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,


Replications and Recognitions

The mountains never faded from view but remained reticent giants distant in the fog. All trails and paths twisting from their lifeless shadows converged into a single broader, unbroken road riven with many deep ruts and marked with a harboring wall of crumbled stone. The road traveled south along the foot of the Spine, gradually falling away from its hills. It wasn't long before the dragons fell out of the shadows cast by the steep ridges towering above, and the deep chill that seemed to have settled in their bones over the preceding days heated in the new day's sunlight. Rose looked down at the road, watching it slowly become more and more populated as the day wore on. Villages and farms and tiny ramshackle homes dotted the coast of the muddy path, not far from a glittering grey sea. As the endless quantity of water grew closer the wind suddenly picked up, forcing the dragons to fly lower. If a commoner saw them, the dragons nor their companions would ever know.

They took a break only once, late in the afternoon, though it was short and could hardly be considered a break at all. The dragons continued to fly until the sun faded into the rubicund sea before looking for a place to land and rest for the night.

It was a clear night and the light from the crescent moon and the stars were enough to see by. There was no wind, but the night was filled with biting insects. The dragons pulled down to the side of the road at last and the travelers briskly set up camp. They light no fire, fearing that it would be seen in such lonely country, and the dragons lay sleepily behind their Riders, thoroughly exhausted. After a poor dinner of dried fruits and nuts, eaten in silence, Eragon took first watch, pulling his cloak closer to him to protect his skin from the itching bites. He leaned his head against a sleeping Saphira and stared down the hill at road. His thoughts turned towards the elf as the night wore on, his mind becoming more and more concerned. There was no reason for her not to have awoken, by now, he believed that she should have. His mind has turned towards the elf often over the last days, wondering what exactly was ailing her. If he didn't find a way to help her before long, he was certain that she would forever be lost.

When morn came and the rosy sun had just barely peaked from behind the mountains, the dragons took to the skies, the endless wind driving sleep from their minds. For the remainder of the day, they flew past the coastal region, over town and over hamlet and over lone farmhouses. Some places were as devastated as the farming community- a hamlet-like town Rose had taken to some months before- past Culdaff, its homes and fields and buildings abandoned. The people who once lived there driven to forsake it in the hopes of avoiding sickness and pain and death.

Rose remembered this stretch of the road, which cut through copses of wily oaks and pines trees before it run up a blighted field with a low painted wall. Here they saw no person or horse or chimney filled with silver smoke, and Rose wished desperately for them to continue despite that the day was retreating and the sky was barred with thick lines of clouds. It was a relief when the dragons continued to fly over the valley and farmhouses towards a crumbling stone bridge, and then turned sharply west running alongside a stream to skirt the last of the abandoned towns below, passing into an narrowing valley.

Here the dragons landed alongside each other and twisted their heads to examine the granite tumuli. As she tiredly unsaddled the dragons, and set the bags in a pile near them while Eragon gathered firewood, she glanced the gathered and carved stones with growing horror. She remained silent, not wanting to give what she knew to be there a voice. A mass grave, she thought all the same standing close to Thorn, the bones of a forgotten people lay before us.

Eragon glanced up at her from across his small wooden structure. "I wonder what happened to those towns back there," he said. "Most of them looked as if they had been put on fire."

Rose looked away from the mound, and sat down across from him. "There was a plaguing sickness."

He murmured a sharp word in the Ancient Language and with, a flash of blue, a warming flame hungrily shimmered along the wood. "Why didn't someone do something to help?" he asked. "We passed so many empty towns and homes. There must have been something that could have been done."

"Perhaps there was nothing that they could do." She shrugged and huddled closer to the fire, extending her hand out to the warmth. They did not truly need the fire's warmth, but she was thankful for it all the same. "It seems likely that the illness had spread so fast there was no way to reign it in."

Eragon pulled food from their bag, and passed some to her. They ate their dinner in silence, each trapped within their own thoughts. When they had cleaned up and the bedrolls were laid out, Rose seated herself close to the blaze- having given up her bedroll and blanket to the elf- to take first watch. The night was quiet and very little moved beyond light of the fire. She listened to the night, pushing her mind out to touch the lifelight that was there. When she could remain awake no more, she woke Eragon and taking his place from him, fell quickly and quietly into a dreamless sleep.

The sleep did not last long. After mere moments of rest, she was awoken by a snort in her ear and an endless scraping noise by her head. She opened her eyes, feeling a pressure in her mind, and saw a large head hovering over hers. Yawning, she let Saphira mindtouch her, and winced as the dragon began to speak: There is something wrong with Eragon, said she franticly. I can sense pain from him but when I try to talk to him it is like speaking to a wall. There is nothing there.

Why wake me? asked Rose, pulling the blanket closer around her. If you cannot get through to him what would make you think that I would have any more luck than you?

Saphira snorted at her. Perhaps you can wake him from this daze, she said as she stood up and walked towards Eragon. Slowly the dragon sat on her hunches and hovered protectively over him, nudge his shoulder with the tip of her snout.

With a yawn Rose stood up as well and made her away over to him. He was seated very still by the fire, his cloak wrapped closely around him, his eyes unfocused staring in the direction of the elf to the right of him. She sat down between him and the motionless elf, and softly called out his name. When he remained unmoving she poked him the stick she had used to stroke the fire- it left a black smudge on his fraying cloak- but still he remained stone and she yawned, wishing to return to sleep. Silently Rose listened as Thorn suggested immersing him in water and though the thought indulged her she decided against it; the nearest clean looking river or stream was some many miles behind them. Finally with nothing more to do, Rose sat with the two dragons and waited, occasionally calling out his name and chewing on a few dried berries.

Finally, after what seemed an age, he stirred, blinking at the fire. She yawned, and putting the berries away, placed a hand on his arm. "Eragon?" she said, feeling his body twitch and become rigid. "Eragon? Saphira woke me up, she said that something was amiss with you. Are you feeling unwell?"

He looked up at her, his eyes narrowing and his mouth twisting into a grimace. "No," muttered Eragon. "I feel all right." For a heartbeat he paused, and focused on her face in the darkness. Examining it as he continued: "I talked to Arya- the elf. She's poisoned, that's why she won't wake up!"

Rose bit her bottom lip and pulled away, pulling the blanket from her shoulders. She crumbled it into her lap. "Did she say if there is an antidote?" she asked twisting her hands into the itching wool, watching as they disappeared into its depths.

"You knew didn't you?" he said, jumping to his feet. "You knew she was poisoned all this time but you said nothing! We could have gotten to the Varden by now! Arya told me how to get there! We should be there now!"

"And how exactly would we know how to get the Varden?" Rose said, her words sharpening as irritation rolled through her. She rubbed her eyes and dazedly up looked at him, her mind slow with sleep. "I know only of the general direction, and who we might be able to speak with to get there. Yet, I know nothing of their location or how to get to their hideaway, and so tell me, Eragon, how would we have gotten there?"

He paused, not know how to answer. "You're not denying that you knew she was poisoned," he said instead.

She shrugged, turning away. "Would it have a difference?" she said in a softer voice, though her aggravation hadn't faded in the least. She didn't bother to try to push it aside. "We would still be searching for someone to get us into the Varden's hideaway. Certainly, we would be no closer to them than we are now, and the elf would still be poisoned. You knowing would make little difference."

"But I would know!" he growled and turned away he cursed. "If you had told me I would have known what was wrong with her instead of having to spend all this time worrying over it. Next time you know something important like this, something that will affect all of us; tell me! We can't work together if only half of us know important details!"

Rose nodded, accepting his words, but did not offer any of her own. It was still his watch, so a little while later she went back to the bedroll and rolled herself into the blanket and fell asleep.

After that night the constraint between Rose and Eragon became a constant thing. They traveled as it had become habit, but the silence was impenetrable and neither wished to be the first to breach it. In the evenings Eragon would leave to hunt and after he returned, they took out their swords and practiced on his instance. They tried each other, pushing harder and harder at the other's limits and skills and willfulness but even the brief resumption of this did not quite drive away the shadow that now lay between them. More powerful because it remain unspoken.

The dragons pushed themselves as hard as they could, although after days of flying fast, an unremitting fatigue was settling deep in their bones. The weather had turned, and often they would beat on through driving rain and gales, having to stop more and more often to rest. Rose and Eragon remained with hoods pulled down over their face, the rain pelting straight into the eyes, and their camps were cold and cheerless.

Now that they knew where to go, due to Arya showing Eragon in what he described to be a vision of a place where the mountains so tall they touched the clouds, they fled to the southeast, edging the mountains of the Spine as best they could, flying past Kausta and through unused passes. Many birds lived there, flying in great whirling flocks over their heads during the day or piping plaintively in the night atop pale, glittering stones. Often, Eragon would shoot down one these birds and they would feast on it in the morning- their food supply being nearly gone. When the wind blew from the ocean a reek of salt and foul fish tainted the air.

In all those days, they saw absolutely no one, this was not a well-traveled path. Most of the time neither Eragon nor Rose spoke, except to the dragons, and they great silence around then amplified by the beats of the dragons' wind in the air. Eragon flew with Saphira and the elf ahead, a mere hutched figure in the close distance, driven to get to the Varden without a moment of delay.

They emerged from the mountains and passed the hilly land near Leona Lake with hardly a pause before crossing the Jiet River, which ran loudly though the woodlands and valleys. After the unrelieved peaks of the Spine, it was a balm to look on the flat green and gold forested plains. The gales stopped, giving way to days of rainless but somber clouds, and the weather grew steadily warmer. They were now in the southern regions of the Empire, not far from where they had left Selena and Brom. Most of these parts were inhabited, and the South Road passed through some the loneliest parts of the country.

At noon on the third day after crossing the Jiet, they saw a fork in the road below, leading northward to Melian and south into a forest so thick they could see no more of it. They were not planning to go to Melian, but to continue until they struck the Tüdosten Lake. At that point they would travel north and find a small town to buy supplies from before flying along the borders of Hadarac Desert.

The next day just after they had paused for their midday meal, the road entered one of the many silver sycamore woods that dotted this part of the Empire. The trees were ancient and stately, their branches meeting over the middle of the road. The sun was out, and they golden rays pierced the interlaced leafing branches, hunched over a large village. They decided then without any true decision to land and buy fresh food.

The dragons landed in a clearing not far from the road, and Rose and Eragon grabbed their empty food bag and sack of coins and walked silently into the town. The low buildings were made of the same shining silver wood as the forest, and the people watched them warily as they walked by. They were disregarded as if they were not living things as the travelers walked into one of the buildings and another, buying breads and cheeses and dried fruit and meatpies before leaving. Fresh meat they decided could be hunted as they traveled towards the Beors Mountains. They feasted that night, both of the sibling ravenous from eating so little and so far in-between, on dried fruits and biscuits and wrinkled greens and the flavored meatpies until they would eat no more. The tension between them subsided slightly as they ate. After the food had been cleared away neither of them felt much like sparring so they lay on the ground and without putting up watch they fell asleep.

The next day they reached the desert, and without breaking, for there was little more than endless heat and a sea golden rippled sand, the dragons flew straight through stopping only when they reached the foothills of the snow-drappled Beors.

They slept on the borders of the mountains and the dessert that night, and the next day they wondered into the mouth of the valley beyond. That afternoon they reached a small lake which sprouted, like the head of a snake, to a long winding river. The dragons continued to travel the river's bank until evening fell, and valley got dim and chill promising frost.

The Beartooth River seamlessly cut through the valley, large, bouldering brunet rocks seemingly thrown carelessly on its shores. The pellucid water beyond the rocks and stones mirrored seamlessly the sky only ruined by gushing jets of white. A long-necked heron stood in its streaming, completely unfazed by the travelers up shore. Even as one of the travelers inched closer to the creature, staring at its tatty gray plumage weaving slightly in the breeze, the bird remained unware, its beady eyes staring unblinkingly into an unseen distance.

Rose stepped down, the worn treading of her boot skidding on the surface of the rock. She grimaced, as the heron looked past its orange beck at her and, with a rustle of its wings, flew away. Her eyes remained on the bird as it arced brilliantly into the heavens, passing her and the river and her companions further upstream. She turned to watch it disappear into the sky. As it faded into the blue, Rose turned and saw that, very much as she had watched the heron, a pair of ruby eyes watched her. A slow smile spread across her face, and she lightly reached out to the dragon and said, That was a lovely creature.

I would have made an even lovelier meal. Thorn huffed humoredly through their mindlink as she crossed her arms over her chest. We are getting close to our goal, he said after a moment. Eragon estimates that we will arrive in the coming day or the one following. Though we know where we are going, we know not what we shall find. When the new days dawns I must hunt for meat, and Saphira wishes to join.

Are we truly that close? asked Rose.

That is what is believed.

She frowned and looked towards the waters, watching it stream past for a time. Come morning when you and Saphira leave to hunt, I shall have to talk to Eragon, she said. I wish to talk to him privately, without you or Saphira within our minds to sway our thoughts or feelings. I wish to have this conversation with my brother and no one else.

Rose had expected for the dragon to be hurt or bothered by her statement but he merely snorted and switched his tail against the ground. I will never understand why two-leggeds get into such a huff over their parentage, he said.

Ones parents are supposed to help shape their child's world, said Rose, looking at the dragon. I remember being told once that they're supposed to assist and contour that child, to fill that child with ideals so that someday they might be proud of them. They set the examples we two-leggeds are supposed to follow because we are their legacy. We are the outcome of their past deeds. Our linage matters even if we try to pretend it does not.

Thorn was silent for a time, caught up in his own thoughts, until Rose began to walk back towards the encampment. Did Tornac tell you this? he asked with a switch of his tail.

In part, said Rose pulling a stray strand of hair from her face. Some of it is my own conclusion. Tornac told me not to let what my parent's actions tether me, but as time passes I find that to become a trying task. She paused and looked over the rushing waters. The very first thing a person will judge you from is your parents or a relative should they know or heard of. They will judge you for them and not you. No matter what is tried, their option will remain the same, that you are little different than that person is and that, does concern me.

For a long moment, Thorn remained quiet, his tail unmoving. More of a reason for it not to matter, he said, and then began to thump his tail against the ground once more. If your father were alive now and saw all you have done would he have been gratified?

She nearly tripped, but caught herself with a gasp. He's died, she said icily staring at the dragon. What he might have thought means nothing. But no, I think he would be rather disappointed.

And your mother? She is alive.

I would rather not talk about Selena.

Thorn remained silent until she began again to walk towards him. One day, he said, you may find that you regret your current actions.

I may also find that she has spat out more lies, Rose retorted, grounding her teeth together. Leave it alone, Thorn.

The dragon said nothing for a time but looked at her, considering her. When you tell Eragon of your sire, Saphira and I allow you to do so in private, he said. Just be mindful of what you tell that boy. It may do him more harm than good.

Rose gave him a sharp look and stepped into the encampment, considering the dragon's words. It would do more harm, she decided, to let him go in there without knowing.

Eragon looked up and greeted her, before focusing again on cutting the animal he slay some time before. She didn't remain there long, returning to the rocks by the river until she was certain that the blood and pinked meat had been cleared away. They cooked the meat on heated stones and ate it, talking lightly of the day ahead of them before they set up watch, and settling in for the night.

Early that next morning, the dragons flew into the woodlands in search of a quick meal. As they waited, Rose rebuilt the fire and made a hot breakfast, a stew of barley and dried meat. Rose felt better than she had in days, and looked towards the stony peaks of the mountains surrounding the valley. They were rock-faced giants by their own right and longer she stared at their surfaces the tinier she felt.

She turned away, a chill running through her and studied Eragon's hutched shoulders. He looked in that moment so far away, his mind somewhere internally different than where his body sat in the valley of grass and wildflowers. She knew his mind was likely on the elf lying beside him. Arya's skin was coated with sweat shimmering in the sunlight, and her fingers were tinted blue, the areas around her sunken eyes were growing bruises. She does not have long but we are not far from help now, thought Rose as she watched the elf's shallow breathing.

And with this thought, she focused again on her brother and let out a long sigh. "Eragon," she said lightly. "There is something I need to tell you."

"What?" He spoke without looking at her, his face was flushed and tired looking.

Rose studied her hands, running her fingers long its length and over the pale swirling scar on her left palm. "When we arrive at the Varden there are going to dangers that at this moment neither of us can begin to fully understand. The Varden shall expect certain tasks and behaviors from us that we may not be able to perform. They may very well kill us on the spot, or wish to," she said, not looking at him. "I cannot allow you go to them without know the dangers and the reason for those dangers. Dangers that exist because of our father."

"Rose," said Eragon earnestly, eagerly, as if he had put much thought into these words, "if you have something to say that's going to affect us when we arrive that the Varden just say it. Do not allow me walk into their arms without knowing how they might react. The last thing we need is more secrets between us."

Rose looked up her brother with wide eyes, and slowly she smiled but it was not a happy smile. "Our father was not a good man," she said. "He was once a man called Morzan, the Last of the King's Forsworn."

Eragon gasped as if she had hit him, all façade of calm was completely gone. For a heartbeat there was a changed silence, as he sat staring slack-jawed at her in disbelief. "That can't be true! The Forsworn didn't have children," he said reaching for his red sword, "least of all Morzan!"

"The fact that Morzan fathered any children was never widely known," said Rose, rubbing the back of her palm with her thumb. She took in a deep breath. "You are not known about at all, a fact you should be very thankful for."

"That's a hard tale to believe." Eragon swallowed roughly and narrowed his eyes at her. "How do I know you're not lying?"

Rose raised an eyebrow at him. "What would I gain by lying about this?" she asked sharply. "You asked about our father more than once, and now I have told you. It's your choice about whether or not to believe me."

Eragon swore, and stood up in his agitation. "How long have you known?"

"About my being Morzan's daughter or about you?" she asked, looked up at him. He continued to look narrowly at her, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He said nothing, and she doubted he would with his jaw so tightly clenched. "I've known about him being my father for as long as I have lived. I reviled the thought of it for just as long, not because of who he was but what it meant for me. I have only known about you being my sibling when Selena told me, and that was little before we met."

"You should have told me then."

Rose turned away and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked guardedly out at the river before them and watched its rushing waters. A gaggle of ducks squabbled on its surface nearby. "It should not have been I who told you at all," she said acerbically. "And even if I have, you would not have believed me. You would not trust me as you do now, or would you have enough to tolerate my traveling with you. It's more likely you would have shunned me for simply stating it. Even you cannot deny that."

Eragon took a deep, hissing breath and sat down beside her, poking at the fire as if to gather his thoughts. "Is there anything more I should know about?" he asked, more than a little bitingly, after some time. "Is our mother a lost princess to the Empire and I one of the last living heirs?"

Rose considered him and then pointed to the sword on his lap. "You carry Morzan's blade," she said simply, ignoring his last comment. "I would suggest hiding it when we arrive at the Varden. Our linage shall be enough to put the leaders on edge without frightening them near to death."

Eragon stared down at the blade in his lap and slowly lifted it into the air. "I had no idea it was Morzan's," he said. "Brom never told me where it came from."

"I do not believe that he would."

"Zar'rac should belong to you, then," he said setting the blade between them, "being Morzan's first born and all."

Rose stared at it before pushing the burgundy blade away with the toe of her boot. "You may keep Morzan's butchering tool," she said. "It belongs to you by rights. I have come to accept that I shall nothing of that man's lest I wed, which is something for which I have no plans. There is nothing of his that I want or need. Keep it, I have a blade."

Eragon met her eyes, and then slowly nodded. He wiped his shaking hands on his pant legs and stood up, grasping the hilt of the sword as he stood. "Saphira says that they are on their way back," he said quietly, stepping away from her. "I'm going to clean up the dishes so that when they return we can continue on our way."

She did not answer him, allowing him the time to comprehend what she had said and what it meant for him. Rose reached out her mind and mindtouched with Thorn, inquiring how long it might take for them to return, and finding out that they would be back within a few moments, she listened to how his hunt went as she began to clean away the camp. As she worked she looked over to Eragon and saw that dishes he promised to clean lay forgotten behind him. She turned away and waited for the dragons. When he returned to the camp Rose pretended not to notice that the pot and bowls had not been cleaned, and with the promise to wish them as soon as she could, she stowed them away.

As soon as Saphira and Thorn arrived the siblings tied what was theirs and clambered onto their backs. Wordlessly, they left. Thorn flew as near to Saphira as he could, their wings beating tiredly on the air. Rose did not attempt to make conversation with Thorn, but looked at the biconcave valley below. Lined masses of pines and spruces and silver-leafed poplars loomed below curving and ebbing from the twisting river.

When the sun was at its height, the dragons' stopped for a quick rest and then pressed on. Around midafternoon they emerged from the wide plains and began to follow the winding river though the mountains. In the distance Rose saw animals which turned out to be wild herds of a slim coated kind of deer, and a small group of wild dogs so big and ancient that she turned away imagining what strength they might hold. Otherwise she saw very little just clusters and ripples of green crowned trees and the silvery shimmer of the river. No evidence of human-life was seen.

As the day became darker, and the sun vanished behind the wall of mountains, the river began to widen and the occasional thundering hiss of falling water could be heard. Rock faced walls arose up beyond its pebble stoned banks, a high circular cliff and from spilled gushing white water.

Rose turned toward Eragon and saw him looking at her. As their eyes met she felt a presence, congenial and eager and testing, reach out towards hers, and cautiously she allowed him to mindtouch with her. This is it, he said. They have someone waiting for us.

Looking for what he was talking about, she saw on the far shore a pair of people stood at the mouth of a gaping shadowed entrance, their face turned towards the dragons. Rose knew without having to ask, just who was awaiting them at the entrance of the Varden. Without turning from the man and woman, she said, So they are.