I do not own the Inheritance Cycle.
5/30/23 - Previously mulitple chapters that have been edited and combined.
Please let me know your thoughts throughout the story, I'd love to hear from you :)
Enjoy,
The Healing
Rose did not know how long they flew that night nor how far. They saw no signs of life and no pursuers. It was doubtful that anyone or thing would be able to keep up the paces the dragon had set. Even if something could, Rose doubted they would. The city of Gil'ead have been left behind in a dizzying mess of chaos; solders and leaders had been attacked on both sides of its walls. People would be afraid, and fear could cripple even an army for a short time.
She tried not to think about Gil'ead and what had happened there, instead she forced herself to look out into the night and tried not to think at all. It seemed that for an endless time she sat looking over the dark woodlands below, watching as the rising hills fell almost all at one to a flat, unremitting dale. The moon shone brightly onto the shifting grass below draining their colors into soft shades of silver and black and gray. She wondered what that valley would look like once morning came, and if they would be slumbering within its greenswards once it did. She did not think about it for long before she drifted into a light, dreamless sleep.
When Rose woke up it was because of light shining onto her face. She sat up and wiped the hair from her face and looked dazzlingly about. The sun was just beginning to rise, now just barely a glow in the endlessness of the field, and then after a short time its copper slowly turned to a blazing ruby, setting the field ablaze and pushing the shining stars above away. The new day warmed her, its golden light touching her skin lightly, and she relaxed in its dim heat as relief took her, sweeping her worries beneath her. She had been so very certain she would never see this day.
With a yawn, she lay herself against the leather saddle and breathed in its rich, deep scent. She coughed and mindtouched with Thorn. Where are we at? she asked, turning her head away.
Thorn grumbled beneath her, his whole body vibrating. Palancar Valley, he answered in a low voice.
Have we come here on Eragon's suggestion? asked she, peering to the north. There was nothing to see but valley. Could there truly be an end to it, a town filled with life and people at its edge?
No, it was Saphira's idea, said Thorn slowly. It was either east or west, and she knew not of what lay to the east. We shan't be taking any more chances, at least not until we have no other choice.
She nodded, and noted for the first time that Thorn and Saphira were flying much slower than they were before, their heads drooping. She frowned and closed her eyes, tightening her grip on the edge of the saddle. We ought to be landing before too long, she said hesitantly. There are no settlements about and I see no travelers. I believe we are safe enough for this moment, and we all deserve a long rest after the events of last night.
We will land soon enough, and we will rest then.
That sounds good, Rose yawned. Before we land, will you please tell me what happened?
I was hoping you would do the same.
I'm not completely certain, she said feeling dubious. That night, though it may had been the longest she ever had, was blurred. The emotions and events were unclear and muddled together. All she truly knew was the unwavering relief she felt upon leaving and the confusion she had felt within its walls.
Rose could hardly believe that it had been she who pulled out the arrow and shoot the Shade, that the creature's death had been so simple. She frowned. Within her was a feeling that was not her own will that caused her to reach for that arrow, in fact until that blazing awareness of sorts awoke inside her she had forgotten the arrows and bow were even there.
Thorn rumbled lowly from deep within his chest, bringing her out from her thoughts. We were unlucky, for something to come between us like it did. I have been thinking about it these past hours but I know not what it could have been. I do not believe it could have been the Shade.
Nor do I, Thorn, Rose said with a frown. It might have been him though. I know little of Shades and what exactly they are capable of. It could have been a spell. She paused and lifted up her head and looked at the spines along his neck. What I'm more concerned about is whether or not it will happen again, and should it, when. Have you asked Saphira if something of the like had happened to her and Eragon?
I already have, hesaid. Nothing similar has happened to them. Perhaps it was nothing to worry over. Thorn fell silent then, and Rose let him alone. He was likely straining himself enough with the flight as it was.
Rose closed her eyes once more, willing sleep to come and when it avoided her, she allowed her mind to drift. She had not put too much of what was to come and now it came to front of her mind, she could no longer avoid the matter.
They would have to make their way to the Varden, there was now no other choice. It had just become their safest choice, their only real chance. But had it not always been her only real dentation? Nothing had changed not really. The only thing that was now different were the risks. Surely the King's people had seen her face, and if not hers than Eragon's. Surely, they would be able to describe them, and soon enough there would gold on their heads. The Empire's soldiers and peasants would soon have their eye out for them. Eventually if when no results were given, the King would reach out to those they cared about. Rose was very certain that he would make threats and bargains, and she and Eragon would be hard pressed not to try to save them. Of course, this was only if someone was able to describe them, both Rose and Eragon, to the officials. She did not know what to expect or what others knew. At this moment anything could happen, and she was eager to hear what hearsay was going about. There was no way for news of Gil'ead to get around so quickly, she chided herself. Still though, the thought remained with her. She needed to find out what exactly had happened before she decided what to think.
Until then Rose knew that they would have to continue to travel south. There were half listened instructions on how and where to find to a small number of Varden spies within the Empire and Surda that she could follow. They could find the Varden that way, as long as the people loyal to the Varden's cause were not as exceptional as Dormnad. She was certain that they would get nowhere if even one of them were in any sort of way.
She frowned and pushed herself up, letting the cool morning air caress her face. She focused on the wind as she tried to clear her thoughts but they kept returning to the events of the previous night. In her mind's eye she saw Dormnad laying in a pool of liquid rubies his face already turning a deathly blue; the Shade's prisoner, Arya, sitting hunched and bloodied and scarred in the darkness; The silhouettes of the dragons bent from above; the curve of the bow in her hands; the Shade himself blazing into a thousand bits, an arrow protruding from his forehead like an explorer's flag; and that warm glow that left her afterwards making her feel empty and helpless and cold. Much colder than she had ever felt in her life.
Rose shook herself. She briefly wondered if any of the events had really happened or if it all been something her mind had fabricated in while she had slumbered, and then she would glimpse a flash of silver. The sun reflecting off the elf's loose hair. And she knew the events had happened, but she did not relish in that realization.
It was little before midday when the dragon's landed at the edge of that endless plain where the flatland was beginning to roll into soft mounds. There was not a path nor a home in sight, only golden rolling hills peppered with colorful pocket flowers and prickly greens. Past the foothills the craggy stone peaks of the Spine loomed on the horizon swathed by long strings of mist.
The dragons landed side-by-side before sinking slowly to their bellies, their wings spread across the grass. Rose turned herself around on the saddle and untied the bags before sliding down from Thorn's back. The grass was higher than her knees, and swished and crackled as she moved to pull the bags from his back. As she moved the bags aside, Thorn snaked his head around to look at her. He blinked once, very slowly, before closing his eyes. A long curl of smoke curling into the sky as he sank lower to the ground.
Rose stepped away from him, dragging as many of the bags as she could carry, to a small trampled clearing Saphira had created after she landed. Eragon sat in the middle of it, arranging his sleeping roll and blankets about. As Rose came closer, he dazedly looked up at her. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin peaky and streaked with sweat. Rose doubted she looked any better. Silently, she kneeled down next to him and looked at the bedroll, her eyebrow rising.
"Did you get any sleep?" she asked after a moment of silence.
Eragon shook his head, and yawned. "No. I spent most of the night trying to heal the elf," he said slowly. "It was harder than I thought. I don't think much was really healed and she hasn't woken up. Do you have any ideas of what might be wrong with her?"
Rose looked down at the trampled grass, picking away the golden blades with her fingers. "I have an idea," she mumbled lowly and then said in a louder voice, "Perhaps she merely needs a rest, and will awake at a later time."
Eragon nodded, his head turning to look at Saphira and the elf. He pressed his hand to his head and grimaced. "Perhaps," he agreed after a moment. "I think that I should try to heal her wounds now that I can see them better."
Rose frowned and closed her eyes, wincing slightly as her eyelids prickled. "Undoubtedly," she said softly, pushing a stray stand of hair from her face. "Though, I'm rather certain that you not be able to heal all her wounds."
"There are a lot of them," he muttered in agreement.
"That is not what I speaking of." Rose pushed herself to her feet and met his eyes. "I'm not completely certain how to describe what that Shade did to her but it seems to have been something you shan't be able to heal. I do not believe it is something that anyone will be able to heal."
"What do you mean?"
Rose bit her lip and looked away. "I mean simply as I said," she told him after a moment. "Something within her was broken in such a way that no person nor any amount magic could heal her."
Eragon frown and nodded, his lips pressed together. "It's worth trying," he decided.
"Then by all means," Rose said gesturing to the slumbering figure with her hands, "heal your elf if you believe you must."
He nodded sharply, and leaned forward on his knees. For a brief moment he looked up at Rose, his eyes wide and a question on his lips but she merely raised an eyebrow, her arms folding over her chest. With a sigh, Eragon turned away and looked down at the elf once more. His eyebrows drew together and he drew back the fabric from her back with a shaking hand. What lay beneath the cloth was beyond what Rose could have ever imagined. The elf's back shimmered in the sunlight with sweat and blood. One of her shoulders was swollen and savage welts peppered much of her skin. There were deep festering wounds of torn flesh that ran the length of her spine, more than one glistened with a thick, pasty discharge.
Rose covered her mouth and stood up suddenly with the excuse to fetch water from the stream. She grabbed the heavy pot and moved away as quickly as she could from the scene. Any former thought of food she had when they had landed was now gone, her stomach felt as if it were going to flip its way outside of her body and her month was dry.
When she reached the dirty, shallow stream she took her time on its shores; washing her face and arms and feet in its water, and then sitting back and letting her skin dry. It was only when she could find no reason to delay more, did she fill the pot and make her way back.
It was a hard walk back. The ground was uneven and strewn with jagged rocks, threatening to trip her as she felt around blindly with the toe of her boot, and the pot was heavy and filled with splashing water. More than once she was forced to stop and wipe the water and damp hair from her face. Each time she would look around, avoid the gleaming red and blue rays in the distance, and try to enjoy the sight around her. The golden grass reminded her a happier time, when things were simple and she and Tornac would travel to a small field filled gleaming grass and bushes weighed down with juicy berries. For a time, she let herself think of this, and then she forced the pot to her chest and walked on.
When Rose returned to the campsite it was well past midday. Her brother still sat over the elf, his forehead clammy with sweat. Saphira had moved beside him, her head now hovering near his shoulder. Neither of them looked up as she tumbled into the small clearing and set the pot beside Eragon. Water slashed onto his knee. He did not seem to notice.
Rose cautiously dared a peak at the elf and found that the majority of the wounds were gone, leaving behind smooth though still dirty skin. The remaining cuts and bruises did not make her feel as if she was going to be faint and ill all at once. She sat not far from Eragon with a rag and some food. For a time, she listened to him murmur the soft, curling words of the Ancient Language before silently offering him a biscuit.
After a short moment, he stopped his work and took the food from her. "Thank you," he said, taking a bite of it. "I was getting hungry."
She nodded tightly before breaking her own biscuit apart and chewing silently on it.
"I wish you knew how to use the Ancient Language," Eragon said after a time. He wiped the crumbs from his hands on his trousers. "Brom could have taught you as we traveled like what he did for me. It would be useful now."
Rose gave him a hard look. "Yet, he did not."
"I wonder why that is." He frowned, and took the bag of dried fruit onto his lap. He took out the food by the handful and shoved it into his mouth.
She returned his scowl. "For that question you're going to have to ask him," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Please do save some food for our meals. We haven't much to ration between us as it is."
"Sorry," mumbled Eragon. He set the bag between them. "But don't you want to learn?"
Rose looked down at her hands. "It would hardly help either of us at this moment, would it?" she said looking back up at him. "Please, just heal your elf so that we may all get some sleep."
Eragon looked away sharply, and began to repeat his spell from before. As he spoke the elf's back began to shimmer with a faint blue glow, and the wounds began to mend. Rose sat back and watched him work for a time, before she sighed and looked at the elf's face. The elf's skin was pale, almost translucent, so her purple-blue veins could be seen pulsing slowly. It was skin that hadn't been touched by the sun in many months, and likely may soon never be again. Rose was certain that the poison would destroy her soon enough. Arya would likely be died before they reached help, and her brother will have wasted his effort.
'I shall die free,' the elf had said. At the time they were said they had sounded like brave and heroic words, yet now Rose could hear the desperation in them. Whatever the elf had suffered was enough where death did not daunt her. Freedom even for a short moment would be worth that price.
'You will still be dead,' the Shade had said, and meaning behind those words were now clear to Rose as well- And I will be the one who destroyed you, wholly and completely. You will have died by my hand, and I will have won this battle. Your releaser will become your slayer.
.
Rose was not certain how long Eragon continued to heal the elf. For a time she watched him, helped how and when she could; cleaning the elf's skin where it was blackened with dirt and dried blood, or walking back to the stream to with an emptied pot only to refill it and have to carry it back. After some time of this Rose found that she was far too exhausted to do much more than stare blankly ahead in a complete daze, and not be helpful in the least.
She stopped and put the rag aside, firmly believing that she was doing more harm than good, and made her way to Thorn. Rose sat down, leaning against his bulk. His was chest rising and falling the content rhythm of deep sleep. He needed the rest after not having gotten much any over the last days. Leaning closer against him, she prayed that he would not awaken with his ill-tempered mood, the strained emotions he had days before and hidden, had put him in a rather ill mind and she did not wish for it. She would let him rest for as long as he needed.
Her gaze drifted back to where Eragon and Saphira and the elf remained, both of them completely unfazed by her leaving. Though Saphira had gotten less rest than either Thorn or Rose, her weariness did not show. Rose was certain the dragoness would need some rest before long but for now, she seemed more than content to lay behind Eragon and watch him. Saphira's head rested close to his side, her eyes were completely focused on what he was doing. Rose knew she would not let the boy out of her sight for a long, long time even if it meant never sleeping again.
Covering a yawn with her hand, Rose dug through her bags for her bed roll. She could stay awake no longer, she decided, her whole being hummed with tiredness. Even her hands shook as she unrolled the mat and unfolded her blanket, and they continued to shake as she lay on the ground. She watched Eragon's fingers come in and out of her view. Her stomach twisted with guilt- she should stay awake and continue to assist however she could… but then again, she would not have to help him in the first place, had he not have jumped from Thorn's back during that ambush. She brushed her feelings aside and closed her eyes.
Sleep came quickly and dreamlessly. It was so swift that when she opened her eyes she thought she had merely blinked. She would have continued to believe so, were not for the shift in light. It was dimmer out, the day's light fading to red and pink and umber. She sat up and turned her head to watch the setting sun. The grasses shone gold and ruby- it looked like she was sitting in a valley of fire. For a long time, she marveled at the sight. As she watched, she noticed for the first time that there was no bird song- she did not hear a single cheap. Rose stood up and turned a full circle, surely there was wildlife around here somewhere, and there was. Far off in the distance the grasses swayed where there was no wind to move it, and sparrows dived into the grass in search of a small meal.
At least the Palancar Valley was not a lifeless wasteland, though, she thought as she looked around, it would be a half decent place for a town. Closer to the rivers and streams, very few villages had survived through the years, though many had tried to settle. Some histories explained that this valley was cursed by an ancient king, while others said that the soil was uncultivable, and this was the reason for such a large mass of land to remain so completely wild and unused. Rose ran her fingers through the wheat grasses.
She looked lazily at the scattered bags around the encampment, and the blue dragon who had seemed to find within herself to rest at last- her Rider likely hidden under her outstretched wing, and the black iron pot laying close to the elf. Rose wandered over to the pot and peered inside, more to look at the thick blackish water than anything else. She took the pot to the edge of their camp and dumped it out. Later she would wash it but not now. There was something else she felt the need to do now.
Her attention turned back to the elf. Eragon had moved her, turned her over so that she was laying on her back, and covered her with a blanket. Her face was peaceful, almost serene in her slumber though still pale as death. That nasty cut under her eye had been healed, though many of the minor scrapes on her face and hands remained.
Rose stepped back and turned to her bags, shuffling through them. There was not much she could do for the elf- nothing that she could do that would help her live- but she could provide the some comfort.
While she knew that the elf, Arya, would certainly depart from this life she could not find a way to tell Eragon. He had spent so much energy and time being haunted by her, or what he thought to be her, that Rose found that she could not tell him. She could not bring herself to dispirit him at the thought that he had been too late to save her. Her fate had been likely been set many months ago. Yet, Rose felt that for now, Eragon did not need to know this. He was better off not knowing. Perhaps as long as he remained naïve to the elf's predicament that feverish obsession he had before would remain in the past. Rose certainly hoped it would for a time, at least, no matter how short that time would be. Perhaps with some luck he would never suffer from it again.
When Rose pulled out a clean tunic and leggings- her only remaining clean set of clothing- she returned the elf's side. Pulling the blanket off of her, she hesitated, then took a deep breath and took out her knife. Carefully, Rose cut away the filthy rather smelly black tunic before struggling to replace it with her own clean one before moving on to the leggings. She was shaking by the time she was done but that twisting feeling inside her had stilled. The clean clothing was the only comfort she had to offer the elf. It was not much but perhaps it would be enough.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Rose took the pot and a rag and walked towards the stream. With everyone still asleep, she had plans to wash her own body as best as she could, but the pot was first. She had no desire to use that pot until it had been scrubbed clean multiple times and then, well, she likely would not even use it. Ever.
With a sigh, she walked into the grass, following a now familiar trail.
Eragon was awake when she returned, a half-eaten biscuit in his hand. He looked up at her as she stumbled over a loose stone. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and said, "Where did you go?"
Rose put the pot down (it had been scrubbed half a dozen times and she still certain it needed to be cleaned again), and took the half empty bag of dried fruit off of his lap. She looked inside and took out a hand full before returning it to him. "I was cleaning up after you," she said absently. "If you wanted to know where I had gone to you could have asked Thorn. He would have told you easily enough."
Thorn had awoken not long after she arrived at the stream and reached out his mind to her. They talked for a short time about of much nothing important that was for sure, and though Thorn had remained mostly silent, Rose could feel the ire he was still trying to hide. She would talk with him about it later she decided and cut off contact after a peculiarly long time of silence. She chose then to try to bathe and wash the dirt off her skin.
"Thorn's been here this whole time," Eragon said with shrug. "I figured that if he were here then you were nearby, so I didn't worry about it too much. Are you alright? You look like you have bit into something sour."
Rose swallowed a mouthful of berries and returned the rest to the bag, ignoring the humored look Eragon shot at her. She coughed and swallowed again. "We should talk about our plan for travel," she said disregarding his earlier question, "and retrieving supplies. We haven't much food with us."
"We have plenty of food," murmured Eragon. "If you would eat anything besides the biscuits and nuts, you wouldn't be worrying about it."
She gave him a dark look and sat close to Thorn. "We have lost much of our food while you were away," explained Rose with a deep breath. "We lost quite a lot in the scramble to get away from the Empire when you were taken. And considering that he had none of his own, a decent amount of what we had was given to Dormnad. I took count of what food we had and how long it should last us, but you ate three days' worth of supplies this morning."
Eragon narrowed his eyes, his face turning red, and nodded. "Using magic makes me hungry," he said. "What happened to Dormnad's supplies after he was killed?"
"I would not know." She looked away. Dormnad had taken most of his supplies with him to the Iron Tower, yet what he had done with it then she did not know for certain. It had disappeared though somewhere in that dark passage they snuck into and the ever-winding passages beyond. "It matters little now, anyhow, what matters is how fast we can travel south."
"To the contacts Selena told you about?" Eragon asked, his face scrunching together. "Dormnad wasn't that helpful. What if they're the same?"
Rose looked from her hands to him with wide eyes. She bit her lip. Had she not thought the same earlier that day? It felt strange, though, to hear her fear even if they were not voiced by her.
If they were not helpful, she did not know what they do but she and Eragon and the dragons needed to get to Brom and Selena. To talk to them if nothing more. They seemed to be the only helpful people in this country that knew something about the dragons and Riders, who could help and guide her and her brother and the dragons, and perhaps they could aid the elf as well. There were certain things she needed to know about and her mother was the only person who would have that sort of knowledge. And- and as much as Rose hated to admit it, she longed to talk to Selena as she had months before.
Rose shrugged and looked at Thorn. He was being strangely silent when she was certain he wanted some say in where and when they were going. Then again, perhaps, he wanted her to sort it out with Eragon. She wouldn't put it past him. "I suppose that we shall have to work out any hardships out when that time comes," she said dismissively, turning back to Eragon. "It shan't do us much good to worry about it now."
He paused, his hands rubbing against his temples. "Should we wait until morning to go or leave now?"
Again, Rose turned to Thorn. If we were to leave now, would you feel up to the flight?
I am ready whenever you two are, he said without pause. As is Saphira.
Rose nodded and stood up. "I say we leave now," she said, rubbing her hands together. "I would rather not tally here any longer if we are all fully rested."
Slowly Eragon stood up as well, peering towards the elf. She was still asleep, and Rose was fairly certain now that she would remain that way. "Kausta and then south," he said almost to himself. "I wonder what the Varden will make of this."
Rose knew what he meant. What would the Varden make of two Dragon Riders, siblings at that, and both with a very small variety of unmastered skills? Would they rejoice, and if they did how long it last before they discovered that the Riders were children of Morzan? What would happen then? She was certain that that discovery would not end well for either party involved. There were too many crimes that Morzan had committed- far too many wrongs. She had grown up under the consent threat of her life being taken just for being Morzan's daughter- she was used to the looks and whispers and threats- but Eragon. He was Morzan's son, his heir, and she could not imagine their response. However, she knew that she could not allow Eragon to step into their stronghold without warning him. There were certain things that he had to know about, and though Rose had wished not be the one to tell him, she knew she would. She would have to tell him soon, and that thought haunted her.
The thought of Morzan haunted her.
Chills ran up her arms, rising gooseflesh.
Rose sighed, and shook her head. "I pray they think nothing of it," she said, before standing up and beginning to pack. She would tell him about their father later, but for now if they were to leave than they best start packing; the remaining day's light would not last for too much longer.
.
They flew through the night, swinging west toward the Spine. It was dangerous to go into the mountains; many stories told of monsters and haunts that roamed the peaks and paths, but it was these stories that Rose relied on. No sane person would dare look for them near its borders nor within the mountains' stronghold because no sane person would travel into the Spine. Eragon seemed to have no quells when she mentioned the idea, and she wondered why. She did not wonder about it for long; upon seeing the quizzing look she had given him, Eragon had described how he used to hunt in the Spine just beyond Carvahall's borders. "I found Saphira's egg there," he had explained, "during my last hunting trip."
Rose shook her head at him, and went back to tying the bags to Thorn's saddle. "Did you manage to shoot anything, or was Saphira all you brought home?" she asked after a time, turning around to watch his reaction.
A part of her wanted to know what her brother's life had been like, and another part of her warned her against it. It was none her business, it seemed to say, but still if he was willing to tell her... surely it would do no harm. The more she knew about him the better prepared she would be to say what needed to be said.
Eragon's shoulders tensed, and his hands paused for a short moment before saying rather sharply, "She was it."
He was silent after that, completely focused on his work. Rose turned her back to him, until she had finished her task. Then she helped him as best as she could but mostly she let him be. He seemed to be doing well on his own, though every so often he would pause in his work to place a hand to his forehead or leaned against Saphira with his eyes closed, a pained expression flashing across his face. He did not remain like his for long before returning to his packing, and Rose did not ask. The sharpness of his gaze let her know to leave well enough alone, and she did.
It was dark when they set out. Saphira flew ahead with Eragon and the elf, Thorn and Rose not far behind. Clouds had seized the sky not long after the dragons took flight, casting the world in pitch darkness. It was so dark that it made little difference if Rose had her eyes open or closed; she could not see a thing.
Though the dragons seemed to remain unbothered the complete lack of light- they flew regardless of it, steady and unyielding. A dragon's eyesight, Thorn had once told her, was very different than a human's. She hoped that his words were true, else they would likely end up with an earlier break than planned, and it would likely be from flying straight into a tree or god's forbid the Spine itself.
Regardless of not seeing anything but the night's blackness, Rose stared off into it. There was little else to do, to see. After a time of seeing nothing, she tried to imagine the land they flew over but even then, all she saw was the blankness of the blackest night.
.
The sun awoke from it slumber, at last, peaking over the horizon, casting away the night, to reveal a gleaming lake at the edge of the mountains. Empty land rolled away from the yawning lake in splashes of tan rock and peppered green grass, before the forest of pine and birch and oak seized the everlasting foothills. From above they saw no people, nor roads, nor the silvery trail of smoke that spoke of human life. This was a desolate land; wilds in its purest form, totally and completely untouched by human hands. And it was in this wild land that Saphira took a sudden dive towards the lake's shore.
Rose mindtouched with Thorn, a question at the edge of her mind, and his answer came immediately in a prickle of emotions. He was as surprised as she was, Saphira had not told him she was landing, or why. Worry flickered across Rose's mind, as Thorn followed the blue dragon to the lake's edge but it quickly faded as she took in the calm state that the dragons were in. They landed side-by-side, their heads swinging as they took in the details of what exactly it was that they landed.
Eragon remained seated upon Saphira's back, until Rose tumbled from Thorn's and walked towards him, only then did he begin to detangle himself and slid to the ground. Rose gave him a questioning look, waiting for him to speak. When he did not, merely stood there in a baffled-like state, she asked, "What is it that's a matter?"
"I thought this might be a good place to try to hunt," he said, after a pause, tearing his gaze from the forest. "For me to hunt. So that we have some fresh meat. It might save us on having to buy supplies for a time."
Rose nodded tensely and looked towards the woodland. She could hear the chattering of squirrels and birds from where she stood, and quite frankly she did not believe there to be a soul within miles. It was as safe of a place as any, and they needed the fresh meat. It had to be better than that hard leathery overly dried venison they tried to chew on. Fresh meat would be a welcome change, but... "I refuse to gut and clean whatever creature you hunt down," she said quietly, crossing her arms. Her stomach twisted at the mere thought of it. "I shall assist you in cooking it, but only after it stops looking like the animal it once was."
He frowned, as if he didn't want to clean the animal either, and then nodded. Turning his back toward Rose, he began to take off the few bags from Saphira's back. Though they did not have much as far as bags went, the majority of them were Thorn's to carry, since Saphira was carrying Eragon and the elf. Rose had wondered she should insist on having the elf travel with her but didn't voice it. The strange light that gleamed in Eragon's eyes each time he talked about the elf quietened Rose's voice. Though she would never admit it, the look Eragon got when it came to the elf scared her a little.
After the packs were placed in a pile on the ground, the elf was lain out on a bedroll, and the dragons freed from the saddles, Eragon picked up his bow and arrows and strolled lightly into the forest. Rose followed him in a short way, picking out dried wood for a fire. There was plenty of it and she returned to the clearing before long, and began to set it up. As she worked, Thorn inched closer to the lake, submerging himself in its water.
Rose looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. No, she said. None of that, Thorn. You are not going to even going to think about getting me wet.
Humored mischief rolled through him as he slammed his tail roughly down into the water. It caused a great splash, wetting Thorn almost completely in a scattered wave and she squealed, scrambling to stand. Thankfully, water didn't get anywhere near her, though dark droplets fell onto the elf's blanket, and she was not far from where Rose sat. She scooted farer away just to be safe, shooting the dragon a dark look.
Turning back to the dead wood, she took out the tinderbox and slowly began coaxing it to catch fire. As a flame struck, the splashing stopped and Thorn made his way out of the water. He stopped somewhere behind her. She could feel when he stopped because icy water dripped water onto the crown of her head. She looked up at his jawline just above her, and, glaring, hit the soft scales of his under-jaw lightly with the back of her hand. More water dripped onto her face. She scooted away, and as she did, his head snaked down to rest in the spot she had vacated.
You are not funny, Thorn, she said. And don't you dare put out my fire!
The dragon blew lightly on the fragile flame, nearly exhausting it and she felt panic rise within her, but the flame flickered back to life. Rose fought the urge to swat him again, settling with just glaring at him. He met her gaze as his tail began to thump against the ground. His eyes danced in the light. Shaking her head, she stood up and filled the pot with water from the lake, setting it at the fire's edge.
After making certain that Thorn- and his water droppings- were not a threat to the fire, she moved towards Saphira, who was seated hunched the woodland's edge, staring out into it as if she were watching Eragon. She was surprised with the dragon's willingness to let Eragon out of her sight, and that she was staying still while he was within the forest. Saphira seemed to Rose more of a statue than a dragon. She remained so still and tense that Rose wondered what would happen if she were poked with a stick. Probably nothing.
With little else to do, Rose stood relaxed beside Saphira looking out into the woodlands but not truly seeing it. After a time, she felt Saphira's fiery presence brush against her mind. At first the dragon said nothing, just remained so still that Rose began to think that perhaps she was a statue and not a living, breathing thing at all. And then she spoke in a thick voice, Someone should have gone with him.
Is something amiss? Rose turned her attention to Saphira, but she did not move or give any indentation to what she was feeling or thinking. You are in contact with him, are you not?
Yes, said Saphira, of course, I am. I do not like him being alone. Eragon has a knack for finding trouble where there otherwise would be none.
Rose moved a loose strand of hair from her face. I'm fairly certain that he is quite alright. Saphira snapped her head around to give her a look that convinced Rose that if she dared to repeat those words she would not be alright. She moved away, and said, What I mean to say is that Eragon can handle himself rather well. There cannot be much out there that can do him too much harm, and should he be harmed he has you to repay the felon the favor.
Saphira turned away but did not relax. I do not like being left behind, she said.
No person does, Rose thought to say but instead kept quiet. She had seen what Saphira had done to those soldiers and did not want the dragon to do the same to her. Or to even see that again. I am certain he shall be back before too long, she said instead and moved back to Thorn. As the dragon was still wet, she sat and hugged her legs to her chest, resting her head against her knees.
Then with little else to do, she waited.
Though Rose did not have to wait long. She heard the birdsong stop and then a light treading as someone stepped out of the forest line, and Saphira shift about on the ground. Turning she saw Eragon, with a scowl on his face as he looked at Saphira, a weighed down small sack that dripped red in his hand. It was full of rabbit meat, he told her after he had rubbed Saphira's snout affectionately, but when he pulled it out of the bag Rose knew he had lied. She had seen enough of rabbit meat to know it was stringy and slightly grainy and looked nothing like the hearty bloodied meat Eragon had brought. When she questioned him about it he said, "Like I said its hare. It doesn't look like it because it was a really fat one."
She did not believe him but she rinsed out the meat without a word, pushing aside the rising nausea as she did so. When she came back from the lakeside and lay out the unidentified meat on the edge of the pot, Eragon showed her the herbs he had found. Rose only recognized the rosemary, from Selena's ramblings many weeks ago. They crushed the greens with the flat of a knife and spread them on the meat, and after dumping the water from the pot they placed the meat inside it to cook. With little else to do, they sat- Eragon with his head in his hands and Rose leaning against Thorn, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
After a time of listening to the meat sizzle Rose turned it over, seeing as Eragon had not moved an in for some time. He was most likely asleep. From the rich smell of the meat, Rose knew it was not from a rabbit, and shot her brother an accusing look despite knowing that he would not see it. She wondered just how credulous he thought she truly was.
Shaking her head, she picked up the blanket and sat back down. Thorn's head snaked into her vision, and he blinked at her. Without thinking she reached out and mindtouched him.
I'm going to hunt while there's a chance to, he said instantly. I should not be gone long. Should trouble arise, Saphira is here. I doubt anything will happen.
Rose nodded. It has been quite some time since Thorn or Saphira have eaten a single thing. Enjoy yourself, she said.
I will. Thorn stood up and within seconds he was gone, no more than a mere tiny dot the sky.
Rose watched him disappear and then stared at the dancing flames, wishing that she had brought a book distract her. Though considering that she has read the only two books packed from Urû'baen many times over, perhaps it was a blessing they were not with her now. Still, at least, the books would give her something to do.
Perhaps before too long she would be able to find her way to a book merchant or even better a library. If there was one thing she missed about her life in the capital it was that. The library and the baths and the meals. By the gods', she missed eating real food! Something more than travel fare and whatever else could be found in the wild.
Rose sighed and pinched herself. What she did not miss were the dramatics of court, and for the next few moment she filled her head with the unpleasantness of it all casting away the few pleasures the capital did have. After her mind was filled with gossiping woman, overly hopeful men, and stiff conversations, she checked on the meat.
To her great surprise it was done, if not a little overly so. She scooped the slices out with a long handled wooden spoon and then set them in a bowl to cool. The flesh of meat was blackened, grainy from the herbs, and would likely be tough but the smell that surrounded it was divine. It smelled both sweet and smoky all at once. And despite not knowing what the meat was, Rose's mouth began to water.
Tipping the pot on the side with the toe of her boot, she knelt down next to Eragon and poked him rather hard in his side with the end of the spoon. He took a sudden breath and jolted upright, his eyes finding hers almost instantly. His eyes narrowed as he scowled at her. His fingers twitched.
"You should be thankful that I did not allow Thorn to awaken you," she said with a grin. "He'd drag you into the lake."
He grumbled something darkly under his breath.
"The meat is done," she replied to his dark grumblings, not wanting to know what exactly he was truly saying. "I thought you might want to eat it while it's hot."
"How long was I asleep?" he yawned, his grumbling coming to a complete stop. When he looked at the small bowl piled high with the charred meat his face brightened a bit.
Rose shrugged, and took a few pieces of meat from the bowl with a clean blade. Cautiously, she took a small bite. It tasted as good as it smelled, despite that fact that it was a little over done and she did not know what exactly it was that she was eating. She did not complain, though, at least it was hot food.
When Eragon plucked a slice of meat from her bowl, she said nothing. They had two bowls, and one was filled with dripping meat and the other sat between them. She would rather him pick from her bowl then reach over and eat out of the serving bowl any time. Still, she scowled and wondered when had she stopped caring for the manners of etiquette that had been drilled into her for as long as she could remember?
She ate slower, her mind drifting over the events of the last months. She could not see a change, any change in her- unless one counted Tornac's death but Rose did not. The fact that he was gone forever, was still like an aching wound somewhere inside her being. Each time she thought of it, of him, only made the injury tear wider and hurt worse than ever before.
"Where is Thorn?" asked Eragon suddenly.
Rose wiped her face with the sleeve of her tunic, and put the knife down. She was no longer hungry. "He went hunting," she said.
Eragon whipped his head around to Saphira, and she huffed from somewhere behind them. Rose stood up and grabbed the handle of the pot, and dragging it behind her, she walked towards the shore of the lake, allowing the boy and dragon to have their conversation in peace. She dropped the pot into the water, and the pot, still hot, fizzled and steamed in the cool water.
She left it there, in the shallows of the lake for it cool. It would be quite some time until it was cool enough to even touch nonetheless clean. Later, she would come back for it, or perhaps if she was lucky Eragon would clean it instead though she doubted it would happen.
Sitting beside Eragon, she considered him for a moment. Her anxieties from the day before echoing in her thoughts. He needed to know of certain things before long, and now, perhaps, now was as good of a time as any to tell him. She had thought over what she was going to say many times, and had a something of a speech which she was ready to say. "Eragon," she said, looking down at her hands. "There is something I would like to tell you."
"What is it?" The words were not harsh, but rather cautious as if he could sense the dangerous truth she was about to tell. For moment she said nothing, as she stared at her hands, and as she hesitated Eragon suddenly stood up and dashed to the edge of the woodland, before bending into himself.
She heard it before she saw it and shielded her eyes, looking away, though she could not muffle the sound of his body raking heaves. Rose did not dare glance behind her, very certain that if she did, she would be sick herself. Her stomach rolled. To distract herself from both the sounds and her sudden queasiness, she built up the fire until it was blazing warm. She dragged the sleeping roll the elf lay on away from the flame and sat down next to her, relieved that its cackling laugh drown out most of the wrenching sounds.
Footsteps sounded behind her, uneven, if not slightly unbalanced. She glanced at Eragon as he began to lean against Saphira leg, the dragon herself was rigid. Her eyes were hard as she watched Eragon's every movement as if waiting for him to be sick all over again.
Rose made a silent prayer that if he would be he would, at least, make it to the edge of the woodland before it happened.
He stared ahead for a moment rather blankly, as if he were not seeing a thing, before sitting down. "I think that that meat wasn't cooked all the way," he muttered.
Rose frowned slightly. Her stomach was a little uneasy, yes, but that only because of Eragon's display. "Would drinking some tea help or would water be preferable?"
"I would like some water."
Leaning over, Rose picked up Eragon's abandoned waterskin and handed it to him. He grabbed it and took a long sip, before pouring some in a cupped palm and splashing his face. He looked at her then. "You were saying something before," he began, "what was it?"
She studied him; his dipping face, paled skin and pinkened cheeks, and knew suddenly that now was not the time to tell him of his heritage. That could wait for another day when his current health had improved. "Merely that I believe we should stay here until morning," she said. "This way the dragons can hunt and we can rest a little before we go into the mountains."
"Alright," said Eragon, taking another sip of from the waterskin. He wrapped his cloak closer around him, scooting into Saphira. "I'm going to go to sleep then."
Rose watched as Saphira wing enveloped him, hiding him from view, and doubted that the dragon would be going anywhere any time soon. Turning away, she contacted Thorn to tell him to bring something back for the dragon, something that he was willing to do, if only to chase down another animal. She sighed and shook her head, peering that the ridge of mountains across the lake.
Tomorrow they would fly into those cragged peaks and travel amongst them; where so many humans and dragons and elves alike had met their end. Rose murmured a prayer to the gods, wishing for their safety as they set out on that league of their journey. Hopefully that gods had heard her, and her prayer would not go unanswered.
