I do not own the Inheritance Cycle.
To find out what happened to Eragon read Side Story 29 parts 1 and 2 :)

Edited 1/30/22 -

Please let me know your thoughts throughout the story, I'd love to hear for you :)

Enjoy,


The Healing

Rose did not know how long they flew that night nor how far. They saw no signs of life and no pursuers. It was doubtful that anyone or thing would be able to keep up the paces the dragon were setting. Even if something could, Rose doubted they would. The city of Gil'ead have been left behind in a dizzying mess of chaos; solders and leaders had been attacked on both sides of its walls. People would be afraid, and fear could cripple an army even for a short time.

She tried not to think about Gil'ead and what had happened there, instead she forced herself to look out into the night and tried not to think at all. It seemed that for an endless time she sat looking over the dark woodlands below, watching as the rising hills fell almost all at one to a flat, unremitting dale. The moon shone brightly onto the shifting grass below draining their colors into soft shades of silver and black and gray. She wondered what that valley would look like once morning came, and if they would be slumbering within its greenswards once it did. She did not think about it for long before she drifted into a light, dreamless sleep.

When Rose woke up it was because of a light shine onto her face. She sat up and wiped the hair from her face, and looked dazzlingly about. The sun was just beginning to rise, now just barely a glow in the endlessness of the field, and then after a short time its copper slowly turned to a blazing ruby, setting the field ablaze and pushing the shining stars above away. The new day warmed her, its golden light touching her skin lightly. She relaxed in its dim heat as relief took her, sweeping her worries beneath her. She had been so very certain she would never see this day.

With a yawn, she lay herself against the leather saddle and breathed in its rich, deep scent. She coughed and mindtouched with Thorn. Where are we at? she asked, turning her head away.

Thorn grumbled beneath her, his whole body vibrating. Palancar Valley, he answered in a low voice.

Have we come here on Eragon's suggestion? asked she, peering to the north. There was nothing to see but valley. Could there truly be an end to it, a town filled with life and people at its edge?

No, it was Saphira's idea, said Thorn slowly. It was either east or west, and she knew not of what lay to the east. We shan't be taking any more chances. At least not until we have no other choice.

She nodded, and noted for the first time that Thorn and Saphira were flying much slower than they were before, their heads drooping. She frowned and closed her eyes, tightening her grip on the edge of the saddle. We ought to be landing before too long, she said hesitantly. There is no settlements about and I see no travelers. I believe we are safe enough for this moment, and we all deserve a long rest after the events of last night.

We will land soon enough, and we will rest then.

That sounds good, Rose yawned. Before we land, will you please tell me what happened?

I was hoping you would do the same.

I'm not completely certain, she said feeling dubious. That night, though it may had been the longest she ever had, was blurred. The emotions and events were unclear and muddled together. All she truly knew was the unwavering relief she felt upon leaving and the confusion she had felt within its walls.

Rose could hardly believe that it had been she who pulled out the arrow and shoot the Shade, that the creature's death had been so simple. She frowned. It had been a feeling that was not her own that caused her to reach for that arrow, in fact until that blazing awareness of sorts awoke inside her she had forgotten the arrows and bow were even there.

Thorn rumbled lowly from deep within his chest, bringing her out from her thoughts. We were unlucky, for something to come between us like it did. I have been thinking about it these past hours but I know not what it could have been. I do not believe it could have been the Shade.

Nor do I, Thorn, Rose said with a frown. It might have been him though. I know little of Shades and what exactly they are capable of. It could have been a spell. She paused and lifted up her head and looked at the spines along his neck. What I'm more concerned about is whether or not it will happen again, and should it, when. Have you asked Saphira if something of the like had happened to her and Eragon?

I already have, hesaid. Nothing similar has happened to them. Perhaps it was nothing to worry over. Thorn fell silent then, and Rose let him alone. He was likely straining himself enough with the flight as it was.

Rose closed her eyes once more, willing sleep to come and when it avoided her, she allowed her mind to drift. She had not put too much of what was to come and now it came to front of her mind, she could no longer avoid the matter.

They would have to make their way to the Varden, there was now no other choice. It had just become their safest choice, their only real chance. But had it not always been her only real dentation? Nothing had changed not really. The only thing that was now different was the risks. Surely the King's people had seen her face, and if not hers than Eragon's. Surely they would be able to describe them, and soon enough there would gold on their heads. The Empire's soldiers and peasants would soon have their eye out for them. Eventually if when no results were given, the King would reach out to those they cared about. Rose was very certain that he would make threats and bargains, and she and Eragon would be hard pressed not to try to save them. Of course this was only if someone was able to describe them, both Rose and Eragon, to the officials. She did not know what to expect, or what others knew. At this moment anything could happen, and she was eager to hear what hearsay was going about.

There was no way for news of Gil'ead to get around so quickly, she chided herself. Still though, the thought remained with her. She needed to find out what exactly had happened before she decided what to think.

Until then Rose knew that they would have to continue to travel south. There were half listened instructions on how and where to find to a small number of Varden spies within the Empire and Surda that she could follow. They could find the Varden that way, as long as the people loyal to the Varden's cause were not as exceptional as Dormnad. She was certain that they would get nowhere if even one of them were in any sort of way.

She frowned and pushed herself up, letting the cool morning air caress her face. She focused on the wind as she tried to clear her thoughts but they kept returning to the events of the previous night. In her mind's eye she saw Dormnad laying in a pool of liquid rubies his face already turning a deathly blue; the Shade's prisoner, Arya, sitting hunched and bloodied and scarred in the darkness; The silhouettes of the dragons bent from above; the curve of the bow in her hands; the Shade himself blazing into a thousand bits, an arrow protruding from his forehead like a explorer's flag; and that warm glow that left her afterwards making her feel empty and helpless and cold. Much colder than she had ever felt in her life.

Rose shook herself. She briefly wondered if any of the events had really happened or if it all been something her mind had fabricated in while she had slumbered, and then she would glimpse a flash of silver. The sun reflecting off the elf's loose hair. And she knew the events had happened, but she did not relish in that realization.

It was little before midday when the dragon's landed at the edge of that endless plain where the flatland was beginning to roll into soft mounds. There was not a path nor a home in sight, only golden rolling hills peppered with colorful pocket flowers and prickly greens. Past the foothills the craggy stone peaks of the Spine loomed on the horizon swathed by long strings of mist.

The dragons landed side-by-side before sinking slowly to their bellies, their wings spread across the grass. Rose turned herself around on the saddle and untied the bags before sliding down from Thorn's back. The grass was higher than her knees, and swished and crackled as she moved to pull the bags from his back. As she moved the bags aside, Thorn snaked his head around to look at her. He blinked once, very slowly, before closing is eyes. A long curl of smoke curling into the sky as he sank lower to the ground.

Rose stepped away from him, dragging as many of the bags as she could carry, to a small trampled clearing Saphira had created after she landed. Eragon sat in the middle of it, arranging his sleeping roll and blankets about. As Rose came closer, he dazedly looked up at her. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin peaky and streaked with sweat. Rose doubted she looked any better. Silently, she kneeled down next to him and looked at the bedroll, her eyebrow rising.

"Did you get any sleep?" she asked after a moment of silence.

Eragon shook his head, and yawned. "No. I spent most of the night trying to heal the elf," he said slowly. "It was harder than I thought. I don't think much was really healed and she hasn't woken up. Do you have any ideas of what might be wrong with her?"

Rose looked down at the trampled grass, picking away the golden blades with her fingers. "I have an idea," she mumbled lowly and then said in a louder voice, "Perhaps she merely needs a rest, and will awake at a later time."

Eragon nodded, his head turning to look at Saphira and the elf. He pressed his hand to his head and grimaced. "Perhaps," he agreed after a moment. "I think that I should try to heal her wounds now that I can see them better."

Rose frowned and closed her eyes, wincing slightly as her eyelids prickled. "Undoubtedly," she said softly, pushing a stray stand of hair from her face. "Though, I'm rather certain that you not be able to heal all her wounds."

"There are a lot of them," he muttered in agreement.

"That is not what I speaking of." Rose pushed herself to her feet and met his eyes. "I'm not completely certain how to describe what that Shade did to her but it seems to have been something you shan't be able to heal. I do not believe it is something that anyone will be able to heal."

"What do you mean?"

Rose bit her lip and looked away. "I mean simply as I said," she told him after a moment. "Something within her was broken in such a way that no person nor any amount magic could heal her."

Eragon frown and nodded, his lips pressed together. "It's worth trying," he decided.

"Then by all means," Rose said gesturing to the slumbering figure with her hands, "heal your elf if you believe you must."

He nodded sharply, and leaned forward on his knees. For a brief moment he looked up at Rose, his eyes wide and a question on his lips but she merely raised an eyebrow, her arms folding over her chest. With a sigh, Eragon turned away and looked down at the elf once more. His eyebrows drew together and he drew back the fabric from her back with a shaking hand. What lay beneath the cloth was beyond what Rose could have ever imagined. The elf's back shimmered in the sunlight with sweat and blood. One of her shoulders was swollen and savage welts peppered much of her skin. There were deep festering wounds of torn flesh that ran the length of her spine, more than one glistened with a thick, pasty discharge.

Rose covered her mouth and stood up suddenly with the excuse to fetch water from the stream. She grabbed the heavy pot and moved away as quickly as she could from the scene. Any former thought of food she had when they had landed was now gone, her stomach felt as if it were going to flip its way outside of her body and her month was dry.

When she reached the dirty, shallow stream she took her time on its shores; washing her face and arms and feet in its water, and then sitting back and letting her skin dry. It was only when she could find no reason to delay more, did she fill the pot and make her way back.

It was a hard walk back. The ground was uneven and strewn with jagged rocks, threatening to trip her as she felt around blindly with the toe of her boot, and the pot was heavy and filled with splashing water. More than once she was forced to stop and wipe the water and damp hair from her face. Each time she would look around, avoid the gleaming red and blue rays in the distance, and try to enjoy the sight around her. The golden grass reminded her a happier time, when things were simple and she and Tornac would travel to a small field filled gleaming grass and bushes weighed down with juicy berries. For a time she let herself think of this, and then she forced the pot to her chest and walked on.

When Rose returned to the campsite it was well past midday. Her brother still sat over the elf, his forehead clammy with sweat. Saphira had moved beside him, her head now hovering near his shoulder. Neither of them looked up as she tumbled into the small clearing and set the pot beside Eragon. Water slashed onto his knee. He did not seem to notice.

Rose cautiously dared a peak at the elf and found that the majority of the wounds were gone, leaving behind smooth though still dirty skin. The remaining cuts and bruises did not make her feel as if she was going to be faint and ill all at once. She sat not far from Eragon with a rag and some food. For a time she listened to him murmur the soft, curling words of the Ancient Language before silently offering him a biscuit.

After a short moment, he stopped his work and took the food from her. "Thank you," he said, taking a bite of it. "I was getting hungry."

She nodded tightly before breaking her own biscuit apart and chewing silently on it.

"I wish you knew how to use the Ancient Language," Eragon said after a time. He wiped the crumbs from his hands on this trousers. "Brom could have taught you as we traveled like what he did for me. It would be useful now."

Rose gave him a hard look. "Yet, he did not."

"I wonder why that is." He frowned, and took the bag of dried fruit onto his lap. He took out the food by the handful and shoved it into his mouth.

She returned his scowl. "For that question you're going to have to ask him," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Please do save some food for our meals. We haven't much to ration between us as it is."

"Sorry," mumbled Eragon. He set the bag between them. "But don't you want to learn?"

Rose looked down at her hands. "It would hardly help either of us at this moment, would it?" she said looking back up at him. "Please, just heal your elf so that we may all get some sleep."

Eragon looked away sharply, and began to repeat his spell from before. As he spoke the elf's back began to shimmer with a faint blue glow, and the wounds began to mend. Rose sat back and watched him work for a time, before she sighed and looked at the elf's face. The elf's skin was pale, almost unhealthily so, so pale her purple-blue veins could be seen pulsing slowly. It was skin that hadn't been touched by the sun in many months, and likely may soon never be again. Rose was certain that the poison would destroy her soon enough. Arya would likely be died before they reached help, and her brother will have wasted his effort.

'I shall die free,' the elf had said. At the time they were said they had sounded like brave and heroic words, yet now Rose could hear the desperation in them. Whatever the elf had suffered was enough where death did not daunt her. Freedom even for a short moment would be worth that price.

'You will still be dead,' the Shade had said, and meaning behind those words were now clear to Rose as well- And I will be the one who destroyed you, wholly and completely. You will have died by my hand, and I will have won this battle. Your releaser will become your destroyer.