I do not own The Inheritance Cycle.
READ: Before you read the side stories below, allow me to explain. I've been debating about post this for these reasons: these are all pieces of stories I began some time ago (character studies some for fun, some not) or outtakes, things I couldn't find the right place to include into the main storyline. There's quite a number of them, but there all short, some hastily finished. I didn't want to spam the story itself with all of them. There is one (the third one down) that is a little ahead in the story, but I wanted to include it in here as it won't be included in the next chapter, it has no spoilers, that I had written originally in Rose's POV but switched so I could understand Eragon better.
(My brother choose the order of them, something that he had a bit of fun doing, and so he helped me (for a change). I was very shocked when I saw what he was doing, still am shocked and its been two weeks...)
I choose to download this now, because I'm having Mic. Word trouble and I don't know how long it will for me to fix it. Hopefully, its nothing.
Well, try to enjoy,


News from Home

Tornac broke the wax seal with shaking hands. He had put off reading the letter as it was written in Tipper's handwriting. Now as he had nothing to occupy his time and he wished to no longer put it off.

My dearest brother, it read.
When we last spoke, I was of ill mind and I dearly wish that I could take back many of the words I had said to you. All I can do is ask for your forgiveness, though I do not deserve it and I cannot yet say that I have forgiven you for leaving me. However, I say that I understand some of the reason as to why you had done so, and that I have forgiven you for the words you had said though they were harsher than mine. I wish I were writing with good news, instead of the bad that seems to encase this world as of late.

There is no easy way to write this and so I will be frank, Garnock, our brother, has passed into the Void a fortnight ago. I am so very sorry, my brother, as I know you two have become very close these past years, despite your differences. It was his illness that took him into a dark place, as I'm sure you know from the last letter his mind was failing him. His daughter Regina had found him in the gardens the next morning, it was quite a horrible way for her to discover her father's death. We can only assume that in his ill mind, he threw himself from the Old Tower the night before. I fear for our niece, as you had once feared for me.

Tornac sighed no longer able to read it, he skipped to the end.

Come home, my brother. I miss you dearly.

With all my heart, your sister,

Osanna

…..
…..

A Winter Treat

"Rose!" Tornac called her, from in the distance. "Come here."

She turned at the sound of her name and looked complainingly in the direction of Tornac. Next to her the dragon nudged her arm with its snort. Pushing the dragon away, she walked around a tree. Rose was not quite sure where it was that they were at, only that a small woodland surrounded the deer trail they had been following since leaving the cabin days before. They had hopes that the trail would eventually lead them to a road, and later a village. It had been to their dismay discovered that their provisions were getting low. They needed food, and soon, else they were danger of becoming fatigued or ill.

In all truth she missed the shelter of the capital; she was never hungry there as she was out in the wilds nor was she ever quite so cold. Always had she had a warm bed to sleep in and never had to worry if she would eat that night or not. She had never before had to worry about those things, though she did not. When she had left, she hadn't realized the hardships she was about to face. It was those hard hardships that made it seem as the winter had a harness to it unlike any other. She couldn't lie to herself, she missed Urû'baen and the safety it provided, despite the threats, it had been her home.

The dragon nudged her elbow again, and she looked down it. It flickered its tongue out and blinked at her, sending her its feelings of contentment. "I could leave you here, you know," she told it bitterly, "seeing as you enjoy the cold so."

The dragon stiffened and turned away, its head raised to sky to watching the dropping snow dance in the wind. It closed its mind to her, and she was once again her own person.

For a time, Rose continued to walk, listening to the crushing of snow beneath hers and the dragon's feet or watching for wildlife, though very little was seen, until she reached Tornac. The man was bent down in front of scraggy bush, his cloak pulled around him, and Rose started at the sight. She ran to him in alarm, and looked down at him. He looked up and smiled at her.

"Close your eyes," he said, hiding his hands from view.

Rose looked at him warily, but did as he said. She felt him take her hands and pull off her gloves, and she felt as three somethings, small and cold and hard, fall into her palm. Then she opened her eyes and looked at the objects in her hands in disbelief. "Oh." She looked up at him. "Blueberries. How fortunate we are to find blueberries in the winter."

He grinned at her for a moment, and handed her a small bag filled with them. "I had thought you'd enjoy them," he said, turning away as she put the berries into her mouth.

They had frozen and dried in the harshness of cold, but at that moment they tasted better anything she had ever had. The dragon beside her, nudged her elbow again, and this she looked down at it and rubbed its snout. Quietly she thanked Tornac, and tucked the sack of berries away. Blueberries were a favorite of hers, and they were quite a treat to have. Perhaps not everything was as bad as it seemed.

…..

…..

No Title
One

Eragon started as the creature came nearer. The toad croaked and stared at him, he stared back. They were ugly creatures, toad, full of warts and ill luck and bad magic. At that moment Eragon didn't need any more bad luck. "You know," he told the toad, "there's a witch out there trying to prove you don't exist."

The toad's body puffed up in a croak, and it hopped away.

With a sigh Eragon rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. The day couldn't get any more grim; the sun wasn't shining and the sky was threatening rain. What was worse, Saphira wasn't around. She had gone off hunting with Thorn. Eragon looked at the people around him, his frown deepening.

He didn't know how he felt about Selena and Rose. Selena was his mother, he had spent half his childhood dreaming about meeting her, and now here she was, alive and laughing with Brom, but he wasn't unhappy about it. Selena was his mother, he should know her better, be able to call her Mother and he tried to, once, but found he could not. When Selena had told him she was his mother, he didn't believe her until she swore it was true in the Ancient Language.

He still had a hard time believing it.

And then there was Rose. She, who seemed to dislike him, avoided him when possible without a reason he knew of, was his sister. Eragon had once dreamt that he had siblings that they would joke and play with him when his mother and father came for him, but now he wished he didn't have any. He had Roran, though he might never see him again, and that should be enough for him.

Eragon looked over at his sister then, she was sitting not far off reading a leather bound book. He was very tempted to go over and find out what the book was about, see if he could read it, or talk to her. Before he knew what he was doing, he had gotten up and walked towards her. She looked up at him without a smile, as he cast a shadow over her.

"Is there something you want?" she asked.

He sat down where he stood. "No," he said. "Not really."

Rose nodded and returned to her book, as a short silence over took them.

"What was our father like?" he asked suddenly. He hadn't been able to get that thought out his mind since he found out Rose his sister. She must have known their father, seen him, and talked to him- known him for a time. "Where is he?"

There was a loud breath, as Rose looked at him in irritation. "What do you think he was like?"

He was taken aback by that question. He didn't have a clue what his father was like, who he was, or what he looked like, he had ideas of course, many of ideas. "I don't know," he said. "I had always thought that he is someone of importance. That he's rich and important."

Rose nodded. "He was," she said, fingering the edge of a page. "He was all those things and many more."

"He's dead?"

She nodded and looked away. "Very much so."

Eragon looked down at the news. He'd had hopes to meet his father one day, now he knew that he wouldn't. "You don't sound sad that he's dead," he observed. She said nothing for a time, looking again at the book. "What was his name?"

She stiffened, and wiped a loose hair from her face. "I'd rather not say," she said.

Eragon nodded, deciding to save that question to ask again later. He sat down next to her, folding his legs in front of him. "Was he a good man?"

"Many thought so."

"Alright," he said slowly as he gathered his thoughts. He glanced around for something more to say, she wasn't telling him much. He didn't think she would. "What do you think of him?"

Rose was silent for a time, staring at the pages of the book in silence. One of her fingers moved in circles around the letters, as if she were thinking. Then, after a time, she looked at him, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "Let me ask you a question," she said, folding her hands on top of the book. "What was Garrow to you? Was he good to you, as a father should be to a son, or not?"

Eragon looked down as shame colored his face. "He was very good to me," he said, staring at his lap. He felt something rise up inside his chest, but he forced it down. "Garrow was a good man. He shouldn't have died."

"He raised you as a father would?"

Eragon swallowed. "Yes," he said.

"Then that's all you need to know about your father," Rose said, standing up. "Remember the man who was a father to you, not the ghost that lingers in the past." She didn't look at him as she walked away to the fire. There she sat down, and returned to her book. Eragon knew than that his hunt for answers from her was over, and he looked out over the land. The sun was setting in bright colors and in its glare he could make the dim shapes of two dragons in midflight.

…..

…..

Caught

A scream of rage broke through the air behind him.

Morzan instantly jerked to his right, down a narrow lane but he was too late, a short silver knife had cut into his skin. He swore at the man behind him and dared to look back, it was a choice he instantly regretted. He stumbled over a broken flag and landed in a filthy puddle rolling over his woven sack as he went. Blinking the mud from his eyes, Morzan looked up and nearly swore again, but he didn't have the time to do so.

A tall guard with a glittering chainmail and faint pink scar over a crooked nose towered above him. Despite knowing that he was caught and would likely be beaten, Morzan felt grimly satisfied. The boy had after all been the one to put disfigure this particular guard. He didn't have much time to admire his handiwork, as the guard dragged him out of the puddle and painfully twisted his arm behind his back.

The guard shook him.

"You an't gettin' away this time, boy," croaked the guard.

Morzan felt like swearing but his mouth was filled with gritty filth, so he spat at the guard's feet instead.

The guard shook him again.

"Oh, I can't wait to see them faces when I tell them it were me who'd brought yeh in. They an't gonna believe me, they an't." He laughed loudly, sounding very much like a donkey.

Morzan struggled against his hold, and stopped when a stabbing pain flared into his back. He swayed slightly, and spat more grit onto the ground.

"They an't gonna believe yeh 'cause I an't comin' with yeh, you slimly old cod," Morzan said.

The guard roughly pushed him forward, and he stumbled.

"Yeh an't got a choice," said the guard, as he led him back the way they came. "A good beatin' is all you needs. A beatin' and some brains."

"I gots some brains," said Morzan struggling against the guards grip. "Plenty more than you!"

The guard laughed again sounding, in Morzan's opinion, even more like a donkey.

"No, you an't," the guard said.

"Yeh, I do!"

"Then prove it," the guard told him. Morzan didn't respond he didn't know how to prove that had some brains. He knew he did, Pa had always said he a clever lad but then again Pa had left him. Pa had left and had not come back, years ago maybe? He didn't know. "I didn't think so," said the guard, shoving him forward by the back of his head. "You an't gots no brains."

Morzan gritted his teeth, and wiggled in the guards grip. His shoulder was beginning to hurt him and his feet were bloodied from his run but worst of all, his belly ached with hunger so badly it made him dizzy.

Someone walked past them, and stared at him with an open mouth, watching him as he was dragged away.

A knot formed in his belly, and he looked down at his hands. The last time he was caught stealing he had had the tip of his finger cut off. That couldn't happen again. What if they cut off his hand next time? Or both his hands? How was he going to eat, then? He didn't seem to have a choice, he simply had to free himself.

He leaned back into the idiot guard behind him. As the guard's grip loosened he pulled away, trying to free himself, but the guard had too firm of a hold on him and he stumbled. The guard cursed at him, calling him things he didn't want repeat or think about, and tightened his grip even more, hastening their pace. He dragged Morzan along, ignoring the boy's curses and attempts to free himself from the iron-hard grip until one of his fellows came and inquired after them.

Morzan did not listened to them interact, having decided it was best to behave nice he looked down at his bloodied, bare feet. He didn't want to go with them, they'd bring him to an orphanage for sure. As much as Morzan didn't want to admit it, he was afraid. He was afraid and he was hungry and he didn't want to be beaten for stealing. He shook himself, he was stronger than that, fear was nothing, it was a weakness- he couldn't allow himself to be afraid. Fear was for the weak, and Morzan was not weak.

He looked up at the guard's fellow as he bent down to Morzan's level. There was a woman standing next him. Looking at the woman, Morzan started. She wasn't wearing a dress, but a finely made golden tunic and blue legging that showed her body as women should not. He gulped. The woman smiled at him, and he turned away. "What's your name?" the man asked.

"Mor-Morzan, sir," he said, meeting the man's eyes. Morzan swallowed and shifted, feeling the guard tighten his grip. His shoulder was truly hurting him.

"Do you know who I am?" the man asked.

Morzan shook his head- how was he to know every man's name in Furnost? He clenched his hands into fists, and scowled.

"My name is Jago," said the man, "and this is Cerys. We're both Riders, Morzan. You do know what Riders are?"

"He's not brainless, Jago," the woman said snappishly, before the man's words registered in Morzan's mind. "Of course, he knows who the Riders are. There's no need to insult him." Cerys turned quickly to Morzan. "Your mother and father are no long around for you, correct?"

Morzan looked down, and didn't answer.

"Answer her, boy," the guard growled at him. "She asked yeh ah question, show some respect and answer her."

"You may take your leave," the woman said to the guard. "You've done a fine enough job as it is, Kurn, we'll take it from here."

Looking up in horror, Morzan felt as the guard hesitantly released him and stepped away. "Good day," he said, and then he was gone, leaving Morzan to his fate. He looked at the Dragon Riders in front of him and swallowed, hoping that the stories of noble men and women were true and not the fables he believed them to be.

…..

…..

Survey

He sits, this odd deranged man with puffs of hair sticking out from his head, as neat as an obedient child, on a stool in the corner of the room. On the table in front of him were the remains of his dinner on a pewter platter, and a long dented knife. He was staring at the food, the good slices of meat, and the golden crusted white bread; but he had eaten very little. Selena found herself staring at him, from his rugged riding boots to the man's tattered bonnet crammed atop his head, as if he were some exotic animal, like that caged bear cub she had seen last year brought in the Traders before winters turn, trapped for human entertainment. He stirred and opened his mouth and a pool of dribble fell from it and onto the table in front of him.

Without bothering to hide her distain, Selena shifted her balance to her other foot and felt something nudge her arm. "You shouldn't be staring," the man next to her said. "It's rude."

"Oh," she grasped on his arm in both of hers, much to his annoyance. "Do you think he's been witched?" He certainly looked as if he had.

Garrow gave her an exasperated look. "I think you're being ridiculous," he grumbled unhappily. "Come and help me. We don't have time for your whimsy."

She pinched him. "We have plenty of time, dear brother," she said, looking away from the man as his head bobbed, his nose dipping dangerously close to the meat gravy. "You're just wanting to see Tilla before we return home."

Garrow's face turned an interesting shade of red. "Nonsense," he muttered.

"There is no shame in your fairing love," she said, patting his arm soothingly. "Fear not, dear brother, she may notice you yet."

Garrow snorted at her, very much like a pig, and turned away from her as Morn, who was burdened with a package, came forward. Morn was a tall, gaily youth, only a year or so older than Garrow, with a rather unfortunate face.

"Is this what you wanted?" he said.

"How am I supposed to know?" Garrow said with a shrug. "I was only sent to pick it up."

Morn shrugged. "Had to ask," he said handing the cloth package to Garrow. "I wish you had come to town yesterday, the strangest man came in…"

Selena turned away, no longer listening to Morn's tale. The man was now awake, and he was wiping at his nose which was covered in sauce. He crinkled his leather-like face into a grimace, his dark beady eyes narrowing to slits, as he looked about the Seven Sheaves in a dazed fashion. He shuffled in his seat and swiped again at his kinked nose, smearing the lumpy sauce on his face and into his oily hair, before he stood up and limped slowly out of the tavern. Selena looked on, trying to find something else to look, though she found very little.

Finally, after an incredibly long time, it seemed as if Morn was finished with his tale, and Garrow fared him well.

"Let's go," Garrow said, turning away from her, and walking out the door.

Selena watched him for a moment, before walking after him. Where else could she go, if not with him? What choices did she have, but to return home, though she did not wish to? Sometimes it seemed as if one did not have choices.

….

….

A Dolly Down

"She goes up- up- up to drink outta ah cup for sup-a-lup, den she goes down- down- down with a big, huge frown. An' all sad 'cause she don't have a brown crowny- owny, frowny, lowny, cowny."

Selena looked up in confusion, moving aside the book in her hands. Muirgheal sat at the edge of her bed, her doll raised her head, and to the mother's shock, she was singing to it. Selena had never heard her daughter sing, and she couldn't hold back the laugh that escaped her. "Cricket," she said, "what are you doing?"

The girl started, dropping the doll which made a pitiful sound as it hit the floor, and turned to look at her. "Nothing," she said, looking away, at the doll she dropped. "Uh-oh."

"What's wrong?"

"It falled," the girl said pointing at the ground. She leaned forward and started to crawl down from the bed. The bed was far too high up for Muirgheal to get down from without hurt herself- Selena had had to pick her up and place her on the bed to get her up there. As the girl turned around and put her legs over the edge, Selena shot forward in panic and pulled her to the middle of the bed, so that she was laying on her tummy. "Mamma!"

Selena looked at her daughter innocently. "I'll get it," she said, swinging her feet over the edge, the tips of her toes far from the ground. "Stay put." Standing up, Selena looked at her daughter, who was now sitting, looking at her watchfully, and walked over to get the doll. She picked it up and looked it over, and upon seeing nothing wrong with it, she leaned forward and handed it Muirgheal. The girl took it eagerly and checked every inch of the doll before resuming her playing but now in silence.

….

….

Illusions

Breaca was more than willing to vow on her dolly's life that the column was moving.

The creatures molded into the marble stone, slowly began to reveal themselves in raised fists and faint flutter of their wings. Gasping and gurgling, the creatures squirmed and pushed against the stone membrane, like things ready to be born.

She wanted to scream but when she opened her mouth to do so, she found that she could not. Silently, she clenched her dolly closer to her chest, crushing its pretty dress.

One of the creatures, a dryad with long hair weaved together with pretty blooming petals, turned her direction and smiled at her with its long jagged teeth. Breaca jerked away from it with a shudder, the hardened bottoms of her shoes rung out loudly throughout the empty halls. The dryad cocked its head to the side, listening. It continued to watch her with its large, inhuman eyes.

Breaca felt as if she had swallowed a handful of snow as her belly turned over on itself freezing her into place, and her gullet burned, as the colors distorted into a shapeless haze. Watching on spellbound she could not move and she was forced to watch as the dryad clawed against its filmy prison.

With a strange sort of snapping sound the creature broke free from the column and slid onto the ground. A syrupy hiss of pleasure escaped through its lips and echoed in the hall. It staggered towards her, unbalanced like a newborn deer, its discolored hair floating in the air. Breaca flinched as the dryad's hand caressed her wrist, and with a gasp she slapped the creature away. It moved its face closer and hissed in her face. Such a rude creature.

"They come," it hissed. "The old ones, they come."

The dryad then released her and fell into the floor becoming one with the unmark marble. Breaca looked at her wrist. It had left behind colored scales on her skin, a bejeweled handprint, as she looked at it the scaled melted and slid down her skin like water. Slowly the golden liquid thickened and turned to burgundy, the color of blood, and it touched her skin it burned away her skin revealing blackened bones.

Breaca screamed, the scream echoed throughout the halls. She wiped unthinkingly at the burning liquid but it would not come off. There was the sound of scraping of boots on the floor, and she looked up in panic but nothing was there. Her loud breaths and her pounding heart echoed loudly in the empty room.

Not a soul was there expect for her and her dolly. She was safe. What she saw did not really happen, it was a dream, like the dream she had had of the monster flying-fish. Yet, she was so sure that what she saw was real. Breaca looked down at her hand, her skin was still reddened from where the dryad had touched her.

…..

…..

No Title
Two

Rose was looking at her with narrowed eyes, her hands on her hips. Had they been anywhere else Ailis would have laughed at her but instead she smiled and looked away, running the stick over the ground. The cat in front of them leaned down, as if to pounce, its whiskers arced forward, its tail swishing in the air. Ailis edged the switch towards the cat, and the cat swatted at it, its claws cutting into the dirt.

"This is a horrible use of time," said Rose, shifting from foot to foot, crushing the grass beneath her feet.

Ailis smiled, pulling the stick away from the cat. The cat rushed forward, its paws scattering ahead of it in a desperate try to get the stick. "You think so?" Rose said nothing. Ailis pulled the stick into the air, the cat rose up after it. "It's certainly better than riding all day."

"I'd prefer the ride," she heard Rose whisper. Rose took a step back, and Ailis flickered the stick close to her, the cat chasing after it. She scattered away from the cat with a surprised noise.

Ailis looked up at her for a moment, and sighed. How would she find the words for what needed to be said? She didn't know. Nothing had ever tested her so. Allowing the cat to catch the switch, at last, Ailis stood up. At least the cat was able to get what it was after.

…..

…..

A Letter

Tornac-

You had once told me, ages ago now it seems, that time would calm my mind and lighten my heart, and yet I wonder if enough time has passed for this enlightenment to occur, for my mind is a maelstrom and I understand none of it. There are no words to express what it is that I feel.

It is unsafe, I know, and perhaps very foolish, overly so: my unexplainable desire to view the sights of Teirm. I can sit here no longer allowing myself to remain in this limbo. There are matters I believe I must try to execute, answers I much try to find. I am selflessly thinking of only myself, I know and I should not be and yet I am. Perhaps I am wrong in doing so, perhaps not. I hope very much so that I am not wrong.

I write this in hopes that you shall not have to receive it in the means it's intended to be received- that I will be bold enough to tell you myself and to hear the dispute that I will surely receive, but I know I will not be. You also said that you believed me to have changed very little in this anarchy of a journey, now I believe your words to be unpleasantly true.

In hopes that you shall forgive me,

Rose.

…..

…..

No Title
Three

Lowenek looked down at her daughter, who was tugging impatiently on her sleeve in attempt to get her attention. Her daughter looked at her with brown eyes that gleamed in the candlelight, the tight curls of her hair fell into her face and around her head reaching the tips of her ears. She grinned at her showing off her tiny, growing teeth and tugged forcibly at her sleeve again.

"What is it, moon-drop?" Lowenek whispered in her ear, not wanting to interrupt the men as they talked.

Her daughter pointed to the door. "Mama," she breathed, "outside."

Lowenek smiled sadly at her, and shook her head. "Not now."

"Outside," she repeated.

"Allow me to listen to your father," she tried to reason with the small child, "and then we'll go outside." The young child promptly began to pout; her bottom lip puckered out, partly covering top lip. She looked up at her mother with her big eyes, and Lowenek felt herself waver for a moment, before she mastered herself. "No, Nasuada."

Huffing, the girl released her grip on her mother and tottered to the shimmering cloth that hung in front of the door. She pointed to the door again, and turned to look back at her mother.

"Outside," she said in a louder voice. The three men around the table stopped in their debate, and looked towards the child. Nasuada jutted out her jaw and tugged at the cloth, pointing to the door behind it once more, making her message more than clear. "Outside."

A strong hand squeezed her fingers and Lowenek started. She looked down at her hand then looked up at the luminous black eyes of her husband. He smiled slightly at her, and leaned his head in the child's direction. "Why don't you and Nasuada go on outside. It seems she won't be disagreeing with you if you do," he said. Then in a lower voice so that only she could hear, "If there is anything you need to hear, I'll tell you tonight."

"You will tell me everything tonight," she said in the same low tone. "Without a single detail left out. I mean it, Ajihad, these are things I should know also, both as your wife and as your partner in all of this." Lowenek gestured vaguely at room before she stood up, and withdrew her hand from his grip. "We won't go far," she said in a louder voice, as she walked across the small room of the chalet to the child by the door. Together they went outside, and Lowenek joined the child. They played in the grass and laughed, but her mind was elsewhere, because she knew that this joy would not last, that soon things would soon change.

….

….

Riding

He stared at the object in his hand, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of it. Next to him, Rose hurried Shadowless forth, and then turned in the saddle and gave him a teasing smile. For a moment she didn't seem to have a dirt smudge near her nose, as her eyes glistened, and her clothing was not quite so worn. "So I've died," she said, "have I?"

He tucked the wooden deer away. "That's what the King wishes the Courts to believe. Dead or taken prisoner by the Varden."

To his surprise she laughed. He didn't think she would be joyful about hearing the news of her supposed death. "Not quite, though that is close to truth," said she slowing the horse to match his pace. "My being dead might work to my benefit."

"How so?"

She grinned at him quite guardedly, as if she were the keeper of the world's secrets. "It is a very rare thing for the dead to travel through the Gates and into the land of the living," she said. "I don't believe I've ever witnessed such a sight, nor will I."

Ilbert grinned and looked over the land before them, ahead of them rode a sole traveler coming their way. "I wouldn't wish you to."

They rode for a time in silence as the traveler passed them. It was a lone man, likely a farmer. Ilbert paid him no mind.

"How is your family, Ilbert?" she asked, guiding them off the road. "Ilem's wife was with child the last I've heard, and Ilona affianced."

"Ilem's wife has bought an heir for our family," he said, making a face. "Ilona is putout about her engagement, and Ilisa is wishing she were in her sister's place. My mother is same as she always has been as is my father, though they are older and much sullener for it."

Rose laughed, and then looked at him and her smile faded. "Ilisa is a romantic," she said sullenly.

"That's not always a bad thing."

Rose turned and looked at him. "No, it's not," she said, stopping Shadowless at the bottom of a hill. "This is where we part." Biting her lip, she rubbed the grand horse's neck before kissing his peach colored snout. "Do take care of him," she said. She was avoiding his gaze looking instead at the horse's black mane.

Ilbert looked away, not being able to continue looking at her. He didn't see any person, nor horse, nothing that meant she would get to companion safely. "I said I would," he said. "I don't see this ride of yours."

"He won't come until you leave."

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly at her, his eyes downcast. "No?"

"No," said Rose with a shake of her head.

Ilbert slid down from his horse, and to his own surprise he embraced her, she was stiff for a time then slowly she relaxed. They stood for a long moment, until she pushed him away. She handed him the reigns to Shadowless, and looked up at him. "I do not like this," he said in truth. "You leaving doesn't sit well with me."

"Nor me," she said, stepping away from him. "But I must go, as must you."

Ilbert nodded, fingering the leather reigns. He still could not believe that Tornac was dead. It seemed impossible that such a lively man could not be living. He wanted to know what had happened, how he had died, but he couldn't, not at this moment. "May the gods guide you," he said, causing her to smile.

"Farewell, Ilbert," was all she said, before pulling her hand from his, and walking away. "Be mindful if you return to Urû'baen."

Ilbert looked at her in confusion. Why would he have to careful in Urû'baen, it was perhaps the safest place he could go. "Be mindful, yourself," he said. "If you ever change your mind, you are welcome here."

She smiled and shook her head. "Farewell," she said again, looking away from him towards the sky.

Knowing that he would get no more from her, Ilbert mounted his horse, and guiding Shadowless, he rode away. Halfway up the hill, he turned around and looked down towards Rose. She stood still, in the same place, her back facing him. He continued forward, stopping only once more when he reach the crest of the hill. He steered the horses to a brush, and fastened them to a branch. He needed to know who Rose was meeting. Tornac was no longer there to protect her, and despite what she had said, Ilbert doubted that she was safe. She couldn't be, not when she was traveling about so…

He had been worried about her over the last years, though knowing he shouldn't be, she had had Tornac and Tornac had always kept her safe. It seemed to him as if she were slowly distancing herself from him. But his worry was born from a deep friendship, and regard for her, something that can only be formed after years of trail and amity.

And so, he crouched down in the bushes and watch as a large bird flew down from the sky and land near Rose. But, he realized it was not a bird. It was far too large to be a bird, and birds certainly didn't glisten with red scales.

Staggering back, and nearly falling over, he understood what it was that he was looking at. He watched as she went to the dragon and rubbed its neck before climbing onto its back, as if it were something she had done countless of times before. He remained watching as the dragon flew away with her, and sometime later he had yet to move, froze still in shock. He shook himself then and ran to the horses, he needed to get back to his uncle, and quickly. Turning the horse sharply, he forced the creature into a full gallop. Dust rose up in billowing clouds behind him.

…..

…..

A Dream

There was water all around her. She tried free herself from the gripping hands that restrained her. Her chest burned for air and despite herself she gasped. Freezing water crawling into her throat. Her body forced her to take another breath. A foreign notion crossed her mind that she would find no oxygen in this atrocious flood. Not a moment after she took a considerable amount of water into her body and black inky spots danced before her eyes, it was with a strange respite that she knew no more.

…..

…..

Conjecturing

It appeared to a peaceful night, and yet if anyone watching for any length of time- a bird, say, on a roof- might have thought that dimness of night was making a fool of them. For sometimes that the shadows on the road moved on their own accord, as if something black moved stealthily amongst the many flowers of the gardens, but then, when you shook your head there was nothing there. After a time it became clear that a darkly cloaked figure moved furtively below, keeping always out the light, slinking from this notch in the hedge to the next.

The figure moved up the path until it reached the steps of a large estate, and there it stopped and tried the door. There the figure shook the knob yet the door would not give, and silently as it could the figure murmured something in the dark and the door swung inward without its usual creak, and figure stumbled inside.

A little while later, Tornac was sitting in his childhood room, his chin propped on his hand, deeply absorbed in a book. The fire was almost crumbled to ash, pooping sleepily on its embers and its light fell peacefully across his lap. Suddenly he looked up, his hand reaching for his sword across the tumbling books and open correspondence, and almost immediately afterward there came a knock on his door.

Tornac stood but did not get the door, he freed his sword from its casing and let it swing freely at his side. There came another knock, as if the door was being stuck by a small fist, and then the door opened on its own. A figure stood in the dark hallway beyond. It wore a heavy cloak and was booted in black. A hood obscured its face, although he knew who had come to call, he had been expecting this for little over a year. A chill, like that of a tomb, ran down the spine of his back, as the figure entered the room. He raised his sword as if to fend it back.

"Well met," said the figure, stepping into the light. "You had given me a terrible fright for I thought you had gone blind. I'm glad to know that my fears had been made in haste."

Tornac stilled at the figure's forwardness, as if he were frozen, then slowly he relaxed his arm, allowing his sword to rest at his side. "There is very little that I have to say to you," he said. "You may take your leave, if you please."

The figure pulled back the hood revealing a soft, fair face framed by damp hair, the firelight tinted her brown hair with a coppery-red. "I've traveled a very long way to meet with you. I'd rather stay here for a time." she said softly. "There must be something you wish to tell me."

She smiled at Tornac and when he did not respond in kind her smile faded, and she stood for a moment waiting for him to speak. He did not speak for he recognized many things about her instantaneously and what he did discomforted him; the shape of her nose, the small smile playing at her lips, the way her gaze met his both unperturbed and fierce with thought. There was a wild tinge in the air that seemed to be settle into a glow about her- the glow of magic.

He took a deep breath, a moment to compose himself. Tornac didn't know what he felt aside from being almost drained from both energy and emotion due to his brother's recent journey into the Void. Now there was this, this woman standing his chambers, bold as she pleased, and he had not an idea how he felt about it. He felt his eyebrows as they came together in confusion.

He shook himself. "There are many things I would like to say to you," he admitted, "yet, these will remain unsaid. Come, sit down."

"A civil man, are you?" she said quietly, glancing around the room. "Those are quite rare in this world. Many men prefer saving their pride over performing decent conduct." The woman walked across the room, past him, and took a seat in a cushion, gasping in shock when the supporting gave way and she sunk deeply into the padding.

Tornac smiled at her humoredly. It was an odd thing that the chair being in his former bedchamber, as he had broken it years ago and never bothered to fix it or toss it. "Not all were taught to behave as your husband had," said he, moving the chair he was seated in earlier to face the woman.

After the chaos of chamber rooms in Urû'baen, Tornac found his chamber here, at his family estate, disquietingly neat. The room was in the same style as forefathers had built it generations ago, finely furnished with stenciled decorations on warm yellow walls. The walls were, of course, lined with books, and a number of things from Tornac's youth, wooden carvings, and embroidered hangings stitched by his sister's hands. There was a low table close to his bed, with a strange and intricate metal lamp, the stub of a candle in the lamp was unlit and in need of replacing. In the two chairs of the room seated the man and the woman both of them were looking into the sputtering fire.

"That man," she said coldly, "is my husband no more." She paused and took a breath. "Forgive me. I'm being rude aren't I?"

Tornac silently agreed with her. "Yet, there is a reason you are here?"

"There is," she said.

He waited for her to continue speaking, and a long silence fell over them.

"My daughter," she said speaking at last. "I've come because I wish to take her out of Galbatorix's influence."

"There are others who are more able to assist you," he said.

"You're closer to her than generals or spies are," said the woman. "And I've heard of your deeds. You are plenty able to help me, if you're willing to do so."

Tornac paused considering it. To do as this woman asked would put Rose, his whole family, and himself at risk, but not to help would still put his charge in danger. But if he did the right things, said what was needed where it was needed, perhaps he could save his family from the King's wrath. He looked at the woman in front of him, as much as he didn't like the idea, Rose leaving the capital was better than her staying. She was coming to age, and her choices were narrowing, as were Tornac's. Where would either of them be in the next year? Would he be sent away as the moment Rose entered an engagement? Or would he be forced to stay and do what? He did not know nor did he want to think on it.

He swallowed, feeling as if he had sealing the deed on his fate as he said, "I'll help you."

…..

…..

Safe

He was small, smaller than her daughter had been, his face creased and ruddy, a dusting of hair on his head. She held him close for a moment, listening to his breathing, his heart beating. It felt quite literary as if her heart were being torn from her chest, and she fought against the sudden urge to cry. She couldn't cry not here, not in front of her brother, not if she wished to convince him.

You'll be safe, she keep thinking to her son as if it were a prayer, convincing herself that the words were true. You won't grow up in danger. You'll be safe.

Her son would have to stay here with his uncle and aunt and cousin, live out his life as a farmer, for his own safety. She couldn't take him with her, it was far too dangerous. Protecting one child when she was hardly around was hard enough, she couldn't survive keeping two safe- it would kill her, and perhaps them. It was already too late to protect her daughter in the same way she was protecting her son. And she didn't know what else to do, where else to go. There was nowhere to go, no way to save herself and both her children. This was the safest thing to do. Perhaps this wasn't the best thing to do, but it was best thing she could do for him.

Farwell, Eragon.