Edited 1/29/22 Please let me know your thoughts throughout the story, I'd love to hear for you :)
I do not own the Inheritance Cycle. The Pellinor book series was used to help with some details- those I also disclaim.
Enjoy,
The Lone Farmhouse
Rose looked at the child's flushed face, suddenly she felt very tired and realized with a staggering alarm that she was incredibly angry. She inhaled and held her breath until her head felt as if were about to spin then very slowly she blew out, as if to release her anger.
She took another deep breath, and then said, "You are the only one to know of what I am, yes?"
"Yeh," Dunion said from somewhere behind her. "I an't gonna tell anyone either, lady, you an't got ter worry about that."
Rose felt speechless, and she looked over her shoulder at Dunion "What is it that you expect me to do?" said she.
"I don't know," Dunion said with a shrug. "Heal him or something."
How? The word came to her lips almost without her knowing, but she was able to swallow it. She looked over the face of the boy once more. Feeling herself flush, Rose very slowly sat down on the bed next to the child. The flimsily made bed was shaking from the child's violent tremors, and as Rose studied him, she could see that his eyes were moving rapidly from underneath his eyelids as the fever warped his dreams. The boy looked to be hardly out his first year of life, and yet his skin was yellowed and creased like that of an elderly man's from his burning fever.
Rose experimentally ran her fingers through his wispy hair, he was very hot to the touch, and his skin burned the tips of her fingers. Fretful, she bit her lip until she tasted blood and drew her hand back, folding her hands onto her lap.
Children were often the innocent ones, yet, they were fated to participate in the hard game of chance in which many did not survive but some did, and later in life, those few, played victim to their parent's beliefs and crimes. Would this toddler be better off if she left? He, surely, would be not recover with her staying? Yet, she saw no reason as why she should not try to help the toddler. If she did perhaps, she could leave peacefully and return to Thorn, wherever he might be. However it was more than likely that the man would ask more from her, though she had nothing to give.
Rose knew exactly what the man was asking her to do, though it was unachievable for her to do so without further knowledge in the Ancient Language, which was something that Ailis refused to give her. Though she could not heal the child magically, perhaps there was a way to reduce his burning fever… Rose bit her lip in deliberation, and thought for anything she might know. There was something, she had learned it long ago, that her former nursemaid had thought her in preparation for when she might someday become a mother herself. Rose had at the time thought to disregard the information, as she sure she would never need it as a mother for her children would be cared for by a nursemaid as she had been. However she remembered it now or perhaps, the only reason she recalled it was because the child kicked her.
She stood up, mindful to not shake the bed, and walked to the chest, where a basin filled with cool water rested, then she withdrew the old rags from the water and wrung them out before returning to the bed. She tried her best to ignore Dunion, who was standing in the corner of the room watching her every move, as she uncovered the toddler and wrapped the damp rags around each of his ankles but her movements were jerky from his endless scrutiny.
"That is all I can do at the moment," said Rose as she recovered the small child with the thin blankets.
"You an't gonna do anything else?" he asked.
Rose shot him a fierce look and stepped away. "There is nothing more I can do," she said as calmly as she could.
Dunion cursed and looked as if he might say something more but Abagail walked in, bringing with her a beaten iron ewer of water smelling of lemon grass and mint, an empty bowl, and some cloths. She carefully set the ewer on the ground close to chest and placed the basin next to it then she met at her brother's cross glare.
"Don't look at me like that," Abagail said. "Namma's in there badgering me about the lady's state. Really, Dune, didn't you think she would?"
Dunion pressed his lips together and looked Rose over as if she were livestock. "Yeh, I did," he said easily. "I'll be out there, if you need me jest holler."
Abagail nodded in understanding as Dunion gave Rose a piercing look, clearly warning her not to try anything she might regret, before leaving the room. Forcibly, Abagail opened the chest and bent over it as she shuffled through it. After a time she stood up with a dress and long, grey sleeveless tunic which had several ties running down the sides, carefully draped in her arms. The respectful way Abagail held the raiment out towards Rose alerted her that the dress was precious, though she could see nothing special about it. The dress was made of a fine wool, Rose did not recognize, and dyed a blue so dark it might have been black, yet despite its strange color the dress it was rather simple. Gallingly, Abagail made clicking noises with her tongue until Rose took the dress. When Rose took the garment from her, Abagail then placed the sleeveless tunic and ewer and basin on top of the chest and walked to the side of the bed where she sat down and began to stroke the toddler's sweat streaked face.
Rose meekly touched the soft material, then stood up and, after insuring that Abagail was not watching her, she poured the water into the bowl, and with intense relief washed herself properly for the first time in days. There was some soap in the bowl, and with it she washed her hair and dealt with the cuts on her arms and face. They were not very serious, though they stung from the harshness of the soap. Then she drew the dress over her head, it was too long on her and pooled slightly around her feet. She didn't know what to do with her dirty clothes and did not feel like asking, so she folded them up and placed them on the chest next to the empty ewer, picking up the gray tunic and slipping it over the dress. Silently, she put on a pair of stocking and examined her boots which were looking worse for wear. She wondered if she should switch them for the new pair in her packs back at the farmhouse when she returned there. Putting that particular problem aside, she began the slow business of untangling her hair- some of it almost matted like felt. She finally managed to rid herself of most of the knots, and looked up. Abagail had fallen asleep, sprawled out next to the child.
The meal and the fresh clothing made Rose's exhaustion overwhelming, and she fought back a yawn. She studied the foot of the bed for a long moment in debate before she lay down, intending on a short rest while she could. She wondered how Dunion had known what she was, and how he had seen Thorn, she wondered what else was known. She had thought that Thorn had been well concealed, but clearly it was not so, and if she and Thorn where apparent that they seemed to be, then they were certainly in peril… worrying vaguely around these thoughts, she drifted into a deep sleep.
She woke up with a start and immediately sat up, instantly alert. The room was much darker, and the candle that had burned in the shelf of the window was now absent; she must have been asleep for hours. Rose sent out her mind in search of Thorn but felt nothing. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Slipping off the bed, she slid on her boots and picked up her clothing from off the chest. Walking as quietly as she could to the curtain, she listened for any sounds that might alert her that someone was awake but heard nothing except for the sounds of the night, crickets chirping in the grasses and the threatening hoot of an owl and the soft snores of the people who lived in the house.
After a moment of hesitation, Rose poked her head around the curtain and glanced around. Two figures slept close to the door making it impossible to open and escape out of, and the windows were too high and small to crawl out. With a resigned sigh, she stepped back and sunk down to the ground to wait. There was nothing else to do. It was not long until exhaustion crept up on her again, and she lay down and drifted into sleep.
When Rose next opened her eyes, she knew she had dreamed but was without any memory of dreaming. What woke her was hunger; her stomach felt barren and grumbled and twisted anxiously. She sat up and, with a glance around her, brushing the dirt and straw off herself. Rose stood up slowly, as she was stiff from sleeping on the ground, listening to the sounds that sailed through the air: the cluck of chickens scratching the soil, a couple of women chatting in the crisp dialect of the west, the low of cattle drifting the distance, the cark cark of crows. A warm late-morning light shifted through the aperture and tempted her to wander outside. She stretched lazily then walked over the narrow window and, lifting herself up on her tips of her toes, she looked out.
Now that the haze had lifted she could see that the house rested on what was once a rich and fertile farming country. Numberless wildflowers carpeted low peaty hills; mixtures of bluebells, yellow and orange bird's-foot trefoil, purple and white flowers that Rose did not recognize, and grainy reed grass bobbled in the wind. In the distance lone farmhouses lay blighted in neglected fields of gray fungus, which meant the corn or wheat would never be gathered and eaten. Further away was a dim flickering and a curl of grey smoke rose from a fire too far off to be properly seen.
With a sigh, Rose turned away and walked to the side of the bed where the boy and his mother lay. Thelma looked calm with her eyes closed, stroking the toddler's head with her crooked fingers. The toddler, Rose noticed, was no longer damp with sweat and his lips were cracked and desiccated. People could recover from a wet fever, she knew, but a dry fever would kill. Rose looked at the child's flushed face with regret, she was very sure he would not recover. Children often died of sickness or accident or for no reason at all, and so there was no reason for her to feel culpable, not in the least.
Rose shifted uneasily and walked to the doorway. She heard someone scuff their boots against the straw littered floor as she pushed the curtain, looking towards the source of the noise. Standing tensely by the edge of the entry, she watched the man closely. Her assailant was wearing the same worn and tired clothes as the day before, it was obvious that he not washed. He was poking the fire in the opened oven with a long metal stick. After a short time he seemed to become aware of Rose. He turned his head and looked directly at her.
After a moment, Rose looked up into his face and despite herself, grinned rather deviously. A grim sort of delight bloomed in her belly when she saw that the area around his eye she had punched him was swollen with discoloration, and there was a large bruise close to his ear where she cuffed him. It took her a moment to recognize that she proud of the injuries she had caused him, and when did she realize this she felt a burning dismay and forced herself to turn away. She sensed rather than saw his eyes on her, reviewing her wear as if for the first time grasping she was in fact a woman and how it was not courteous to strike a woman. Not that, Rose thought silently to herself, these men knew the meaning of the word "chivalrous" and how to abide by its rules and laws.
Rose switched her gaze towards the table where half a loaf of bread and some cheese was set out on a plate, and next to the plate was mug with insipid liquid. Meager, though the food was, it made her mouth water. She did not ask whether the food and drink was meant for her, the thought of doing so brushed against the remains of her vanity in a very unpleasant way.
She took a seat on the bench and slowly reached for the bread, the air had hardened the crust of the bread yet it had not taken away from its sweet taste. Rose wondered whether people who lived here had the luxury to sugar, it seemed unlikely, though the dinner prepared the night before avowed that they were not in complete poverty. Mussing over her thoughts, she took a bit of the cheese which was as sharp as the bread was sweet.
She swallowed. "Where has everyone gone to?" she asked. If there was only Trent and the mother and toddler within the house, perhaps she could run and meet with Thorn sooner than she hoped.
"Meybe workin', meybe out gettin' 'em shields," he said, "er meybe their gettin' a loop fer yeh themselves, like I suggested."
Rose nodded as if she completely agreed with his proposal of looping her, as he called it. "Everyone is outside, then," she said.
"Imma knowing what yer thinkin', girlie, and it an't gonna work," said Trent.
"There's nothing stopping me from leaving," Rose said indigently. "The road is just over there."
"Yeh can try," said Trent with a casual shrug. "I think yeh might it interestin'."
Rose pressed her lips together and took a large gulp of the liquid in the mug: it was a bitter liquor that went down into her belly like fire. She choked as a harsh aftertaste stung her mouth and burned her palate. Warmth thrilled through her body all the way to her toes, and for a second she wondered if she was going to be unwell. Blinking, she pushed the liquor away from her, and coughed breathlessly until the flame passed.
"Can't handle mead?" asked Trent, sniggering.
Contemptuously Rose kept her gaze from him and drank from the cup again, this time she didn't choke. Sip by sip, she finished the mug and set it down on the table. She felt a little dizzy now, if a little lightheaded, and slowly she swung her legs over the bench and put her feet on the ground.
She stood up and walked to the open door, her legs felt wobbly and weak and she instantly regretted drinking that mead as it caused her to stumble. Though Rose heard Trent following after her, she kept walking until she the sun heated her face. She now stood in the doorway, looking up at the sky watching what might have been a vulture fly lithely above. For a long moment she stood there, watching the creature glide in aimless circles. In a thickly vegetated garden not far from the farmhouse were its occupants, laughing and joking as they labored. She listened to them for a moment longer than necessary and with a resigned sigh she walked back inside the dwelling. She missed Thorn, and she wondered when they would next see eachother, without him her leaving this place seemed all too unlikely.
Rose stayed in the secluded farmhouse another two days. She spent most of her time with Abagail, with whom she struck up a very unexpected camaraderie. In Abagail's company, she could forget of the reasons as to why she was there, a Dragon Rider confined in a lewd building in a feeble hope that a child could be healed. She could pretend that she was just a young girl without much more to worry about than the day's tasks or gossip and that her past was not her own, that it belong to someone else entirely. Although Abagail had not been raised in the manner of refined dignity, her grandmother had taught her some of the practice: she knew few of the great lays by heart though she could not read she knew the alphabet. She could be, Rose had thought, a great scholar if she wished to. Rose, who cherished reading, had carved out some runes in the dirt with a stick, showing them and explaining their meanings to Abagail.
"I don't think I want to read," she said ruefully, looking at the runes. "It seems to me to be an uninspiring use of time. What good is reading stories, when there is so much work to be done? I like doing these things, it makes feel like I've accomplished something at the end of the day." She glanced at Rose, as if daring her to disagree, but Rose privately understood what she was saying; the fact was, Abagail did in fact have many things to do. Abagail silently returned to her sewing.
Rose subsided and threw the stick onto the ground. "There is no shame in not knowing something," she quoted. The shame in not willing to learn, but she left these words unspoken and instead turned to dampen the sickly boy's face. He was not fairing any better nor was he any worse.
There is nothing that you can do.
The voice fell so lightly in her mind that at first she thought it to be her own, and she almost laughed at her own foolishness. I know, she replied. Her stomach turned over, as the presence of him entered her mind. Where have you been?
She felt Thorn sway due to a sudden current of wind. Hunting, he said plainly. She felt his concern and his relief at finding her through their mindlink. When I returned to the meadow, I could not find you and I flew over those buildings in search of you. You were not there, so I flew over the lands. I've been flying for days and nights looking for you. Where have you been?
She leaned back on her hands and the boy kicked out violently. I've been here, said Rose, mostly. She told the whole tale of what had happened since their separation that one afternoon through a jumble of words and images. Thorn listened attentively, and did not interrupt once. Never before have I been so cross that I had not realized that I was angry, Rose said after she finished reviewing the events that landed her at the isolated farmhouse. She felt Thorn's amusement running through her. There is hardly anything amusing about this situation, Thorn!
No, he said in merriment, there is not. Are you all right?
As all right as I can be, she said. It's hardly wise to stay here. These people believe I slay someone they loved, and no matter what I say I cannot seem to reason with them.
Do you believe that you can get away from them?
Despite knowing that Thorn couldn't see the action, she shook her head. Not at this moment, she said.
When then? said Thorn in sudden irritation. I want you back.
Rose looked around the room and bit her lip. Carefully she examined his intentions, then said, I don't desire my being here either, Thorn, but this predicament is not a simple one. She paused and ringed her fingers around her wrists. How far away are you?
With a snort through their mindlink, Thorn sent her a vision of where he was, which was not far. Below him was a crumbling wall painted a faded blue with a sun that was once yellow, Rose remembered passing the wall days before, there a scoured house not far from it. In the distance was the dwelling, Rose was at, with a small building to its left which she had assumed to the sables. Though looking at the sables through Thorn's eyes Rose saw that it was not quite big enough to be called a sable nor a barn as it was only slightly bigger than large shed.
I'll see you soon, my friend, she promised.
Rose's mind was briefly flooded with Thorn's anger and fright and desolation, but when he spoke in her him his voice was fierce with assurance. I'll be watching you, little one, he said, then she was suddenly pushed out and the mindtouch was closed. She tried to reach him again, a few times, but the dragon didn't respond. Dejected and uncomfortable, at last she turned away from the child and stood up. She hadn't realized before how much she missed Thorn's presence.
In the afternoon that day, the wind shifted and strengthened, and a bank of dark clouds began to build on the western horizon. The people of the house had left, to prepare the farm for the storm, leaving Rose to sit sweating and bored at the table, as it was the only place she was out of the way. She used the stick to trace runes in the dirt, sentences of nonsense and silly rubbish that made her quite thankful no one there besides herself knew how to read.
The weather steadily worsened all day until the people were working through a driving rain and the wind was almost gale force. Toward evening, the little boy called Cai stumbled into the house with a long reed in his hands and he sat down beside her, a puddle of water dipped off of his clothing and onto the floor. Soon after Cai came in, so did the others and Trent who had been sitting in the corner of the room stood up and opened the door. At that moment an outburst from the storm slammed the door on its hinges, and a blast of spray-laden wind sent the soaked him almost instantly. Rose turned her attention to Cai, as he began to drill holes in the reed with a small knife to make, as he told her, a flute.
Once more she reached out her mind to Thorn, and sighed with relief as the dragon merged in mindtouch with her. As he merged his mind with Rose's, a bright crackling of lighting flashed across the sky and a roaring of thunder shook the house. Somewhere outside came the sound of Wolf as she began to howl at an upcoming intruder.
