again. Not only once, but as many times as it took until . . . what? Until what? She admitted she loved him? He proved he could defeat her? She couldn't decide in her current state—nor had Brom been clear on that point anyway—but she felt a silly smile of girlish infatuation creep over her face and found herself completely helpless to remove it.

-:-:-

The rest of the day passed more as Brin expected. They evenly divided the huge crowd of Urgralgra youth into seven smaller groups and assigned each to fighting instruction with one of the young Dragon Riders. The Riders each trained their specialty: Var and Will taught wrestling, Brom and Ajh taught swordplay, Nefin taught archery, Keeta taught ax craft, and Brin taught self-defensive hand fighting. The groups rotated to a new instructor every hour, with a break for lunch after the first three hours.

By dinner that evening, the youth were dirty, exhausted, and thrilled. The day had exceeded their wildest expectations, and they were just as excited for tomorrow's activity—flying on the dragons.

Brin also experienced a welcome turn of events. Brom had either unknowingly or very intentionally succeeded in proving himself the only one who had even come close to subduing her. As such, the Urgralgra rams all seemed to recognize that he had the most right to pursue Brin, and they subsequently backed off in their relentless efforts to do the same.

Brin unconsciously found her traitor eyes sneaking in Brom's direction more than once that day, and they almost inevitably met his eyes looking back at her, with that same small, challenging smile—could it be called a smirk when it was Brom?—on his face.

A/N: After reading this chapter, a guest reviewed wondering, "Why Brin?" So I will attempt to explain. First off, that reviewer seemed to think she wasn't as cool as an elf. I thought the elven race in Inheritance Cycle was a little "larger than life." They had so many abilities that made the other races seem so pathetic (super speed, strength, eyesight, hearing, and almost universal magical ability), and not only that, many of them seemed very condescending about the comparative inferiority of the other races (insert Vanir). So, while there were certainly notable exceptions to this general opinion, I didn't actually think the elves were all that fantastic.

The Urgralgra was the only race Paolini didn't develop in as much depth, which might be why I ran wild with it in The Cycle Continues and made their culture into my idea of a utopia. I wouldn't be surprised if someone who hasn't read that story thought of Brin as lesser than some of Brom's other prospects. But in my mind, Brin is pretty dang awesome. Of course, that is an opinion you needn't share. And what it really comes down to is this: Brom loves her, and that's the real reason behind "Why Brin?"

You have to understand that I only have so much control over these characters and this story. I never understood this concept before writing a book, but I remember my husband, who has considered himself a writer for years, saying the same thing, namely: "The story exists, and you simply give it form." That's precisely how I feel. Things will happen in this story that I don't like, but they are supposed to happen. If I forced them to change because I'm the one sitting at the keyboard typing the words, I feel like I would be betraying the characters and the story. A line I read in a Stephen King book the other day summarized it really well. He said, "Of course no story except a bad one . . . is ever completely under the writer's control . . ." Not to imply I'm a great author or this is a great story, but there is definitely a force at work here that inspires me as to who, what, when, where, and why.