DragonInk (Eragon Writing Competition)

Round Five: Entries

*Eran

Did not hand in entry

*Verity

Did not hand in entry

*Belle Liressdaughter

Verity hadn't spoken to Reona since that day.

Belinda Liressdóttir, the only child of Galbatorix and his enchanting Black Hand, examined the gedwëy ignasia on her left palm as she mused. Her beau hadn't needed to tell her that the reason he wasn't speaking to the white-haired elf; it was clear that he believed Reona to have been the cause of the duel. She'd barely scratched Belle's cheek with her blade, but that cut was reason enough for Verity to side with his beloved. The girl herself stayed silent in the matter, torn between guilt for letting him believe the worst of his friend and elation for there being a rift between her love and her rival.

She knew what the right thing to do would be, but she could not bring herself to do it. How could she have let her temper get the best of her yet again? As Belle scowled up at the marbled ceiling, she felt her dragon's mind press against hers, alleviating the worst of her sour mood. But she didn't want him to make her feel better, because she didn't deserve -

Stop that, Raugmar ordered, his voice stern. You can't keep feeling sorry for yourself forever.

Says you, she retorted, picking up her left Ascûdgamln glove and shoving her hand through it.

Even though he was elsewhere, Belle knew that he'd snorted at her words. You are acting like a child, Belinda. If you want to do the right thing, then just do it. Stop being such a coward.

You stop being a coward.

I am a dragon.

Well, I'm not! I'm just a stupid human with stupid feelings and a stupid dragon!

Blocking off her connection to Raugmar, she pulled on her other glove as the guilt welled up further. Turning her face into the pillow, Belle gave herself the pleasure of one good scream before rising from her bed and storming over to the vanity table.

She examined her appearance in the mirror. Today, her tunic was a brilliant red that nearly matched Master Thorn's scales. Beneath its hem she wore white leggings and around her waist wore her dagger belt. Lashed to one side was Sundavr, and to the other was the bronze scrying mirror that Niaomi had let her keep.

Tucking her bangs back behind her ears, she took one last moment to study the thin line that ran across her right cheek. Verity had gone to heal it, but Belle had stayed his hand. She wanted to remember her duel with Reona, and left the faint scar as a reminder for what consequences her temper brought. Never again would she let it rule her.

Deciding she was appropriately dressed for the meeting, she tugged on her favorite pair of boots and left her room. She strolled down the hall, nodding at Roslyn as she passed her on the way to the stairs. The elf nodded back, her gray gaze softer than usual.

Belle briefly wondered at what had put her in such a mood as she took the stairs two at a time, her long braid whacking her back with each step. But she decided there was no time to dwell on the matter; if she didn't jog, she wouldn't make it down in time. Glancing at the statue of Vanilor that stood in the main parlor, she took a moment to reorient herself before heading off in what she hoped was the right direction.

This blasted library is too big, she grumbled silently. When Raugmar did not respond, Belle remembered the fight they'd had. Sighing, she lowered the walls around her mind to touch his. Forgive me?