Post by dawntango on Oct 22, 2009 13:33:53 GMT 8
Hmm, here's a fanfic for the Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini about Brom. It's done in second person in seven ficlets. Enjoy!
Snapshots
Snapshots
I-Beauty
It was raining that day, you remember, the cloud’s tears streaming down to earth, the narrow smelly streets of Kuasta were muddy, staining your breeches. Your brown hair was plastered to your skull and your young innocent eyes took in the shining diamonds.
The dragon broke through the clouds then, sparkling like polished gold.
A gasp of surprise and glee came from your mouth and you ran after it, mud splattering on your tunic, on your unlined, carefree face.
An hour later Saphira was in your arms, bluer than even the sea you loved. And she was the most beautiful creature you had ever seen.
(And so you thought, even as she lay, muted by death and her blue, blue scales marred by crimson.)
II-Brothers
You were scared when you first came to Vreongard. The marble citadel, the golden walls, the elves and beautiful dragons (they’d never rival Saphira though) and people you barely recognised as humans…
Most of the other trainees ignored you, clumped in groups that already knew each other, but one boy came over, a boy with mismatched eyes, a haughty swagger and a mischievous grin.
“I’m Morzan.” He said, thrusting out a hand. And you took it and you and he shook hands, like the men neither of you would ever be.
“Brom.” You replied shyly. Soon you forgot your shyness, for Morzan made you roar with laughter at his stories of devious tricks played on elders. You admired him for his bravery, you liked him you decided.
And from then on you were best friends, brothers.
(Even later when you are learning beside Morzan with Oromis you could not help but feel there is something wrong about Morzan. But you ignored it, because Morzan was your brother and he would never hurt you)
III-Roses
One day you were out with Saphira, in the warmth of Ilirea’s summer.
She flipped and twisted in the air, showing sharp fangs and glittering scales. You laughed with her as she sank to the long, waving grass, studded with spring’s flowers.
You slipped to the ground, whistling. You were eighteen, a man. Or so you thought.
A bush of delicate roses grew, holding up crimson blossoms to the hot sun and your partner’s hard sapphire eyes settled on them. You teased her as she hums, for she has always loved roses, and it has always amused many.
(Years later you remembered as you sat beside her tomb and draped roses over her grave. You think she would have liked that.)
IV-Protect
You looked out across the ranks of the army drawn up to defeat Galbatorix. At their head were the remaining Riders, faces grim.
And you knew in your heart that it wasn’t enough.
Have heart little one. Saphira chided but her words did not diminish your fear but made it worse. What if she died?
She sighed, unwilling to pursue the subject and your mailed hand tightened on your blue sword, Undbitr, and you were afraid, so terribly afraid.
In the distance the Thirteen were coming, led by the midnight figure of Shruikin.
It was pain beyond any you had ever felt to see that savage crimson dragon, now unnamed, with the man on its back, dressed in shining armour. But he was not here to rescue anyone like in the fairytales.
You were too old for fairytales.
Your rage stirred and Saphira roared a cry of anger and hate. You would kill him, you and your Saphira, rip out his heart and grind his bones to dust.
Then the two armies collided and all was flashing talons, teeth and red and blue and green and gold and white, roars ringing in your ears above the clash of metal and the screams of your friends. There was no time for fear, for thought, for grief for what was being lost.
There was burning agony as Morzan’s dragon raked his claws through Saphira’s claws, and her crimson blood splattered on bloodstained claws. She roared in pain and you cried out in anguish.
Your eyes met Morzan’s and for a moment you thought you saw regret before you swung your sword. The gleaming metal lopped off part of one finger and his dragon snarled.
Then Saphira pulled away and flew. She might have lived if she had stopped, allowed you to heal her.
But your entreaties fell on deaf ears, for she wanted to protect you.
She died at dawn, her favourite time of day, leaving you alone for the rest of eternity.
(You decided that it didn’t matter what you saw in Morzan’s eyes that day, because Saphira is dead, and that is all that matters.)
V-Puzzle
You were pretending to be a gardener in Morzan’s castle when you met Selena. She was beautiful, with long dark hair and chocolate eyes. Like Saphira-your shattered heart always throbbed when you thought of her-she loved roses, and spent hours tending to them. She asked many questions of you and you were so glad Oromis had taught you botany, despite that at the time you had thought it a waste of time. You watched her, this Selena, one of the Varden’s greatest enemies that seemed so gentle.
You spent more time in her company, wondering why on earth you liked this strong woman who had been broken by love.
And to your everlasting amazement you fell in love with her, and she with you.
You couldn’t bear to keep any secrets from her so you told her, told her everthing in a lonely stone tower.
She walked away, tears, like the diamonds the sky had shed the day you found Saphira, sliding down her face, and you wondered if you had lost the only thing that you had loved since Saphira had died.
But she came back, told you it all didn’t matter and you spent a few, bittersweet months with her before the Varden called you away to hunt for the dragon egg.
You didn’t realise until much later that if you had stayed you would have had a wife and son.
(When you came back and knelt beside her grave you wondered why it always ended up this way.)
VI-Fate
You faced Morzan over the uniformed corpses of ten unwise soldiers that had followed you.
“So it’s finally some to this.” He said coldly, none of the boy you grew up with, none of your brother survived. “but maybe its fate.” He pulled out the egg. It haunted you, for it was the same colour as your Saphira and he knew it by the cruel smirk on his face.
“Give it to me.” You growled, drawing your sword.
Ignoring you Morzan went on, “I suppose you had something to do with my Black Hand’s disappearance?”
Your heart froze. Selena.
Morzan seemed to take this as an admission of guilt and he tucked the egg away as one mailed fist drew Zar’roc, sharp misery.
The crimson blade slashed at your head as the full force of his twisted mind stuck yours.
You fought him, a long bitter peak of your hate. You were wounded and weary, your sword heavy in your hand.
But in the end you smashed Zar’roc from his hand and lower the tip of your sword to his neck.
“Finish it.” He whispered, his eyes meeting your, with a wild cry you brought your sword down.
You took Misery from its owner, until many years later you gave it to your son, the boy Morzan thought was his son.
(Deep in your heart you always knew you weren’t ever strong enough to kill Morzan. In the end he just gave up.)
VII-Fulfil
Your son was seven years old when you first met him. He had your hair and eyebrows and Selena’s eyes.
He tripped and fell, spilling the parcels he was carrying for his aunt all over the dusty street.
You knelt and gathered the parcels, pressing them into his small hands. “What is your name?” You asked, all though you already knew.
“Eragon.” He replied, eyes wide and naïve and you realised his eyes were his own, because Selena had never been innocent. “What’s your name mister?”
You longed to say that you were his father but instead you said simply, “Brom.” You straightened, eyes meeting his.
“Thank you mister Brom.”
“Off with you lad.” You said, patting his shoulder, “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
(And you smiled because it was all worth it when you looked into your son’s eyes.)
Snapshots
Snapshots
I-Beauty
It was raining that day, you remember, the cloud’s tears streaming down to earth, the narrow smelly streets of Kuasta were muddy, staining your breeches. Your brown hair was plastered to your skull and your young innocent eyes took in the shining diamonds.
The dragon broke through the clouds then, sparkling like polished gold.
A gasp of surprise and glee came from your mouth and you ran after it, mud splattering on your tunic, on your unlined, carefree face.
An hour later Saphira was in your arms, bluer than even the sea you loved. And she was the most beautiful creature you had ever seen.
(And so you thought, even as she lay, muted by death and her blue, blue scales marred by crimson.)
II-Brothers
You were scared when you first came to Vreongard. The marble citadel, the golden walls, the elves and beautiful dragons (they’d never rival Saphira though) and people you barely recognised as humans…
Most of the other trainees ignored you, clumped in groups that already knew each other, but one boy came over, a boy with mismatched eyes, a haughty swagger and a mischievous grin.
“I’m Morzan.” He said, thrusting out a hand. And you took it and you and he shook hands, like the men neither of you would ever be.
“Brom.” You replied shyly. Soon you forgot your shyness, for Morzan made you roar with laughter at his stories of devious tricks played on elders. You admired him for his bravery, you liked him you decided.
And from then on you were best friends, brothers.
(Even later when you are learning beside Morzan with Oromis you could not help but feel there is something wrong about Morzan. But you ignored it, because Morzan was your brother and he would never hurt you)
III-Roses
One day you were out with Saphira, in the warmth of Ilirea’s summer.
She flipped and twisted in the air, showing sharp fangs and glittering scales. You laughed with her as she sank to the long, waving grass, studded with spring’s flowers.
You slipped to the ground, whistling. You were eighteen, a man. Or so you thought.
A bush of delicate roses grew, holding up crimson blossoms to the hot sun and your partner’s hard sapphire eyes settled on them. You teased her as she hums, for she has always loved roses, and it has always amused many.
(Years later you remembered as you sat beside her tomb and draped roses over her grave. You think she would have liked that.)
IV-Protect
You looked out across the ranks of the army drawn up to defeat Galbatorix. At their head were the remaining Riders, faces grim.
And you knew in your heart that it wasn’t enough.
Have heart little one. Saphira chided but her words did not diminish your fear but made it worse. What if she died?
She sighed, unwilling to pursue the subject and your mailed hand tightened on your blue sword, Undbitr, and you were afraid, so terribly afraid.
In the distance the Thirteen were coming, led by the midnight figure of Shruikin.
It was pain beyond any you had ever felt to see that savage crimson dragon, now unnamed, with the man on its back, dressed in shining armour. But he was not here to rescue anyone like in the fairytales.
You were too old for fairytales.
Your rage stirred and Saphira roared a cry of anger and hate. You would kill him, you and your Saphira, rip out his heart and grind his bones to dust.
Then the two armies collided and all was flashing talons, teeth and red and blue and green and gold and white, roars ringing in your ears above the clash of metal and the screams of your friends. There was no time for fear, for thought, for grief for what was being lost.
There was burning agony as Morzan’s dragon raked his claws through Saphira’s claws, and her crimson blood splattered on bloodstained claws. She roared in pain and you cried out in anguish.
Your eyes met Morzan’s and for a moment you thought you saw regret before you swung your sword. The gleaming metal lopped off part of one finger and his dragon snarled.
Then Saphira pulled away and flew. She might have lived if she had stopped, allowed you to heal her.
But your entreaties fell on deaf ears, for she wanted to protect you.
She died at dawn, her favourite time of day, leaving you alone for the rest of eternity.
(You decided that it didn’t matter what you saw in Morzan’s eyes that day, because Saphira is dead, and that is all that matters.)
V-Puzzle
You were pretending to be a gardener in Morzan’s castle when you met Selena. She was beautiful, with long dark hair and chocolate eyes. Like Saphira-your shattered heart always throbbed when you thought of her-she loved roses, and spent hours tending to them. She asked many questions of you and you were so glad Oromis had taught you botany, despite that at the time you had thought it a waste of time. You watched her, this Selena, one of the Varden’s greatest enemies that seemed so gentle.
You spent more time in her company, wondering why on earth you liked this strong woman who had been broken by love.
And to your everlasting amazement you fell in love with her, and she with you.
You couldn’t bear to keep any secrets from her so you told her, told her everthing in a lonely stone tower.
She walked away, tears, like the diamonds the sky had shed the day you found Saphira, sliding down her face, and you wondered if you had lost the only thing that you had loved since Saphira had died.
But she came back, told you it all didn’t matter and you spent a few, bittersweet months with her before the Varden called you away to hunt for the dragon egg.
You didn’t realise until much later that if you had stayed you would have had a wife and son.
(When you came back and knelt beside her grave you wondered why it always ended up this way.)
VI-Fate
You faced Morzan over the uniformed corpses of ten unwise soldiers that had followed you.
“So it’s finally some to this.” He said coldly, none of the boy you grew up with, none of your brother survived. “but maybe its fate.” He pulled out the egg. It haunted you, for it was the same colour as your Saphira and he knew it by the cruel smirk on his face.
“Give it to me.” You growled, drawing your sword.
Ignoring you Morzan went on, “I suppose you had something to do with my Black Hand’s disappearance?”
Your heart froze. Selena.
Morzan seemed to take this as an admission of guilt and he tucked the egg away as one mailed fist drew Zar’roc, sharp misery.
The crimson blade slashed at your head as the full force of his twisted mind stuck yours.
You fought him, a long bitter peak of your hate. You were wounded and weary, your sword heavy in your hand.
But in the end you smashed Zar’roc from his hand and lower the tip of your sword to his neck.
“Finish it.” He whispered, his eyes meeting your, with a wild cry you brought your sword down.
You took Misery from its owner, until many years later you gave it to your son, the boy Morzan thought was his son.
(Deep in your heart you always knew you weren’t ever strong enough to kill Morzan. In the end he just gave up.)
VII-Fulfil
Your son was seven years old when you first met him. He had your hair and eyebrows and Selena’s eyes.
He tripped and fell, spilling the parcels he was carrying for his aunt all over the dusty street.
You knelt and gathered the parcels, pressing them into his small hands. “What is your name?” You asked, all though you already knew.
“Eragon.” He replied, eyes wide and naïve and you realised his eyes were his own, because Selena had never been innocent. “What’s your name mister?”
You longed to say that you were his father but instead you said simply, “Brom.” You straightened, eyes meeting his.
“Thank you mister Brom.”
“Off with you lad.” You said, patting his shoulder, “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
(And you smiled because it was all worth it when you looked into your son’s eyes.)