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,
Dance of Decision
The golden light of late afternoon played over the ashen outskirts of the city far below. Rose sat alone on the balcony, enjoying the drift of the distant sounds hum idly in the distance, subjugated by the steady simmering of the fountain beside her. If she closed her eyes she could easily imagine that she was elsewhere, a place very far from here, yet as she did she found that she held no desire to think of that place. Many things had been easier, simpler, and the choices she was facing were not as grave but she did not wish to think of it. She turned the thoughts away whenever they came up, which was easy as they were so unpleasant, and breathed in the stale air. Her body ached; oh, how she ached. Everything within her felt like on big bruise.
It was so pleasant to sit alone, and not feel filthy or exhausted or cold or frightened or hunted. But now she had little peace. All these thoughts bubbled inside her. She held many reservations about learning to use the Ancient Language, and each of them hummed like a hive filled with bees. But now sitting against a wall, none of them seemed like a firm enough reason. Rose had never wished to have power. She was perfectly content to stand in the background and play her role when something troubled her, to whisper in someone else's ear and allow them the hassle of righting the wrongs. It was a simple role to keep, one where hardly anyone noticed her, blamed her for wrongs in the world and she preferred it that way. Her father had done enough damage, why should she be the same? She did not wish for it, but in a way, she was, despite what Brom had said; she was the very same. Though she might not make his choices and draw an end to so many lives; a dragon had chosen her to hatch for, had marked her as his own.
Rose had the scar to prove this- the gedwëy ignasia, Brom had called it. She did not know how many times she had seen the very same mark on her brother's palm before he hid it in his cloak or the shelter of a glove. He hid his for an entirely different reason she did. His mark was on the right, and hers on the left- she wondered how many people would think of it as telling of ill fortune. A sign of the klippe. But how many people still read those tales, and put thought into the small folk? She doubted that there were many, if any at all. These tales were ancient, from a time when humans called another land home- a place that none knew the name of.
She had been ruminating for some time, when the door farthest from her opened and Eragon peered out. "Rose," he said, stepping out. "Brom gave me directions for the library if you would like to come."
"Did he say how long we may stay?" she asked, dusting off her tunic as she slowly stood up. She remembered the instruction Brom had given them the day before. It was puerile, to be told not to walk about alone, and though she knew that she could disregard it and she dearly wished to, she felt better having someone she knew about. Someone to share the stares and whispers.
Eragon shook his head. "He said that he would come and find us later."
Rose did not have anything to say to this and silently followed him down the stairs, her mind on her own thoughts. They found their way where the labyrinthine rooms were located, and passed through the rosy lite central square to a curved arch- there were no doors- without much trouble. The libraries had been added to in a chaotic fashion in the centuries it had been built, and was now a bewildering honeycomb of rooms. Some were huge halls lit by massive silver lanterns; others were tiny, dark chambers lit by nothing. But they were all lined from floor to ceiling with dark stone shelves, on which was piled with scrolls or huge leather-bound volumes or strange objects whose purpose she could not guess.
As they made their way to the back of the library, she found more and more chambers that looked as if no one ever went there: the shelves were covered with thick dust and they had a forlorn air. They picked up a lamp for many of these rooms were dark, and continued their wondering. At last they entered a long, narrow hall him with intricately fashioned silver lamps that let down clear pools of light over a table that ran over the entire length of the room. In the farthest corner was a large, carved staircase made of dark wood and stone that glistened in the light.
Eragon broke the silence. "Was the library in Urû'baen this big?"
"No," she breathed, still looking at the shelves. She felt awed by sheer weight of knowledge they passed so lightly. There had to be a countless number of books- collected and stored over hundreds of years. Even if she spent her whole life reading she would never get through it all. Rose would had been quite happy to wander through the rooms, ignoring her brother, to find the tallest step ladder and rummage through the shelves. "The libraries were large, do not misunderstand me, but nothing close to this expanse. Do you read, Eragon?"
"Yes, Brom taught me when we visited Teirm," Eragon said from the stairway. He peered up at the level above and whistled under his breath.
Rose turned her back to him and studied a shelf, looking for titles that were familiar. None were seen- all the books here seemed to be ancient. "You are a neophyte, then."
"A what?" he asked. He walked over and stood beside her, looking at her apprehensively. "You know half the time I can hardly understand what you're saying."
"A beginner," she said slowly. "A novice. Someone who is new to a subject."
"I know what 'beginner' means."
She shrugged and turned away. "You might have fooled me," she muttered. Though she dearly wanted to read, to lose herself in words, she knew she wouldn't be able to. Not yet, when all these thoughts were so fresh- she needed a distraction. Slowly she turned to her brother and studied him. "What is Carvahall like?"
Eragon blinked and sat in the nearest chair, Rose seated herself next from him, and for a long moment he was silent. She looked away and watched the light play on glinting faded gold of a number of the volumes as her mind wondered and then when he began to speak she found that her thoughts became muted as she listened;
Eragon told her of a small village that sat at a bend of the gleaming blue water of Anora River, creased hills of pines and fur flanking the small valley. And serrated, silver peaks of mountains which rose from all sides, and like the walls of a fortress they kept many harsh storms away. The wind after an unforgiving, everlasting winter was sweet and sunkissed as it blew in spring, and the fields were dotted with dancing purple flowers. He spoke also of the villagers, describing to her the scars on the blacksmiths hands, and the way the old midwife stood hunched over a cauldron to boil rags, and the joyous fever that over took the tavern when traveling instrumentalists came with a harp or a fiddle. And last he spoke of his home, now burnt to cinders, and the many summers he had spent with his cousin working the fields in the morning and swimming in the evening. He told of her the woman his cousin pledged to marry, and how the sun made her hair look like spun copper, and how secret messages were once passed between them…
For a very long time, Rose let him speak, to hear of a place she had never been, and it took away if anything the tightening feeling in her chest. She wondered though about the life he lived and left behind, a life so very different now than one he was now walking.
When Eragon finished he looked down at the table and was silent. She had a feeling that he had wanting to speak about the subject for quite a long time. "You long to return," she said. It was not a question, she could hear the longing his voice and see it in the way he kept his eyes closed as if envisioning the town himself.
"More than anything," Eragon said thickly. "If I could go back, I would."
"You are able to go back," she told him, "though not in the way you mean."
He nodded, already knowing this. "Do you miss Urû'baen?"
"No," she said, studying him. He had met her question with more honestly than she expected, and so she answered in favor; "I miss those I considered my companions, but one of them is estranged, and another is died, and quite a few them I am certain I shall never see again. I do not want to see them again. Beyond that, even if I wished for it, I cannot return to time that has perished."
"It's hard," he said.
"It is," she agreed. Slowly she stood up and stretched out her arms. "If you would excuse me, I would very much like to find out whether or not they have a certain book."
Eragon grinned, looking up the stories above them. "You'll be searching for years."
"And this is why I'm going to ask for assistance," she said. "I don't fancy the idea of being covered in dust by the hour's end."
Despite the not being invited, Eragon followed Rose as she went to find the bookkeeper. They had traveled far enough into the library that it took them a good while to find their way to the front. The library was busier than before, dwarves and humans sat at tables or stood high atop ladders delving through the selves. She wondered how anyone found what they were looking for; there had to be a system and she wished to know what it was.
When they reached the front, Eragon walked down an aisle, leaving her to approach a wide desk covered in many layers of books and scrolls. An ancient looking dwarf sat at the desk in the front looking as if he had breathed in far too much dust in his lifetime, there were two others around him their faces hidden behind scrolls. When she asked after the title and author he looked as if she had suggested he set fire to a priceless tome. "Do you know how many books are in here?" exclaimed the bookkeeper his hands fluttering. "We keep records, yes, but we have been collecting transcribes for millennia! If you are looking for a single book in this warren, go find it yourself!"
Rose thanked him gravely for his help, and went to find Eragon, who had picked up a book at random and already reading it. His lips moved as he slowly sounded out the words. As she came closer, his face flamed a bright red and he hovered closer to the pages, as if trying to hide his face. "Did they not have it?" he asked, not looking up.
"It is likely that it's here, though where, is another thing is entirely," she sighed and scanned the titles with interest. She may never find that book but there was plenty to read. Her trouble would be picking only one out.
She wondered about for a time, examining books, cover to cover and peering inside, before putting them back. That was until a title high above the ones she was looking over caught her eye. It was book she had only ever heard about. Desire for its pages filled her, and she quickly found the nearest ladder and rolled it over. Though it had been placed not too high for her decide against bothering to get, it was high enough to make her stomach do uneasy flips as she climbed up to retrieve it, only becoming worse when she stepped back down. She ran her hand shakenly over the cover brushing the dust that had lay dormant for ages, and tranced her finger over the inlayed title.
Once it might have been a grand book but now the outlines of morning glories and giant honey bees and vines made from mother-of-pearl and silver and gold were tarnished, deadened compared to its former glory. Though the remainder of Mannix the bard's work was likely this way. He had once been a famed author, Rose was told, once the royal halls of Ilirea had song his odes and then when he passed from the world his words fell from their favor. When Galbatorix had risen as king, Mannix's books and scrolls- one of the many poet's works- were ordered to burn. But the legend of his writing and how he silvered his words were never forgotten, as was intended.
Rose sat, quite a ways now from Eragon, in a well-used armchair and began to read. She felt as if she were in a daze, the troubles that had plagued her mere hours ago, dulled by her earlier conversation, fleeted from her mind completely. Every few paragraphs, she flipped through the pages randomly before moving on too anxious to allow herself to enjoy it in full.
The hand that had written the words was elegant, each letter flowing neatly into the neat, in style she had never seen. But as she read, she felt troubled, as well as perplexed. The only thing she held against Mannix was that he had no order, and his work was often baffling. But this was no reason for the King's ordered burning, for there was no word of Riders or the Fallen Lands or the dark that had once haunted the Wandering Tribes. It was nothing more than a honeyed passages and collected tales, things she had read countless of times- words that held no warrant for destruction. The question in her mind was; why?
One passage stood out to her at the end, Mannix's wording was different, as if he had placed in the pages as an afterthought;
"The silvery gales whispered their
sweet spell bound to me; so light,
so fair, so tall. They stood hearts
aflame when the sun lay abreast
a bloody orange-red the carrion
fowl and wolves ruined their golden
halls. Black are the steps of evermere
Quickly, dashed into a darkness,
deeper than heartgrief, did they fall into
the nihility of the shadowmere
"I see that you have rubbed off your obsession for books onto my son," said Selena. Rose started from her chair, as the woman took a seat beside her. A lamp glowed lowly near her elbow, and she moved her arm away, cringing as it exploded in tangling pain.
She closed the book and set it aside. "Eragon knows what is best for him," she said. "You have been rather absent today."
"I had business to attend to that took most of my day," Selena said, patting her knee. There was a moment of silence, in which Rose was tempted to return to her reading. "Have you eaten yet today?"
"Brom had prepared a decent midday meal." And she had looked at it for mere moments before she began to feel ill and fled to the balcony outside. There she had tried to contact Thorn but found him to be fast asleep, likely still tired and recovering from the hard flight over the past weeks. She left him be, to allow him that rest, but in return had been left to her own thoughts.
Selena sighed. "That's not what I asked," she said severely. "I believe that I asked whether or not you have eaten as of yet. I know Brom offered you food, but I also know of your meeting this morning with Hrothgar and how you respond to these things."
"As you know me so very well, why inconvenience yourself and ask?" Rose said, unable to keep the hardness from her tone. She turned and looked at the woman.
Selena had her eyes closed, her hands were held tightly in her lap, and after a moment she stood up. "Let's go," she said tightly. "I'll get Eragon while you put the book away. We'll meet at the entrance."
As she walked away, Rose reopened the book beginning read where she had left off. It was a short passage, and it did not take her long to finish it. With a ping of regret, she stood up and looked at the place, high above her head, where she had taken the tome from, and quickly shoved it into a loose space close within reach. She doubted that the bookkeepers would notice. Having millennia worth of transcribes to keep; they would likely never think that it was out of place.
After Rose met with Selena and Eragon under the arch, they made their way to the same bowed rooms with the same flagged kitchen dominated by long, scrubbed wooden tables at its rear as the night before. Copper and iron pots and pan hung from racks hung from the ceiling, and the back wall was lined with jars filled with seed and oils and fours and preserved fruits and vegetables, and bunches of onions and dried herbs hung from hook. Against one wall was a huge heath, and next to that was a big black oven. A number of dwarves were preparing food for the evening meal, and some of them greeted Selena. Selena nodded back and talked in a low voice to the one slicing meat, and he disappeared into a small door at the back. He came back with a platter and carafe and handed it to Selena. She took it, thanking him as Eragon went to help her, she shook her head and directed them to a table in the far corner, away from the joyous, loud dwarves that were scattered throughout the room. When they sat down, Selena passed them each a plate- hidden from within the covered platter, and began to serve herself.
"Is Brom joining us?" Eragon asked as he poured himself some wine. It was considerably thinner than the drink they here served the night before but when Rose took a sip she found it just as respectable.
Selena did not look up from the food as she passed it to Eragon. "No," she said softly. "I plan on being selfish and keeping the two of you to myself. Besides that, he was asleep when I saw him last, and I plan on him remaining that way. He needs rest." She paused and looked up at them, her face serious. "I need a favor from you two, more than one actually."
"And what is that?" Eragon studied the food seriously, as if he were making a grave choice.
"I need you keep an eye on him," she said. "Brom shan't rest and allow himself the time he needs to heal, and he pointedly refuses to see a healer. Should he begin acting strained in anyway or overexert himself, I would like for you to find a way to stop him and then contact me. It should not be too hard, he is not expecting much cooperation from you, Rose."
Rose looked up from her hands and frowned. "Is that so?"
Selena nodded, though she was not looking at her. "He believes that it will be a miracle to get you on the training field to practice swordcraft. I argued with him quite a bit, but I'll admit that you haven't been… inspired as of yet."
"We practiced with swords while we traveled to Gil'ead," Eragon supplied. "Almost every night."
"And here I was believing that you two had a whole month to forget everything you learned." Selena was silent for a time after that, ignoring the questioning looks Eragon kept shooting her, as she ate. The food- Rose was not quite sure what it was- was a grayish substance under long stripes of overcooked meat and mushrooms. After serving herself, she poked at it, while no one was looking, before deciding that she wished to have nothing to do with the meal at all. She would rather starve. "We were lucky last night," Selena said looking at her. "Vek was cooking and the good meat was in need of roasting. When he's not here, well, the food tends to be like this. It's not nearly as bad as it appearances."
Rose was not so sure. In the end her hunger won and she took a few bites, and finding that Selena had lied, only ate the tough meat and mushrooms under the dreary-looking paste. She thought of the gloom that morning, and the dampened cold that seemed to settle over everything, and found no blame in the chefs. Perhaps if they were in a better environment, in a place where fungus and darkness was not the only things that grew, the food would be much more presentable.
Eragon, who had been shooting Selena pointed looks throughout the meal, seemed to share some of his sister's reluctance- he was picking only at the meat.
When they finished, and cleared away their dishes, Selena turned to them to tell them to make a list of anything they needed and to give it to Brom and she would see what could be gotten. After Eragon and Rose agreed, they followed her outside the city. Now there were quite a number of people here, many crowding the stairs and near the street seeming as if they were merely having a gathering for the evening, but their eyes occasionally drifting to the top of Tronjheim with anticipation.
Rose scoffed at them, as Selena led them further away to a darkened, nearly abandoned streets. They walked towards the outer rim of the town, where there were hundreds more thoroughfares and houses. Here lived many people who made their living from serving the city but there were also the crafters: ironsmiths and saddlers and woodcarvers and masons. They passed a big complex of stables, for many of the Varden commanders and elite soldiers traveled and kept at least one horse, and Rose breathed in with a sharp nostalgia; she already felt the aching absence of her horse.
They had not passed the sables completely when Selena stopped in one of the many small squares and turned to Rose. "Contact Thorn and have him pick you up. There should not be too many beggars here, so we shouldn't have to worry about people asking for favors or advice," she said and then paused and frowned, opening her mouth to say more before closing it before shaking her head. "Eragon will join you shortly but I must speak with him first."
Rose said nothing, her mind still on Starshine, and mindtouched with Thorn, telling him where she was. She had awoke him and he was slow to reply but after a time he promised to find her. To pass time as she waited, she listened to Selena and Eragon talk a short ways from her.
"She's still healing. The poison did its toll on her and I do not expect much from her at this moment," Selena was saying. It did not take Rose long to realize that they were talking about the elf, Arya, and came closer to join the conversation. "Elves heal faster than humans, as I've learned today, but I will not lie to you, she is not in the best of shape. She still had a fever this afternoon when I left but seemed to be doing better. Many of her injuries are healed, her mind is not. I don't expect her remain there for long. She already desires to leave."
"Is she awake, then?" Eragon asked.
"Aye," she said. "The healers said that she awoke sometime late this morning, and ate some broth but little else."
"What was the reasoning for you visiting her?" Rose asked.
"Ajihad had asked me to," said Selena without looking her way. "As a favor. He thought that since Brom bluntly refuses to go anywhere near the Healing Halls that I could go in his place. The elf and I have rarely spoken before now and it was rather of an uncomfortable two hours."
"I wonder why Brom won't see a healer," Eragon said with a frown.
Selena grumbled. "He's stubborn and believes his wounds do not warrant a healer, and he knows that he if he came close to the Halls I would force one on him."
"You shouldn't."
"I would rather he have it looked at," Selena sniffed. "Brom has this tendency to underemphasize when he's hurt. But don't worry about it too much, he'll heal once he allows himself the chance." As the woman talked, Thorn, his wings beating loudly against the air, landed and walked over to Rose. He blew into her hair in greeting as she absently swatted him away. "Hello, Thorn," Selena greeted him.
Thorn huffed at Rose in reply- though she had a feeling that he mindtouched with the woman. You will tell me what happened when the old one sent us away, he said to Rose after a moment. It is troubling you and I want to know about it.
Not here, was all she said to the dragon before turning to Selena and asking, "Shall we see each other tomorrow?"
The woman shook her head. "I do not believe so," she said. "I have quite a bit of things that I have neglected. I believe that we will not seeing each other for a number of days. Though I will try to poke my head in every now and again."
"Until then." Rose quickly turned away and scrambled onto Thorn's back. He waited a time, and then as neither of the women supplied more to say, he spread his wings and flew away, landing moments later on the bejeweled ceiling of Tronjheim. She studied it for a moment, examining how that cold light fragmented the gem. It was truly a lovely thing- in the way that a cold, barren winter was beautiful. Her fingers stroked its, slightly uneven, top as she seated herself atop it. A part of her wondered at its failing and braking, sending her toppling to the ground below with its splintered pieces and what might happen then.
For a time she mussed over this, until Thorn rested himself beside her and regarded her with one of his rubicund eyes. They stared at each other for a time before Rose reached her mind out to him, allowing him to examine the events of the day. When he was done he lay his head near her knee.
I think, he said, that you should agree to learn this. There might come a time when I am not around and the only thing to protect you have to shield yourself with is your sword. It will do more harm to remain ignorant when this time rises.
Rose blinked at him, fighting away the tight feeling in her chest. I dearly hope that you are not planning on leaving me, Thorn.
I am not. Thorn blew smoke at her as he began thumping his tail against the gem. It made high pitched ting! against each of his scales. You were correct today when you said that I am not willing to vow to shred the egg-breaker's men until I know of the risk, but do not think that I was conveying that for myself. I am worried for you, Rose, the dragon continued in a hard tone. I am worried that you have created an enemy within yourself, and you have not an idea of how to disarm it. I also fear that it has been there for a long time and has remained hidden.
For a long moment, she stared at the scales around his eyes but did not meet them. She felt as he had hit her, his words bit deeply striking her worse fears. But she could not let him know this. We all have darkness inside of us, she muttered after quite some time. I am sorry, Thorn, that I have held you back from fighting for your species. If you wish to fight then I shan't hold you back.
Do not apologize for my decisions, said Thorn with a rebounding smack of his tail. I choose to hatch for you, just as I choose to follow you now. Should you choose to travel north spend the rest of your day trampling about snow and doing nothing, I will come also. But I know you will not. You will take my wants and needs into consideration first, and decide to do what you must. I make sacrifices for you as you do for me, this is what makes us a team.
You cannot tell me what I will chose, she said bitterly. I have had very little choices these past months.
You could have chosen to live a different life and left me behind but you did not. You had choices and you have already chosen what path you plan to walk. Do not fear its shadows. He raised up his head and blinked at her.
It takes light to create that shadow, I see this as well. I do not wish to speak of this anymore tonight. I need time to myself, not your advice, she told him as she rubbed her hands together. She stood up and began walking to the cave before turning around and considering the dragon she was leaving behind. For a time they studied each other as they had moments before, and then she shifted. "Dragons will reign the skies once again, Thorn," she said aloud. "I may not fight for the King's end but I will see that they do."
Thorn hummed, and his tail stilled. I know we will rise, he said, just as I know that the fallen king will be extricated from his throne. Enjoy your thoughts, little one, but don't let them consume you.
Rose ran her fingers over her braid and turned away once more. Once she walked under the entrance of the cave, she sat in the middle of the floor for a very long time. Her thoughts were more troubling but they were clearer to her now, she could sort through them and write them down a spare piece of parchment she kept within her viol case. Once her thoughts were written they seemed solidified and her gaze fell more and more to her instrument.
As a child she had been upset over how hard of a time she had learning how to play and it had not been long before she declared to Tornac that it was useless to even attempt to learn; she was too old, most children learned to play at a younger age. He had not argued with her at her statement, did not even disagree, but told her to keep practicing and if in a month's time she still did not like it, he would let Cordelia teach her how to cross-stitch. The mere threat of learning this craft had been more than enough, she loathed embroidery as it was, but to think that there was a whole other version… it was petrifying. In the end she learned to love playing her viol.
Only because the alternative was worse. And even though the reasoning for her learning no longer mattered, she loved playing it very much. She wondered if perhaps learning magic was the same thing.
She loathed the idea that she might become like her father- reviled the mere thought of him for so long that even the word "Rider" sent her walking the other way- for so long, that she thought that Thorn might be right. She had created a monster she could not conquest, could not even dream to rival against. This was not a fight that she could win with swords or words but something on a completely different. She just did not know what.
Her mind was still on this thought when she heard Eragon return to the dragon hold, a very long time later, and even when Thorn came inside to join her long after. He did not speak to her or pay her any mind, allowing her to her thoughts. When he lay down on his cushion, she stood with aching muscles and tucked her paper away, when she did it felt like she her left her thoughts with it- even when her fears remained, now she thought that she could perhaps get a handle on them. She began to ready herself for bed with a clear head and when she crawled over Thorn and curled herself in her blanket, she thought that she should have eaten more of her supper.
Suddenly, she found that she was starving.
