Next chapter, in which there is rather more slash than there used to be, and Trianna, who I like.
Beta'd by redneckgal; as usual, all mistakes are mine.
Warnings: Weirdness, as usual. Incomprehensible hints of Things To Come.
Theme Song: Lady, by Regina Spektor
(Disclaimer: -runs from horde of plagiarized authors- CP did it!)
Also, reviews are made of win :)
Intermezzo: In Which There Are Reactions
The peace of great books be for you,
Stains of pressed clover leaves on pages,
Bleach of the light of years held in leather.
Carl Sandburg--For You (Smoke and Steel, 1922)
--
Trianna flicked through the pages of the old book, looking over at Katrina, prone beside her. She closed her eyes and extended her senses, reaching for the girl's essence.
Nasuada said, "Are you getting anything?"
Trianna shook her head, and reached for the bronze snake at her hip, whispering the spell. It woke, and looked at her, bright-eyed. She smiled at it, and it took the knowledge from her mind of what needed to be done.
She held out her wrist; it bit deep, taking what it needed and slithering over to Katrina's body.
Roran shuddered. She shot him a glare, and felt her aura expand with the Logra's, and something burned against them. They recoiled, the Logra going dead.
She said, "Well. That's strong magic, and corrosive," and coughed.
Roran said, protective hand on Katrina's shoulder, "What does that mean?"
Nasuada closed her eyes. "Does it mean what I think--"
Trianna nodded, biting her lip. She reached for the Logra tentatively; it was cool to the touch. She slipped it around her wrist, and resumed looking for something, anything in the old spellbook.
"Where's Arya?" She heard Roran whisper, tired and defeated, and her heart broke a little.
Katrina coughed, and for half-a-heartbeat Trianna thought it was singing.
--
Arya, half-running down the hall to the Council-room, felt it happen; something warmer than the destruction of before, but just as widespread through the magic. She stopped, stock-still in the middle of the hall (if it had been a busy part of the City, she'd have caused a pile-up; she took a moment to thank whatever was up there that she lived in a fairly-out-of-the-way area), and reached.
She heard singing. She spun on her heel and ran for home.
--
Morzan, caught in the warmth of afterglow, thought at first that the feeling was brought on by Galbatorix. Gentle, low, humming, in his very veins--very much the King's style.
He poked Galbatorix in the shoulder. The other man sat up straight, looking ahead at everything and nothing.
He said, "What? Oh goddess--" And listened to Ruadhri singing.
--
Jeod spilled his tea. Ajihad dropped the knife he'd been toying with. They looked at each other.
Jeod said, "Well, this certainly complicates things."
--
Vanir, of the Queen's Guard, was training when it happened; the singing thrummed low through all of those fighting, burning in their veins.
He stopped in mid-parry and said, "Is that what I think it is?"
Alian, his spar-partner, said, "We should find the Queen."
--
Faolin woke, the singing calling him home.
--
In a cave in Ellesmera, a dragon struggled, trying to join the song, before it was subdued.
Its Rider cried quietly, tears slipping down his face.
--
In the kitchens at Uru'baen, a small boy (one of the messenger boys one finds scattered around palaces and courts, almost decoratively) dropped his basket of bread-rolls in an out-of-the-way alcove. His eyes glowed and slit, briefly, as he sniffed the air. He pulled himself together and picked up the basket.
--
Murtagh opened his eyes slowly, wary of the headache leftover from last night. The first thing that struck him was light--harsh on his previously-shielded eyes. He blinked several times, adjusting, and stretched. The rolled-up cloth under his head dislodged, knocking his head against the ground.
He winced, and looked around. "Eragon?" He asked--or meant to. What actually came out was "Mmn?" He coughed and tried again. "Eragon? Tornac?"
Thorn said, What dragon flew straight into us and kept going?
Murtagh shook his head slowly. Hell if I know. Where'd Tornac and Eragon go? Ruadhri?
My Rider says there was a magical disturbance, and we were out for roughly an hour. The warm voice was irritated, and Murtagh wondered why--and then he remembered; Morzan and Galbatorix in the same room after something bad had happened? You'd better not have left anything in there.
Thorn said, You woke up later than us, you know.
Really. Murtagh said dryly. What'd I miss?
Only your brother hatching.
What?!
--
Angela screamed louder, the mangled threads of her sanity slipping farther and farther away.
--
Selena and Brom danced, arms wound tight around each other. The moonlight washed over the couple, blessing them.
Morzan watched, and smiled. Unwittingly his eyes wandered over to Galbatorix, standing beside him, laughter playing on his lips.
"They're beautiful," Morzan said.
"I'm glad," Galbatorix replied, and took Morzan's hand.
Morzan opened his eyes, was not surprised to find his vision blurry. He missed them more than he'd ever have thought he could. He had more pressing concerns, though.
He lifted his head from Galbatorix's chest, and said, slowly, "My son just hatched, didn't he."
Galbatorix smiled. "Your younger son, yes."
"How do you always know everything?"
"Never mind that--we need to get dressed. And find them."
Morzan sighed. "Where'd my shirt go again?"
--
Murtagh said, Thorn. Where do I need to go?
Third door on the right you come to, this corridor. Ruadhri thinks.
She'd better be right, Murtagh told his dragon, and ran.
--
Eragon swum up to the light, feeling groggy. Something licked his face. Something else poked his shoulder.
He tried to say, "Stop that," and instead got a mouthful of startled baby dragon. The dragon squealed. He coughed and it hopped onto his chest indignantly.
He looked around. Tornac, crouching next to him, was unsuccessfully smothering a grin.
There was a small blue dragon, floppy and new-looking sitting on his chest. There was a small blue dragon sitting on his chest!
Eragon raised his palm, tentatively, almost expecting--no, it was there, the silver oval called the gedwey ignasia. Now he matched the rest of his family. He didn't have time to think about whether this was a good thing; there was a sudden and overpowering feeling of hunger gnawing away at his stomach.
The dragon--his dragon!--made a plaintive mewing noise.
He said, "You're hungry, then?" He sat up, catching the cat-sized creature with the arm not recently branded. It licked him and nibbled at his arm. He yelped; those teeth were sharp.
Tornac said, "I'll see if I can find something for it to eat."
Stroking the dragon's head and marvelling at its perfection, Eragon said, "Thank you."
A strip of meat flew at his head. The dragon jumped out of his arms and caught the meat in its mouth. Then it fell into his lap, flapping its tiny wings futilely. He laughed and stroked it gently. It snapped at the meat.
Tornac said, "They must've anticipated this; there's meat in the base of the pedestal."
"Wouldn't it spoil?" Eragon asked, watching the small dragon attack the meat, gulping it down so fast he took some away for fear it would choke.
"Magic, I suppose."
"Oh, right... Do you think it'll choke? It's eating that meat really quickly..."
"I doubt it. Don't they have really strong survival instincts? Better keep an eye on it though."
Eragon nodded, and moved his fingers out of reach. "Can I have another strip of meat over here?"
Tornac said, "Don't push your luck." And threw another piece of meat at the dragon.
--
Katrina shrugged Roran's hand off her shoulder and sat up, coughing harshly. She looked around--she was sitting in the Training Hall, which was oddly empty, weird--Nasuada was sitting next to Roran, both of them with matching worried expressions; and...Trianna? Unless Callie'd done something, and she couldn't remember--
Nasuada's voice--"Katrina? That you?"
She said, "Who else would it be?" and coughed some more. Her throat hurt. And she...couldn't remember anything past Callie tugging at her pant-leg--she forced down the rising panic. She whispered, dreading the answer, "What'd I do?"
Trianna said, calm and steady, "Katrina, you didn't do anything. It's all right. Do you remember anything past the light?"
Katrina swallowed. "What light?"
Roran took her hand and she gripped his palm like a life-line. Nasuada hugged her; Trianna smiled at her in a manner that was probably meant to reassure but instead affirmed the mounting panic.
"Callie said she saw a light, and then you called out for Roran and Katrina. Do you remember that?"
Wordlessly she shook her head.
Trianna said, "It might not be--it could be caused by the fall. She crumpled to the floor, and I know it's soft, but--"
Nasuada smiled, less joyful than an acknowledgment of reassurance and a thank you.
"Wait--" Katrina said, getting a flash of something. "Angela? The name--Angela?"
Trianna sighed. "Nasuada, Roran. We need to lock this hall down. No one goes in, no one leaves. You know why."
Katrina did--lockdowns happened under three circumstances: a drill, a full-scale attack (not that there had been any on the City as long as she'd been here, but they lived in fear) and an incursion. It didn't look like a drill.
--
Murtagh skidded to a stop outside the open door, looking into the room. He froze, shocked.
Eragon was lying on the carpeted floor, bouncing a baby dragon up and down in the air. And Tornac (Tornac!) was throwing it meat, which it was snapping up. The whole scene looked incredibly domestic, which was the opposite of--of them.
He didn't move, watching them, these people whom he loved. There was a warm feeling in his chest, and he smiled.
Thorn said, peering through Murtagh's eyes, That is adorable.
Murtagh said, Oh goddess, they are. The little one--
She's blue--like...
Murtagh closed his eyes. We'd better hope the green's a male.
A hand landed on his shoulder--he almost jumped, but he was better-trained than that.
Morzan said softly, "They're adorable."
"So Thorn tells me," Murtagh retorted, quietly.
Morzan said, "A blue...why am I feeling the irony?"
Murtagh said, "Do I know? No. Because you still feel the urge to treat me like a five-year-old, or Eragon, despite the fact that I am eighteen years of age." The low burn of resentment was in his stomach now, his dissatisfaction with his father's trust in him brought to a boiling point.
Morzan looked at him, dark eyes boring into him.
Eragon's dragon fell asleep, curled up on his chest. Eragon laughed, and stroked her head.
Murtagh whispered, "Why don't you trust me? I love him too."
Morzan pulled him into a hug.
--
Trianna turned page after page in her grimoire, looking for something--anything--that would let them figure out what had happened to Katrina. The girl in question was curled up on the floor with her head in Roran's lap, clutching her friends' hands like lifelines. Which they were, as far as Katrina was concerned.
Trianna closed her eyes, tiredly. She needed help to figure out what was going on--she didn't have the background for this, dammit! Trianna's Gift had woken when she was seventeen and her magical knowledge was spotty—she'd taught herself with folklore and scattered bits of information out of whatever books she could find; she simply didn't have the textbook knowledge some magic (this magic) required.
The magic she used was a mix of intuition and practice, and a little folk wisdom she'd picked up along the way. Arya and Faolin, bless them, knew what they were doing.
Goddess, it scared Trianna how little she knew, sometimes, how she was running on hot air and how she was the most powerful human mage in the Varden--but then Callie would smile at her and everything would be better. ...Except there was no Callie. Not here. And if this went wrong--if something happened to Katrina--Trianna might not see her daughter again.
She sighed. Wasn't that the risk she took, living here? No point fussing about it now; she had to figure out what was wrong with Katrina. Now.
She bent her head over the book again.
--
Arya closed her eyes, surrendering herself to the magic. She needed to know what was going on.
Her feet drummed a steady tattoo on the floor as she ran, movements automatic as her mind reached out.
Faolin said, "Arya. Calm down."
She said, "Faolin! You woke up!" And disentangled herself from the web of magic she'd been weaving.
--
Tornac said, "What are you going to name it?"
Eragon blinked at him, absent-mindedly scratching the sleeping dragonet's head. "Uh-- I don't know. I'll have to ask Thorn or 'Hri what gender it is, first."
"That might be helpful," Tornac said, sprawling next to him. "Can I--?" He asked, gesturing at the dragonet.
"Sure," Eragon told him. "Be gentle."
Tornac ran questing fingers down the dragonet's back--it was soft, almost. The dragonet made an almost purring noise and arched into his hand.
There was a soft laugh from the doorway. As one, Tornac and Eragon turned to the door--and Tornac stiffened.
Murtagh's hand was over his mouth, but his eyes were sparkling. Morzan was a heavy presence behind him, eyes dark but smiling. Not that that made him any less scary.
Eragon said, "So, Murtagh. Father. Meet my dragon!" Tornac spared a moment to thank whatever gods were up there for Eragon, who was completely oblivious to Tornac's plight. Murtagh rolled his eyes in Tornac's direction but came over to the baby dragon.
"Thorn says it's a girl," Murtagh said, rubbing small circles on the dragonet's hide.
Eragon's face split in a grin.
Tornac wished desperately for the ground to open up and swallow him.
--
Katrina? Is that your name? She looked up. Nasuada's eyes met hers, worried.
She didn't say anything.
My name was--is Angela. I am--I belong to the Empire. Please; I need your help.
Katrina laced her fingers in her lap and pretended not to hear.
--