I do not own The Inheritance Cycle.
I not sure why I can't focus on anything more than three sentences without wanting to pulling my fingernails off- having this is a miracle at the moment. I, also, am uncertain why I didn't address some of the things in here earlier. This started as a study piece, and then it took on a mind of it's own. The only real reason I'm posting this is because it brings up some things I've thought off over the time it's taken to write this story; plot-holes and some things that just don't add up in the first few chapters. That and it feel like ages since I've posted anything for this story.
(To those who have been reading this story for a while now, and do not know, I have rewritten the first chapter and there are some changes to it- nothing too major. Just things that hit me in all the wrong places when I reread them.)
If there are any spelling errors, please tell me about them.
Despite this being a short side story, enjoy,


Reciprocity

If one could perceive, or even foster, the reality of madness perhaps it was in the fixed stare and a bone-grin. Or perhaps it was in the psychological stumble, the mind breaking spiral, to which her life had once turned into. However, whatever it was, it seemed as a discorded demon that had swindled its way into processing her soul, and as she looked back onto her life she began to wonder.

As a child there was nothing that forced her into becoming the slayer that she was to this day, yet everything that could have prevented it. Much of her childhood had been surrounded by warmth, and games, and work, but there were times when her brother was not around when her father could not hold his tongue.

The man was never cruel, but as she grew older she began to think of him as the cold, aloof sort. Whenever he gazed upon her, in her late growing years, he looked as if he had seen a ghost rather than his daughter, and his gaze was, perhaps, more haunting than not. She had always supposed that it because of how she looked, the image of her mother, though she held very little of the woman in her words and actions, that caused him to act the way he did. In the lonely place of adolescence she began to think that, perhaps she was not short of a disappointment to her father. And how could she not be?

The food she cooked never turned out quite right, the meat too dry or the bread not quite brown enough. Though she tried, with all her might to be as she thought she should, the person her mother was she could never become such.

And so the wheels began to spin and she grew older with the time that had passed, and somehow she had found herself here. Her past was her own, and often rested unsaid hidden behind masks of lies and forced delight, both of which were well thought over until the borders of truth and the untruth became thin and battered, barely seeable to the untrained and unlooking eye.

The woman, called such for the name she so often tried to disclaim, stood in the massive room of stone and wood looking as best as Tornac could describe ruffled. Though she had told him precious little of her past, even less of her feelings and thoughts, he knew enough to connect the pieces together, almost as if it were a complex puzzle.

At times, such as now, it humored him to think how very much she was like her daughter, through the small things that most of the time remained hidden, and could only be seen if one looked closely. It was because of the time sent with his charge that he was able to look past the many different barriers this woman had set before her, which she had wrapped about her not unlike how a freezing person clung to a blanket, their only source of warmth.

He had often seen such people in the scarred, dingy streets of cities. They would cry out for coin, or food, plead and beg even at times cry, their clothing laid over them like a sack, far too big for their boney figures, but if you stopped to give them your share of fare in your pack they would ascend on you, like a pack of angry dogs, their once hidden blades flashing in the day's light. He very much doubted that she was any different, every inch of his soul inched within his body, warning him of danger. Danger of what? He did not quite know.

The woman shifted slightly, her form hidden beneath the fabric of her gown. He wasn't quite certain how she would do what she came for in such a weighty garment; perhaps that was why he knew that he would do what he had to, to help her. Sometimes the actions that have worth a weight of gold are the ones a man of greed would regret, and there are times when worthless actions allow to receive a price higher than deserved. Perhaps there is more reason than one, a reason deserving some sort of praise, one they would all likely die for, as why she remained and why he continued to help her.

With a fulsome huff the woman perched herself on a piece of furniture. "I'm not sure why you have pulled me aside," she said.

He looked up the ceiling, studying it for a short time, the gracefully detailed paintings above. "I would like to hear about what has passed while I was away," he said. "We made a deal, Ailis. You would watch over her, while I cross the country on your fool's errand."

Her shoulders shagged and she gaze dropped to the flooring. "I'm not quite sure myself," she admitted. "She doesn't say much, and I've only heard her say my name twice since I've been here. For a time I was under the impression that she did not know it, nonetheless how to say it. I'm not quite certain she is not the little girl I left behind, that someone switched her out…"

Tornac couldn't help the frown that set onto his face. "I warned you of that before you came here," he said. "Time shapes and changes people, essentially the youth. You must understand this, if you wish to form any sort of bond with Rose; you will need to patient. Not the sort of patience that comes with hunting deer, it is of the sort that it take to learn a craft. Now, enough talk of this." He impatiently fell silent until she met his eyes, then he took a deep breath. "Do you know what's concerning her? She had said something about the King and not having much time."

Despite the dim light of the room, he saw her eyebrows collide, and her mouth set into a grim line. "That king claims to shape her into what-" she hesitated for a moment. "-what her mother was," Ailis said. "To me it does not make sense. It seems as if the King is a playing a game though, don't you think? Had he the idea to do such, why hadn't he begun to train her earlier in her life? Why is it that he only starts assign her text to study, yet no way to defend herself, no real skills that would serve her use in the wild? Is his point to allow his enemies to capture and kill her? Please do excuse me for saying this, but she is rather sheltered. The King would signing her death the moment he sent her out on her own."

A small smile twitched onto his face, and he gave the woman an ironic glance. "Is that not where you are wishing for her to go?"

"That is hardly the same thing," Ailis said, her face darkening. She looked to the door for a moment as if trying to see through it. "I have very different intentions than the King surely does." She shook her head, the white cap that held her hair coming loss of its pins. "Enough of this talk. There is much to be done, and I precious little time to do it. As we are both here, do have what I requested?"

With a grim nod Tornac reached into his side pack for a parcel. His pride has never been so wounded, he had traveled for months on an errand for this woman he hardly knew for a parcel that brought more trouble than it was worth. As she did not doubt the worth of package, she eagerly took the large parcel from him and nearly dropped it before she held it close to her bodice like it was a small child. Though he was not quite sure what was inside the bundle, he did not wish to know. Some things were best left unknown.

"Oh," she said, sounding quite shocked. "It's heavier than they claimed it would be."

"Alas," he said roguishly, feeling for a moment daring, "such shall be your fate while you side yourself with thieves and misfits."

She shushed him, nearly dropping the package as she did so. "Do not say such things!" she hissed. "Humans aren't the only things that have ears around here."

Tornac stepped away from her, closer to the door. "I know," he said simply. "Though I must ask while we are risking our necks: when the storm will land?"

"Two days' time," she whispered. "It is not too late to withdraw to higher land."

He shook his head. "I've prepared far too long to flee now," he said. "I'll see to it that I'm well prepared."

She nodded, not looking in the least surprised by his statement, and set the package on the ground by her feet. Then she scooted around him and opened the door before peeking her head out of the opening.

Tornac started as a storming a footsteps echoed into the room, and he blinked momentarily blinded. Someone had certainly heard them, but the question what how much had they heard? He worried over the possibities for a moment.

It seemed however that Ailis was not worried in the least, as she merely picked back up the package and walked out.

Despite knowing what had happened, he asked, "Do you believe someone heard us?"

Ailis tore her gaze from the shadows of the hallway, to glance at him. "Aye, someone did hear us. Tread carefully, Tornac," she said, her face twisting in a dark look. "It'll be some time before we're out of these dark waters." She gave him a quick nod in the direction that she had been looking, and walked away.

He glanced in the direction the woman had nodded in. If she was not worried about them being overheard then neither should he be, knowing this however did not stop him from pursuing their eavesdropper. They had taken far too many precautions for them to lay to waste now, due to a curious maid or, heavens forbid, a gossiping noble. He had worked far too hard to insure the safety of his family while he totted away from his home country, for it to be ruined now.