I do not own the Inheritance Cycle.
Edited 1/30/22
Please let me know your thoughts throughout the story, I'd love to hear for you :)
Enjoy,
Perceiving
They left early that next day for the city called Cellwair, which lay southeast of the capital. Due to how far north they had traveled the days before, they were forced to backtrack south, in hopes to avoid Urû'baen. Yet as Rose looked out over the land, it seemed that they hadn't traveled south enough. Below them the Ramr River looked like a silver coiling snake, flashing silver in the shadows of evening, and to its north the walls of Urû'baen could be seen, though only at a great distance, barely a speck of grey in the green of the land.
Whenever Rose looked down at the grand city a great unease coiled inside her. This is the closest she had been to city she grew up in for more than six moon cycles, and so much had happened within that time.
As if he felt her thoughts, Thorn swung his head around to look at the speckle of a city. This was his first time seeing Urû'baen, the place he was confined in for a hundred years. After the Fall of the Riders, Galbatorix kept only three eggs, all of which were hidden within the wall of his castle, in hope to restart the Dragon Riders on his own terms. Now, only one remained unhatched, and the King had procession of none of them.
That is it? Thorn asked. There was an anger in his voice that Rose rarely heard, it made her shiver.
It is, said Rose as she leaned forward. A cloud wrapped them in its chilling mist, hiding Urû'baen from sight. She shivered and closed her burning eyes as they smarted, but did not dare wipe away the collecting moisture.
Thorn tensed slightly beneath her. It does not seem like much, he said before turning away.
That hardly means a thing. Rose leaned in closer to Thorn, her legs straining against the straps on his saddle. She detested this, the saddle and its straps, not because of what they did but of what they meant for her. Now all her excuses for not flying with Thorn were merely that, excuses, and very little more. The dragon knew this too, which perhaps made any future arguments with him on the subject quite unwinnable on her behalf and far more unbearable than they ought to be.
That did not mean that Thorn was as disagreeing with the saddle as she was. When it had been finished, he was as giddy as a child, hardly able to keep still as Eragon tightened it onto him. His joy overlapped her uneasiness, until her gut twisted and she felt as if she were about to be ill as the emotions battled against each other.
In the end, Rose was thankful for the saddle beneath her. It was certainly much more reliable than that mattress and sheepskin she had used. At least she would not have to pull the feathers and broken twine and rope from between Thorn's scales.
Thorn, catching the direction of her thoughts, trembled beneath her causing Rose to frown. Her makeshift saddle had kept her skin from being torn to shreds, but in the end it did not last. She had forgotten where she had discarded it. What she had not forgotten was how distraught Thorn was, seemingly mad at her without reason and how that had brought on her own anger. They had debated then, she remembered, about returning to where the Empire's soldiers had attacked that family. Thinking of this once more, she shook herself to fight off the thoughts, and looked in the direction of the capital.
We ride into the heart of the land., she said. It is strange think that somewhere down there I had spent my entire life, with you trapped inside the same walls I was. I'm grateful we did not meet until we were free from the King's grasp. I could imagine that his control over us would only create pain.
Within moments, Thorn's grumbling laugh stilled, his humor gone completely. This is something no living being would wish for, he said. Your King has turned enough families against each other, forcing one to kill their brother. There is no need for history to repeat itself. He paused for a short moment. It would do none of us any sort of good if we allowed Eragon and Saphira to go off alone. Should they be captured, we would have to fight against them.
There is also a chance that all of us are caught off guard and captured to be later taken to the King. Should that happen we would have to bring down the Varden before they raise their hand against us. The King would not be so eager to let us go, either. We'd be trapped beneath his control for ages.
There is a chance of that, Thorn agreed calmly.
Rose frowned, trying to understand the dragon's calm. After a moment, she shook herself and asked, What are you thinking Thorn?
I am thinking that it is a much simpler thing to keep you two together, he said. You may not have talked with Saphira but I have, and we both agree that it is easier to an eye on the two of you if you are together.
Surely you're jesting, she said but was met by silence. Thorn?
I am not, he said at last. That is not all we agreed on. I came because Saphira asked for my assistance, and I hoped you would come as I would not be able to bring myself to leave you behind. Should it have been you in Eragon's place, I hope that she would do the same for me.
Rose nodded, accepting this answer. She was silent for a time, watching Saphira cut through the clouds in small graceful movements. Do you believe that was what it was like for the Forsworn's dragons? she asked as they passed a small songbird. Them having been forced between going against their Rider or turning against their own.
Thorn snorted. That would not have been a choice.
There was a truth in those words, one that ran deep enough that a strong silence over took them. Rose turned away and closed her eyes. The wind raged around them, blocking out all other noise besides that of the thundering thuds of Thorn's wings and high whistle of the wind. Soon the sound became mesmerizing.
Rose thought of where it was that they were going. She had heard that Cellwair was the close to the Hadarac Desert, and because of this it a rare thing to have farmland as most of the land surrounding it was poor and sandy. Most of the citizens rarely saw anything other than radishes and rough, stringy meat brought in by hunters for their meals.
Cellwair lay southeast of the capital, no more than two days ride, by horseback, from the southern city, Fomost. Cellwair was where the homes stood small and drab against the high stone walls, and it was there that many of the King's enemies were imprisoned.
There were two very high, very thick stone walls, where guards would walk, that enveloped the center of the city. To walk through these gates one would need an epistle from the desk of the King, one of his generals, or a high ranking nobleman- when the Forsworn were still alive they were included on this list- or to be arrested and taken there. It because of this that it seemed to call Cellwair a city was like mistaking a viperous snake for a cuddly kitten, it was something that simply should not be done.
The city was overseen by a nobleman called Bonel, and he was known well throughout the courts as being a pitiless sort. Thinking of this now made her feel uneasy. Bonel was not what she would call a pleasant man, she had met him once, by some rare chance, and could still remember his thin, skeletal face, and the way his eyeballs looked sunken and void of life, almost as if living in Cellwair had taken the humanity right out of him. As a child, Ilbert used to joke around about it calling the man; Skinny Bones, trying to lighten the mood but an unsettling feeling always overcame her when he was brought up. Even now, when Rose was grown, she didn't fancy the idea of chance at seeing him once more, and even voiced this much, but it was more than an uneasy encounter that troubled her.
When she had visited Ilbert outside of Waelcombe Castle, he had told how the King encouraged the rumors that she was either dead or taken prisoner by the Varden. At the time she had laughed, but she couldn't help the twisting feeling inside her. If the King was allowing, nonetheless, aiding such rumors then he was surely drawing her out, pushing her away from the people she might otherwise seek aid from, and insuring that if she were seen the people who saw her would contact the capital as soon as possible. It made her nervous, knowing that he was so anxious to get her back within his grip.
Rose's frown deepened, and she scooted closer into Thorn, the straps around her legs bit uncomfortably into her skin. She could tell, by how stiff he was beneath her that he did not agree in the least with where they were heading but his disagreements remained unsaid; he would likely tell her of them at a later time.
They flew until long after nightfall, far past the capital, and set up camp on the outskirts of a small town that was enclosed with dark stone walls. They were as far, as they could tell, no more than half a day's ride from Cellwair. Camp was quickly set up, and a small, smokeless fire flared in its center. Rose and Eragon sat across from one another, wordlessly chewing on dried fruit and a small bread roll. It was sometime after the food was set aside that Rose heard Eragon shuffle his feet he as he stood up and retrieved Zar'roc from his bag. She tensed at the sight of the red blade, but then turned away and continued to mend the tunic in hand.
"Would you like to spar?" he asked.
Rose glanced up at him. She was falling out of practice, and her body was stiff from flying all day. Any sort of movement would be welcome, and with this on her mind she slowly withdrew her sword and handed it Eragon so that he could block the edges. As he did so, she stood, setting the tunic aside. After Eragon gave her sword back to her, and blocked his own, they stood apart from each other.
Eragon settled into a crouch, and then, as he did the first time they sparred, he swung his sword at her shoulder. Rose raised her sword, and the blade met in midair with a loud ringing. As the sound faded, Eragon tilted Zar'rac's blade and stepped away, jumping slightly when Rose moved in after him. As they struggled against each other Rose found none the former fury she possessed the first time, perhaps it was because she expected for him to try to hit her with flat of his blade and now looked out for it, and whenever he did hit her it no longer startled her. Eragon disarmed her twice and it was quite a time before she returned the favor. Each time one of them was disarmed, they retrieved their swords and begun anew, both stubbornly refusing to let the other triumph, but eventually, Eragon stepped out of their imaginary rang and called for a halt.
Rose sat down with a gasp, as new energy coursed through her veins. She felt much more alert than she had before, and wished for a moment that they had spar that morning instead of evening.
"The man who taught you, this Tornac, could have started a fencing school," Eragon said as he collapsed onto the ground. "People would have come from all over the realm to be taught by him."
She smiled at the thought, imagining such a sight, and shook her head. "Yes, and many of them would return home with empty bags and dashed dreams," she said. "Tornac would have turned them away. He was particular with who he taught." She sighed, and studied at the ground for a time before resuming her work on the tunic.
Eragon glanced at her questioningly, but shrugged and sat down to practice speaking the Ancient Language, as he did this, Rose listened in silence and would occasionally ask what a word meant. She knew precious little of the tongue and found it interesting to listen to, but eventually Eragon stopped and bid her a good night before crawling beneath Saphira's wing. Rose set the tunic aside, having finished it's mending, and for a time she watched Saphira's scales flicker in the firelight, scales so blue they flashed purple before flickering a pale gold. Suddenly all her former energy faded and she nuzzled closer into Thorn. She closed her eyes, pulling her cloak closer to her.
The sky was shrouded with clouds, not a star could be seen, though the dim silver light of the moon glowed through the mist. For a long time she watched the moon before turning to her side and fell quickly into sleep.
They arrived on the outskirts of Cellwair, late in the afternoon that next day, and set up their makeshift camp between a collection of large stones. The day held a chill to it that the sun could not seem to touch, and the air held a fresh, damp earthy smell to it.
As Rose slid down from Thorn, she looked cautiously at the dark swirling mass of clouds above. We were up in that, she thought with a slight shock. During that flight the clouds had withheld the rain, and she could only hope that they would continue to do so. Rain would slow them down, and out here they had very little shelter, unless they sought lodging at an inn.
Of course, then again, if it were to rain that would mean that their tracks would be washed away. Rose looked around at the firm, pale grass and arid ground, and thought any sort of rain would be a blessing for this region, it has, after all, been an extraordinarily wet spring.
By the time that they had set up camp, the clouds moved on, thinning out as they went, and with it any chance of rainfall. Having chosen not to light a fire that night, Rose and Eragon picked their way to the road. They had decided to simply walk through the streets of the city and buy some supplies, after that they were uncertain. Eragon swore he knew the direction they needed to go but Rose had a hard time accepting that they would be following whatever it was that he was sensing. She would shake herself each time she thought of this; where they were heading to was not her business, as long as that place did not get them into any sort trouble she was determined to be reasonable about it.
Cellwair appeared as Rose heard it always was, massive and cluttered, only worse. Its walls stood low and stout on the dry land, with clusters of dreary homes surrounding it, enveloping the whole land about it with an unnerving sensation. Even at a distance the noblemen's fortress could be seen, though this too appeared to be more of a ruin than a place of respected blood, with its crumbling walls and small, shaded casements. The only things that did not seem to be crumbling were the guarding walls and a long, towering building behind the stronghold.
As they approached, Rose tried her hardest to avoid the hungry stares from the people, staring solely at the beaten path ahead. She did not doubt that they looked strange to the people from this region, in their thick, worn tunics and winter cloaks, walking down this dirt engraved road without any sort of steed. They were probably wondering where their horses were, surely these two strangers hadn't walked all this way on foot. And where, pray tell, were their packs?
Rose wanted to curse herself for having thought of this. She and Eragon stood out far too much. Eragon must have been thinking the very same thing she was, as he pulled his hood over his face and hid himself in its shadow. It took all her self-control not to copy his gesture, to keep walking forward.
By the time they reached the gates, Rose was ready to turn her back on the ideas of a map and gathering supplies. They kept going, however, and the deeper they went into the city, the worse she felt. They did not get far into the city, when a strange pressure touched her mind, a bell-like ringing began to overtake her hearing. Recognizing what the feeling was, she pushed the feeling away and focused on the tiny stones on the road, only to startle when Eragon touched her arm.
"It's only me," he said in a soft voice, so that hardly anyone could hear his words.
"What is the matter?" she asked, matching his tone.
"It's getting late, and I think that the gates are about to close," Eragon said with a frown. He was holding a crumbled paper in his hand, trying to keep it from her sight.
Rose glanced around, looking again at the gates some ways behind them, they did not look as if they were going to shut any time soon. She shrugged, if Eragon wished to leave she was not going to argue with him. "Let's go, then,"she said, and then told Thorn that they were returning to camp.
Be quick, were the dragon's only words.
And they were; turning quickly away from the city, and walking at a fast pace back. When they got there, Rose could see that something was truly upsetting Eragon, and the fact that Saphira stood over him with her teeth baring did not help matters. Rose walked pass them, allowing Eragon to say whatever he must to the dragon, and went to Thorn.
What's the matter? she asked, nestling down against him. Do you know?
I do not.
Rose nodded, and settled against Thorn to wait. After a while, Saphira slackened her tense position and stepped away, while Eragon made his way over to Rose, setting the crumbled parchment in front of her. She picked it off of the ground and unfolded it, to study. It was a notice featuring his name and an illustration of his face, beneath that was an offering for a reward of his capture.
"They got your nose wrong," Rose said as she handed it back to him. Her hands were trembling.
His face paled, and he moved away, tossing the parchment into a bush. "That's all you have got to say about it? Those people saw me, that's why we kept getting such strange looks, and all you have got to say is my nose is wrong." He huffed out a breath and glared at her. "I'm very glad to know you're looking out for me."
Rose closed her eyes. "Not very many people saw you, though," she said softly, glancing up at him. "You put up your hood before we reached the city."
"But enough of them did." He kicked at a small stone and set it flying. "One of them could have reported it to the Empire, and they could have followed us here."
Rose shook her head. "The captain wouldn't have listened; those people, they are merely grassroots to the Empire, small in the scheme of things. Simply one person's word on such a claim is invalid. It would take a number of them to even get one of the soldiers to look into it," she said, feeling uneasy. "We should go though, perchance, one is listened to."
Eragon nodded, his lips smashed together, as he began tossing items carelessly into his bags, his back kept towards her. Rose studied him for a moment, and realized that she had slighted him with her words, as undirected to him as they were, and began to pack her belongings.
As she finished tying the knots on Thorn's saddle, Rose turned to Eragon. She meant to apologize for her words, but they would not come. She swallowed, and said instead, "You will need to be more careful, from here on out, Eragon."
"They are probably looking for you too," he said in a hard voice. He did not look up at her, his focus only on his knots. "Leaving the King's precious court is not something that goes unnoticed."
Rose bit the inside of her lip as her eyes narrowed. She turned away to check over Thorn's saddle, making sure she had it on him correctly. Eragon was right of course, but it was not what he said but how it was said. The Empire was looking for her but not in the same ways they were searching for him.
