I do not own the Inheritance Cycle.
An update?! Yeah, I'm in shock too.
Enjoy (at least, try to once the shock wears off),


Tales of Gil'ead
Part 2 of 2

It was unbearably bright. Although Eragon stood in the shadows of the city, his vison blurred and swam. He was so disoriented he almost retreated into a dark alley to sit down.

He felt as if he were moving through syrup, his movements were slow and his mind felt vague but he forced himself to keep moving. As Eragon walked through the streets he found that it was not easy to keep his sense of direction. He did not know how far he had gotten, nor when he lost the pursuing soldiers. He was looking for a wider road, one of the few that he had gone through days before, but with each turn he found nothing of familiarity.

Quite often he completely lost sight of the Iron Tower, something that he hadn't believed to be possible, and felt as if he were wandering in circles. The backstreets of Gil'ead were unsettlingly empty; no more than twice did he pass a group of soldiers, and when he did he did his best to hide rather it was behind a stack of crates or pile of rubbish, and when they moved on so did he. Eventually Eragon found himself mindlessly picking his way through the alleyways that were little more than black, filthy crevices between long barracks, only to come to a dead end or worse a busy street filled with searching soldiers.

The only he truly knew was that he was past tired, past thought; that he was simply moving on nothing more than determination to leave. To leave and find Saphira. He needed to find Saphira, to make certain that she was alright. He didn't know if she had gotten away from the Empire and was safe somewhere with Rose and Thorn, or if she was being held as prison within Gil'ead. More than once, out of a cold fury of worry, he tried to reach out to her with his mind but when he did he could never force his mind out far; his head felt as it were pulsing beneath his skull and whenever he tried to push the blinding pain away he could not. In those moments the world seemed to distort and whirl until eventually he gave up.

As night fell over Gil'ead, a deep blackness relieved only by occasional lamplights glowing in sheeted over windows, Eragon began to despair that he would never leave Gil'ead, and sank down in a shadowed part of an alley. He closed his eyes as he fought away cold wave of exhaustion. Eragon was far too weary to continue; his head felt as if it were lost long ago in a fog.

The building in front of him swayed and darkened. Eragon closed his eyes, trying to still it.

As soon as the sun had disappeared completely from the sky, it began to get very dark. He sat for a long time with his head bowed, stuck in the twisting, swaying world, listening to the night. There were few sounds to listen as most people were hidden from the darkness of night within their candle lit homes. There were very few people on the streets; expect for perhaps a sway drunkard or an occasional soldier, and Eragon and hidden deep enough within the shadows of the alleyway that they did not notice him. Still Eragon felt himself tense whenever he heard the slightest of noises, feeling unsafe. He thought lightly of Saphira and reached out his mind again to contact her. She was not within Gil'ead, he thought but the thought gave him no comfort.

Eragon was alone.

.

When Eragon awoke, he found himself shrouded by a warm golden light. He didn't want to open his eyes, the light was blinding enough without looking into it. He had a bad enough headache without having to look into the light that would make it worse. He was laying on something soft, and the air around him was warm.

He lay very still, listening to the sounds of something moving round, and a faint metallic cling, and the gentle pop of a burning fire. Eragon knew he was not in the street anymore, but he could not seem to force himself to be worried about this fact. Instead he gingerly reached his hand to touch what was covering him, it was some kind of rough wool but it was warm. He heard some moving toward him and tensed as a hand stroked his forehead. Involuntarily he opened his eyes and saw the lined face of a woman hovering above him.

"Oh good, you're awake," said the woman. "I had thought for certain that you might not wake up."

Eragon blinked and ran his hand over his forehead. It was damp and felt raw. "Who are you?" he asked in a gush. "Where am I? How did I get here?"

The woman frowned and blinked. "My son found you outside," she said. "He brought you in and I cleaned you up. You had taken quite a beating to your head, why don't you rest, yeh? There is stew if you like to try something to eat."

Eragon shook his head and denied her offer for food. The smell coming from the pot made him feel slightly nauseous. He turned over, too tired to push for his questions to be answered, and fell back to sleep.

.

When Eragon awoke, he didn't know where he was. He blinked, looking disbelievingly around the small hut. It had plain wood walls that were now striped with dusty bars of light that slanted in through shutters, by the bed he lay on was a chest, on which was placed a bowl of stew and two slices of bread. Seeing the food made his stomach rumbled and he picked up the soup and dipped in the bread.

As he ate, memory flickered back; he was in Gil'ead in the home of a woman he had never before met. The events afore his arrival at the hut was a strange twisting blur that he could not sort out. He puzzled over this for a while, disturbed. He still felt as he were living in a world a haze.

And then he realized that he did not know how long he had been asleep; if it was merely a few hours or one day and one night or many. Eragon was so stiff and sore he could barely move, and his arms and legs were covered in grazes and bruises.

Eragon set down the bowl and looked at his wrists. They had been carefully wrapped with thin clothe, hiding, as he could feel, the very raw skin beneath. He cautiously unrolled his sleeves, and then slowly stood up. After testing his balance, he walked slowly to the table in the center of the room where there was wine and ale set out.

He looked around for someone, and waited for a moment, but seeing that no person was around he helped himself to a goblet filled with the ale. He sat down at the bench and took a long, slow drink. It burned his dry throat and mouth.

Setting down the goblet, Eragon thought of Saphira, and Rose, and Thorn. He was certain that Rose and Thorn were somewhere safe; he had seen Thorn fly safely away. He hoped that Saphira was with them, though he knew that if she had gotten away from the soldiers she would go looking for him. Maybe she was already over the city. Eragon looked at the shuttered windows, thinking that he would look out of them for her but he couldn't seem to force himself to stand. He thought of reaching his mind out towards her but the memory of the crippling pain he felt before halted him. What if it came back?

Just as he thought this, the door open and the glow of the sun flickered into the room. Eragon stiffened and looked as the woman he had seen before walked into the hut. She was carrying an iron bucket, and her hair was gathered up into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her dark eyes looked at him for a moment and then she put the bucket down next to the door.

"You feel better, yeh?" the woman asked.

Eragon nodded. "Who are you?" he blurted out. "What's your name? I mean…" He frowned and looked away.

"You may call me Margery," the woman said. "I however do not need to know what to call you, I've heard enough from the rumors within the town. If they question me I want to able to say that I haven't an idea who you are nor why you are here." She turned her back to Eragon, and began to unlace her boots. "For now you should simply rest," she said softly, "regain your strength, and when you are ready you will leave, yeh?"

Eragon frowned. "Do you want to leave now?"

Margery looked up at him. "Do you have a way to leave now?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Without the soldiers seeing you?"

"No."

"Then you stay," she said. "You can rest here without worry of them soldiers."

"Why are you helping me?" Eragon asked after a moment. "If the Empire catches you, you could be executed."

Margery looked at him and frowned deeply. "I only do, what I would hope you would do for me," she said, and then turned away to the bucket and took out a hand-full of dried leave. She was silent for a long while as she moved around the room.

"Did you sleep well?" said Margery as she sat beside him. She began to ground the leaves into a bowl with a rounded stone. "You look rested."

"Yes," he said, feeling slightly tongue-tied. Her earlier words had shocked him slightly.

"I am glad," she said, and fell again into silence.

Eragon watched her work. When he was younger he had often watched Gertrude do the same thing, that is whenever he the misfortune of having to visit her. After a time, Margery seemed to grow tired of his staring and set him to work pounding the herbs and occasionally had him stir the stew. Eragon did not complain, it was something to do and he knew he couldn't leave yet.

He found out from talking to Margery that he had slept through a whole day and most of the night. She told that he woke often but it was never for long, and he would go quickly back to sleep. "Sometimes head injuries do that," she told him. "Sometimes it can be worse. You are very lucky."

"I just wish I remember what exactly happened," Eragon said lowly.

Margery set the knife in her hand aside. "It could be worse," she said, looking directly at him. "You could remember nothing at all." She looked away. "Would you like some mint tea? It helps settle the stomach."

"Sure," Eragon accepted with a frown. He hadn't said anything about the queasiness in his belly. In fact until she had said something he almost forgotten about it completely. "How did you know my stomach was upset?"

"I just know," said Margery as she stood up and made her way to the cauldron in the hearth. "It matters not whether one is my child or another, I can always tell."

Eragon looked over his shoulder at her. He vaguely remembered that she had said something about her son but he did not for certain what. "You have a son, right?"

"Yes. My son is not much older than you," said Margery slowly, as she handed him a cup. She smiled at him wearily. "He's the one who found you the other night. If Harman were still here I would introduce you to him. He works for a trader and is away quite a bit. He likes it though or at least I assume he does, he hasn't told me otherwise. I miss him, it gets lonely here." She turned away then and began study the leafy plant hung on strings above the table. "Here," she said, untying a pebbly looking spout, "gird this up nice and fine."

Something about her seemed to forbid further chatter, and Eragon was silent as he pounded the plant. When he was done, he drank the rest of his though now it was stone cold, and ate very little of the stew Margery gave him. He found then to his shock that it was dark outside, and that he was very tired.

He stood up and stretched lightly, and then looked at Margery. "You're going to sleep, yeh?" she said before he could say anything. "Go on and rest. When morn comes we'll speak of how to smuggle you out of here, yeh?"

"Alright." Eragon nodded. "Thank you."

Margery smiled and began to clean the dusty mess from the table. "And the same to you," she said.

Eragon made his way to the bed and lay down. Curling onto his side, he closed his eyes but could not sleep. Each time he came close to it, it slipped away from him. After a long while of just lying there, he sat up and blinked. The hut was completely dark; Margery must have gone to bed as well, though Eragon hadn't seen another bed besides the one he lay in now.

He frowned and pushed the thought away. Pushing the blanket off of him, he found that his stomach no longer bothered him. If his stomach felt better, would it hurt to reach out to Saphira?

Eragon didn't think so, and very gingerly he reached out his mind. A wave of nausea swept over him, but his head remained still. Encouraged he touched Margery's mind first, very lightly like what Brom told him to do to test one's motives. He saw nothing in her that worried him.

Then Eragon reached his mind out further, past the limits of the small hut he was in and into the night. He found what he looking for almost right away, a glowing figure in the darkness, very small, very bright, glowing with an unknowable power. Reached out for it, he called, Saphira?

He felt her astonishment. Eragon? Is that you?

Yes.

There was a pause, and then he felt her mend with his. I am coming, she said. Stay put.

Immediately, Eragon stood up and fumbled through the darkness of the cabin to the door. He unlatched the hooks and walked outside, looking towards the sky. The alleyway is too small, you'll get stuck, he said.

I told you to stay! Saphira growled.

And have you get stuck between two buildings? We'll have to find a wider road, he said. Then he went back into the hut and grabbed his boots by the door, thankful that he had looked for them earlier.

The night was not as cold as the last, and Eragon was able to wonder about the streets easier. Without the pounding pressure in his head or he heavy fogginess he had before he was able to find a wider street with Saphira's help.

When he reached the street, Eragon did not stop, he ran to Saphira, who landed loudly on the ground in front of him. He wrapped his arms around the great blue dragon's muzzle, pressing his cheek against Saphira's scales. There were no words for what he felt. Humming, Saphira pressed against him and then shook her head demanding to be let go. Eragon released her and touched his head where it began to ache again.

I missed you too, but we must move or we will die.

Eragon frowned and climbed onto her back, looking around for Thorn and perhaps Rose. Where were they? Where, he asked.

You will not like it, she said. But perhaps it will force you to listen to me next time. Be ready.

For what?

Thorn, Saphira said taking into the skies. He is not happy about it but I could not leave you there.

Eragon frowned. What happened?

I'll tell you later, she said turning to the great tower overshadowing the Saphira growled suddenly. You're an idiot, and if you ever do something like that again I swear I'll kill you myself.

Love you too, Saphira.


A/N: In the last chapter and in this one, so there is no confusion I'm going to say what the narration only gave out hints of: Eragon was attack by a soldier and knocked onto the ground. He hit his head and was winded, then the soldier whacked his head against the ground and he was knocked out. Hopefully that clears that up a bit…
With this last chapter, the one above, I found myself researching head injuries. The symptoms Eragon had/have are ones of a concussion. Head injuries that knock someone out for more than a few minutes are dangerous- there are many times when the person doesn't survive-, and in all reality he should be worse off than what he is- but I didn't know this when I planned out these chapters way back in April. It's because of the fact I planned these chapters that they happened this way all realism aside, and I prefer to keep things real. I've reasoned with myself that its his Rider abilities' fault… Anywho- just a simple fact (and one I discovered many writers and movies get wrong.) Okay, my rant about it it over.
The reason Eragon was asleep for so long was because of Margery. She knows her herbs, (Angela isn't the only one) and quite frankly kept Eragon asleep one so that he would heal, and she would be able to go about as if nothing had changed.
Another thing I want to talk about is night and the dark. Nighttime was sleeping time. As a matter of fact in our history night was a time of fear and monsters and killers. Most people did not go out in it. Because of Eragon's trailing the darkest places and alleyways he was able to stay away from the soldiers. I mirrored some of our history and superstitions with Eragon's world because, really, people no matter where they are far are not all too different.
I had a million different things planned with this last chapter but the fact I haven't written anything, and I mean anything, since around early June and I'm out of practice. (The last update I had written right before Chapter 44). What I wanted to say isn't there and right now I'm not sure how I would get it there.
So anyway, thanks for reading, (the chapter not my rambling) and please tell me what you think.