The Truth About Lies (An Inheritance Cycle Fanfiction)

Time Drags On

"I'm guessing that you told her?" he asked tentatively. I could see Eragon scratching at his head out of the corner of my eye.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"I'm guessing she didn't take it too well?" He glanced over at me, amusement playing upon his handsome face.

"You can say that again..." Eragon mumbled. Roran sighed and looked at Garrow who held a look of utter befuddlement about the whole situation.

"Someone mind telling me what's going on?" he said in a perplexed voice.

"Come on, let's get dinner on the table and I'll explain everything," Roran said, setting dishes on the rough-hewn table. I went over and helped place the meager meal of bread, a scarce amount of meat, and a few flimsy-looking vegetables. We each took our helping and then I began to eat, settling in, along with Garrow, to hear Roran's explanation.

He spoke of a miller named Dempton he'd met at Uncle Horst's forge earlier that day. Dempton was ordering some sockets to be made for his mill and he and Roran struck up a conversation while Uncle Horst was fixing a broken chisel. Dempton had offered Roran a job at his mill in Therinsford, the next town over from Carvahall, and he'd decided to take it.

Roran looked over at his father expectantly, waiting for any kind of reaction. "Well," Garrow finally said, sighing heavily, "when do you leave?" A look of shock spread across both Eragon and Roran's faces.

"What?" Roran asked incredulously.

"I've been hoping to expand this family for quite some time," he said, his gaze full of understanding. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he looked between Eragon and me, and I saw Eragon beginning to blush. What in the world did that mean? "And now's as good a time as ever. Katrina is a very lucky girl." Roran's face lit up with happiness.

"Thank you, Father!" he cried in joy. I looked on in silence as Roran talked of all the things he planned to do with the money he would make. In two weeks' time, we would never sit like this at the table again. I couldn't help but feel that my big brother was being torn away from me. But I understood why he needed to go. He'd talked of marrying Katrina, the butcher's daughter, for quite some time now, and he'd need a job to be able to care for her and provide a life for both of them. I couldn't help but be a little jealous, though. Even though my entire life had been uprooted, I was finally starting to feel as though things were settling into a routine, and I liked that. Now everything was changing again, and even though I knew it was for the better, I couldn't help but feel disheartened. But Roran's face was alight with joy, and I was happy for him.

When Roran finally departed two weeks later, time seemed to slow down to a creeping rate. Eragon and Saphira talked amongst themselves most of the time, and Garrow could never tell me anything that I wanted to hear. Saphira continued to grow in size, and soon she was flying high into the air, disappearing into the winter clouds. Eragon waited impatiently for the day that she would finally be big enough for him to ride on her back, and he talked nonstop about all of the things Brom had shared with him about the Riders. I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, and long for the talks that I used to have with Brom.

While I was stuck here, Eragon and I sparred with wooden sticks whenever we could. He wasn't very good, but I was teaching him all that I had learned from Brom. One day, as our wooden tree branches crashed against one another, Eragon tried to slash at my waist, but I cut his stick away and swiped his leg, leaving a nasty scratch on his arm.

"Ouch!" he cried, dropping his stick and clutching his arm. "Tabatha!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to Eragon," I said, feeling sorry but laughing at the same time. He really was hopeless.

"I never knew you were so good at swordplay. If I had, I wouldn't have agreed to spar with you," he complained, rubbing away the blood that was trickling down his arm out of the scratch.

"Brom has been teaching me for years now," I explained, coming over to inspect his wound. It was a surface wound, at the most, and I couldn't see what he was complaining about. "It's just a scratch, Eragon. You'll be fine."

He scowled at me slightly and then rolled his shoulders in defiance. "Doesn't mean it didn't hurt," he pouted, picking up his stick out of the snow. "Why has Brom been teaching you swordplay? What use is it to a girl?" The way he said the word 'girl' made me bristle and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I could feel my blood boiling and my anger coming to the surface. I had a temper, I knew, but sometimes I had a hard time controlling it.

"What does it matter that I'm a girl?" I sneered, hands placed firmly on my hips. "I have every right to learn to defend myself as much as you do. What difference does my sex make? Hmm?" I knocked him over the head with my stick, drawing a cry of protest out of him. "Would you rather I stay home and cook and clean all day? As a good woman should! Well that's not me, Eragon! And if you think it is, then I certainly have nothing more to say to you!" Flinging my stick into the snow, I whipped my cloak around, knocking him aside, and stormed back to the house. I felt as though steam was coming out of my ears and my eyes were on fire. What right did he think he had to say such things to me! Eragon and I had been friends all our lives, but he could be such a dolt sometimes. Oh, how I wish that the soldiers would leave so things could go back to normal!