Withholding Confessions {Eragon/Fasail}

[Harbor]

You are only delaying the inevitable, Aroure opined, head on her paws, as she watched her Rider practice off the edges of the camp, where others were less likely to see. I approve of your determination not to permit this to hinder you, but you can’t deny that your silence makes it more likely that you’ll be a liability.

”Nobody else needs to know.” Fasail scowled as she strolled the trees, looking for the definitive smooth outlines of the arrows she’d shot into their branches several minutes before. She’d been shooting them into the sky and catching them, earlier, but that had proved an easy exercise: snatching a shadow out of an open sky was simple, clear-cut. Picking an arrow out of a labyrinth of branches required more patience and inspection, and neither of those were traits which Fasail harbored naturally.

Aroure, much to her own displeasure, had been helping Fasail hide her failing sight for over a month. Learning to move her body from the perspective of Aroure’s eyes had required practice as well, but it at least entertained her enough to make it an enjoyable exercise. This method of practice—and the reasons she needed it—was merely exhausting in a way Fasail wasn’t familiar in coping with. Psychical exhaustion was the reward she reaped for a good day’s exertion; emotional or mental exhaustion she didn’t know how to properly handle.

I won’t help you hide it much longer, Aroure cautioned.

Fasail sighed, located an arrow high above her, and began to climb the tree. Her judgment of distance wasn’t as accurate with objects that weren’t a consistent shape and size, like swords, but she hadn’t broken any fingers yet. ”I know.”

The longer you leave it, the more contention you’ll have to deal with.

”But at least it won’t prolong the pity,” Fasail grumbled. ”I’d rather have the entire army furious with me than sad for me.”

The ones who know you will understand why you’ve hidden it.

”And they know me, so they’ll feel worse for me. The ones who don’t know me will just be disappointed that they’ve gained a damaged Rider instead of a whole one.” Grimacing as she shoved through a tangled mess of twigs and a last year’s bird next, Fasail reached through the last of the branches she could climb without bending them and grasped the arrow. It was painted in black and white patterns as opposed to being marked with some bright color, as most people’s were. She tucked it into the narrow quiver on her back—meant only to carry an amount sufficient for practice as opposed to battle—and descended through the brambles.

You should tell at least one person, Aroure insisted. So they can accommodate—

”Accommodate for what?” Fasail snapped as she returned to the ground. ”My deficiency? My disability?”

Yes! Aroure shot back. You’re a liability like this, Fasail, until you learn to supplement the loss with something else, to make up for it! This is your mistake and you’re the one refusing to seek help for it—

”There is no help, Aroure! We’ve already tried—“

Oh yes, a handful of scholars and magicians from home twiddled their fingers and could do nothing. They weren’t trying to fix your sight altogether, Fasail, they were just trying to bring your perception of color back. This is different and needs to be treated differently because of that.

”And what is this ‘one person’ supposed to do?” Fasail wanted to know, her irritable mood having soured into downright grumpiness.

I’m no battle commander—all I can do is guess. But if I were one I’d put a few more people in your area of a fight, or place you in an open space, at this point, where you can set objects against the unobstructed sky.

Fasail snorted. ”Yes. And what about later?” she asked, very nearly bitter in tone if not in thought.

Aroure paused, then sighed. I don’t know, Fasail. I don’t know if anything can be done.

Fasail sank into a crouch, her back against the tree she’d descended, her insides feeling as though they were simultaneously freezing and burning—tearing her apart morsel by morsel, to feed the beasts she’d invited herself. Knocking her head back against the bark, she opened her mouth to pass an opinion on being merely a consultant instead of a fighter, when Aroure spoke again.

Someone’s coming. Be nice.

Fasail closed her eyes. ”I hope they’re not the gentle sort.” She raised the heel of her hand to wipe at the light sheen of sweat that had collected around her hairline when she was sprinting laps to work of excess frustration in between various sight-accommodation exercises.

It’s Eragon*.

Fasail sighed. ”Could have been worse—an undefended villager.”

Or worse yet, Aroure said quietly, someone you admitted you cared about.

Fasail threw a stick at her.



*If Saphira is here as well I’ll edit to add her. Hope this is all right.
**Eragon's welcome to have overheard some of Fasail's half of the conversation, so long as he doesn't fully understand it.

[Quetzal]

Eragon had seen Fasail shoot a few arrows then climb a tree, presumably to retrieve them. Having a bit of spare time between training a few new captains and meeting with a minor lord, he'd been planning on getting in some training and chatting with some soldiers to boost their morale a little. Fasail was better for a chat, another Rider who had proven herself in the Varden. She'd been acting a little strangely lately, in her movements more than anything else. Sometimes she didn't want to do certain things for no apparent reason. She was taking a long time to retrieve that arrow, too. Knowing her, she was probably climbing around more to exert herself. That one always had a need to be active as much as possible.

As he drew near them, Fasail, having found her arrow, was still for once. He smiled and raised a hand in greeting. Aroure was there too, Fasail's lips moving to show they were having a conversation. His ears could pick up the words. "I hope they're not the gentle sort," Fasail said. Was she talking about him? Or someone else? She was looking at him. It didn't make sense for that to be said regarding him, so it was probably about someone they were going to meet or had heard of. "Could have been worse-an undefended villager," made little sense either. It was none of his business, but hearing what Aroure had said would have no doubt pieced together that little puzzle. It probably wasn't anything he should worry himself about, nothing important. He let it slip his mind.

"Hello, Fasail, Aroure. Are you well? What are you up to?" he asked, choosing to ignore the stick she'd thrown at the dragon shortly before he'd reached them.

[Harbor]

Aroure narrowed her eyes at Fasail and Fasail stuck her tongue out in response—Aroure was too polite to visually scold Fasail in view of others when it would be clear they were genuinely arguing with each other. The elf hadn’t provoked the dragon enough to warrant any Psychical reprimands.

Fasail applied a cheery smile, touched at the edges with irritation that she hoped he knew had nothing to do with him, and waved her fingers from where her cheek rested in her hand. The fact that he’d asked after her wellness as opposed to her mood annoyed her to great and useless ends, but that wasn’t his fault. Unless he’d started to notice something she didn’t want him to. ”I’m affable with a chance of vexation,” she replied honestly, since her quarrel wasn’t with him and her moods rarely carried over from one person to the next.

Simultaneously, Aroure snorted at her. Of course he’s spotted something, she said irritably, even if he doesn’t know what it is or doesn’t know he’s spotted it. Any fool should see that you’re distracted lately, if nothing else. It’s his job to notice that sort of thing. If I were him I’d slap you with my tail and tell you to keep your wings even.

Because that would be so helpful in my case, Fasail silently replied, at great risk of aggravating the lavender dragon to slapping her anyway. Sensing the charcoal-textured frustration of her dragon, Fasail very lightly sighed. I’m sorry. I understand, and I’m not truly irked with you, I’m irked with me and trying to hide it.

You most certainly are. Aroure wondered sometimes why she’d chosen such a difficult Rider, but not often. Fasail was one of the easiest people she knew to get along with, due to her unruffled nature—they had almost never met anyone who could offend or deeply anger her. Neither could they meet someone who could genuinely influence her either, however.

”I’m amusing myself with relatively useless exercises,” Fasail lightly replied, twirling a dry twig around her fingers, and sliding to her feet. Throwing her head back she gazed up into the hazy grayness of the canopy of leaves above her. ”Looking for my arrows gives me something to do while I wait for you to give me something to do.” She flashed him a grin; she was certain he thought she was at least half a lunatic, the way she worked herself. More than one person had come upon her, either in her tent or elsewhere, asleep sitting up because she’d purposely fought off sleep until it became stronger than she. ”Have you been busy, tossing weaponry with the other soldiers, or stuck chatting up diplomats?” Dear heavens, thank all chances that Fasail wasn’t a diplomat. Leave that horror to Arya, who was well-suited to it. Fasail didn’t have—or didn’t care to utilize—the discipline for such things.

[Quetzal]

Eragon could see the irritation behind Fasail's otherwise warm smile. His first thought was that she had some quarrel with him. She was acting pleasantly, but in his experience that meant little. After all, a large part of diplomacy involved treating people you had long nursed loathing for as though they were good friends. Yet Fasail had been behaving out of sorts for some time now. Aroure's snort hinted at some unspoken disagreement. The dragon knew something was amiss with her Rider, and Fasail was determined to pretend all was well. He was confident of that much, but anything further into the situation was a mystery to him.

Exerting herself was an activity the elf had an odd liking for. Eragon had often seen her training well beyond what was necessary and then some, even undertaking absolutely pointless exercises like running around a field for an hour or so. It made her keen for any physically exhausting tasks, though, which he was grateful for.

"Right," he said, making it clear in his tone that he did not believe her, "I've never known anyone to enjoy being exhausted as you do."

Eragon wasn't sure whether or not to probe further into Fasail's problems, whatever they might be. They knew each other reasonably well, but he couldn't tell how personal this issue was. Could be she wasn't telling anyone about it because it was an uncomfortable matter. In that case, his quizzing her would do no help and would only serve to create awkwardness. He might be able to offer advice at best.

Before he had any chance to ask Fasail about what had been bothering her lately she asked him a question. "Bit of both. I've been training all the time. I'm wanted in a lot of meetings, too. Every minor lord or general wants some say in the proceedings. Of course, that's not possible, so we have to have a lot of meetings about little things like who's willing to send a few people where or how much food one area can supply," he replied. It was all incredibly boring but necessary. He could get through it fine.

Fasail had been acting oddly for a long time, he remembered. This problem of hers wasn't going away. If she didn't want to talk about it, so be it, but if it was serious and he could help, it was folly to avoid discussing it. "Don't mind me asking, but you've been acting a little out of it these past few weeks. Is something the matter? " maybe if he asked first sh would be happier to talk about it.

[Harbor]

Fàsail heard Eragon's disagreement with her self-assessment and granted him a starry smile. Let him guess at that. Everyone here knew that it wasn't her habit to hide her expressions and opinions--though opinions she only voiced when asked--so that should pacify him to some degree. Those who had a habit of being forthcoming could be allowed their days of quietude, couldn't they?

The trouble was that Eragon was in a position where, objectively, she knew he had the right as well as the responsibility to know what Aroure so disagreed with Fàsail withholding from him. Even worse was that she knew she couldn't hide it much longer, and that she suspected he'd already made a few observations of her deterioration. Otherwise why would he be asking?

"I have the dubious fortune of having been born with an excess in energy. Incredibly useful in its time and place, but incredibly frustrating in others. I don't sleep unless I am fully exhausted, but I still suffer from sleep deprivation just as any other would." Fàsail would be the last to verbally abuse the burning of her bones, as it felt to her when the energy grew past her capacity to reliably handle it; however it did have its downsides. "I might have been an artist, for it is one of the few things for which I can sit without being miserable for it, but this I felt suited my natural talents to a more serviceable capacity." In other words, her drawings were beautiful, as her paintings had been, but they served few useful purposes. She had needed something more in her life. Now she only occasionally drew, when she had the time between exhaustive entertainments and sleep.

Eragon's depiction of his activities made her snort. "By any gods, I'm glad I'm not you." She turned in a gradual circle, eyeing the splotched expanse of the trees above her, and wondering how her changing perception of the world would affect her abilities in a fight. It would be harder, she realized, to tell friend from foe. She had best request that she be placed in the very front of their army when next they came to battle. She doubted the enemy would consent to all striping their armor so she could tell them apart.

At Eragon's inquiry--entirely justified--Fàsail didn't hide the smile dropping from her face. If she wouldn't tell him the precise cause of her internal disruption he at least deserved what honesty she could give him in lieu of the explanation.

Just tell him, you nitwit, Aroure groaned. If not for your sake or his, then to save me from white scales. I am prematurely aging.

Fàsail slid an arrow out of the small quiver and commenced twirling it around her fingers, over and under her wrist, encircling her elbow once before returning to her fingers. She hoped he understood that she wasnt ignoring him, merely thinking. Trying to gauge her pride against her disadvantage, among many other variables, none if which pleased her. She held the arrow still in her hand, touching the fletchings, before speaking again, looking into the forest, her right shoulder to him. "I'm colorblind." She stated it simply, though her tone made it clear that this had developed relatively recently--within the last couple years--and that she was not yet fully comfortable with it. "A bit of my own magic that went awry. I'm still compensating for the differences it's caused me to make." She extended the arrow toward him. "I paint my arrows with patterns because the bright colors make no difference when everything is some variation of gray."

Tell him the rest, Aroure growled, angry for Fàsail having gotten her hopes up only to tell Eragon the smallest part of the truth. Tell him all of it.

He doesn't need to know yet.

You do it or I will.

Fàsail twisted to stare at her life's partner, expression mixed between horror and hurt. You would do that to me?

You'll end up hurting people more the longer you hide it. They will be taken by surprise and will have less time to compensate for it. Don't you think they have enough to deal with without adding your vanity?

This isn't about vanity!

It amounts to the same thing.

It's my right to tell him.

Aroure blinked at her. You are my Rider. It's my right too.

Fasail's throat tightened. "I'm sorry for our rudeness," She said calmly, aloud, hoping she'd had her back to him when speaking with Aroure. She had turned back now. "We are having a disagreement over the migration of information."

[Quetzal]

Eragon was impatient with Fasail as she talked about her excess of energy. "That's plain to anyone who's been in your company for a couple of days. It's why I don't send you out as a diplomat. I know sitting still for more than an hour would drive you insane," he dismissed her explanations. That was not what was bothering her, he could tell. If she was born with that, she would not be so affected by it. Indeed she did seem used to it all. He had seen her tired before but had just assumed that was from all the extra exertion she put upon herself, unaware she wasn't sleeping. That was unfortunate, but whatever was upsetting her now had to be a recent occurrence. Whatever it was had been getting worse, too, else he was getting better at spotting it. The number of times he'd seen her eyes go unfocussed or squint, and the amount she stumbled or seemed less coordinated than usual were increasing. Perhaps she was sleeping less and less. He was worried about the upcoming battle, and perhaps she felt the same. "I'm sure we could use magic to remove the excess energy, if only to allow you to sleep."

Finally she spoke words that satisfied his curiosity. Colour blind. That would explain a lot. The stumbling, the unfocussed eyes, the squinting. He knew nothing of colour blindness other than that it had varying degrees of severity. Most people affected couldn't see red and green, or blue and yellow. It was more rare for someone to lack more than two colours in one of those pairs. His lack of knowledge meant he was happy to assume it would make seeing in general a lot harder. After all, things similar in shade must blend together. Being only able to see things in varying shades of grey would make it harder for her to tell the difference between different objects. He neglected to think about depth perception, that she would be able to tell a something in the background from an object similar in shade in the foreground. It would be harder, just as it would be hard to see a pale blue object against the sky, but possible.

It was a huge relief to have this from her at last. "Thank you for telling me. We'll do all we can to help you deal with it. Can you tell the difference between Empire and Varden colours? Does it affect your fighting at all? I... I won't tell anyone if you don't want me too, unless of course it's going to be a serious hindrance in battle. We can work together at sorting out any problems you can think of," he spoke kindly and gently because of how long it had taken her to admit to this. Clearly there was a reason why she hadn't wanted to tell him. He couldn't think why she would be ashamed of something like that, but perhaps she was. Maybe she didn't want to be seen as weak or having a disability. It was a surprise to him, not completely since he'd known something was wrong, but he didn't think any less of her. He had seen her at work enough to know how much she was capable of, that she was possibly an even better fighter than him, and just knowing she was colour blind didn't change that. After all, she had been colour blind all the time he had seen her training. Simply knowing it now was hardly going to suddenly make her weak.

The long pause was enough to tell Eragon that Fasail and Aroure were conversing. Fasail had twisted around so he could not see her face, leaving him completely in the dark about their discussion.

"That's all right," he said when she apologised. The Rider-dragon pair may have been talking about what she'd just admitted. Unless there was more. "As in, disagreements over you telling me of your colour blindness, or is there something else here?" He tried not to be too harsh in speaking, unsure whether Fasail would respond better to calm and kindness or more stern and forceful methods.

[Harbor]

Eragon's consideration for how to assist her sleep was kind but unnecessary. "Thank you, but until it becomes a hindrance I will remain as I am. I have several gems hidden which help me siphon it off at need." Out of habit, and since she was trapped here in a discussion she knew Aroure wouldn't let her leave, Fàsail touched one of the three she kept on her person most days, this one sewn into her undergarments over the top and outer edge of her rib cage. She left a modicum of the simmering energy that was fizzing in her blood there, easing the burn for just a few more minutes. All of her gems were reasonably filled, but not as much as most would expect--while storing her excess energy was fruitful and useful, the fact remained that Fàsail enjoyed working it off most days. She only stored a fraction of the fuel she used each day.

Thank you for telling me. Fàsail gave a tiny smile and nod of acknowledgment. Logically, she knew that it was his right to know. But she hated giving way to the vulnerabilities that she had brought upon herself. It grated upon her pride, which rarely showed itself except when chafed in instances such as this one.

Her first instinct was to firmly say that she didn't need help, his or anyone else's, but she wasnt unhappy enough to turn down his reasonable offer when he was being so level about what she'd concealed and consequently revealed. She wondered if he would be so understanding when she was finally forced to expose the worst of this coming disability. "I can usually tell the Varden apart from other soldiers by their armor, and there aren't so many of them that I don't recognize them when I see them. I've made a point to learn the faces of all those who may find themselves on a battlefield. My ability to fight is largely unchanged. Having the sun behind me is best, as my eyes don't adjust to the light as quickly as they used to, but cloudy days are more complicated as shadows make it easier to define the end of one object and beginning of another. For objects of comparable tones I tell them apart by texture." She spoke blandly, without inflection, because if she thought of listing such facts as the failings she truly thought them to be her composure would crack again, and for once she was utilizing the passive expression most of her kind wore around the other races.

Please tell him about the magic, Aroure insisted. Make sure he understands why you don't use it. I will leave you be, for now, if you tell him that much. Otherwise he'll expect you to use it in battle, and where will we be then?

Fàsail sighed. "Aroure correctly insists that you understand why I'm colorblind. I am proficient in many small areas of magic, but despite the use to which I could put my overabundance of energy I do not have the precision of mind to work more complex spells....well. I intended to increase my ability to perceive detail when I worked the one that lost my colors, and the spell achieved that by removing the distraction of color and heightening my perception of small things." And the spell had continued its work. Fasail's vision was blurring because she was becoming more and more near-sighted. She couldn't spot an arrow among the trees, but she could count the secondary barbs on a downy feather if she held it close. She could even count the cells on a ladybug's wing.

"I would prefer to be stationed at the front of our charge," she said then, regaining some of her usual vigor. "In part because I am lazy and don't want to watch my back until I have to and because I believe it is where I will be put to the best use."

[Quetzal]

Siphoning excess energy into gems was an excellent idea. Eragon was pleased she was putting the spare energy to use. She must have a lot of it, to wear herself out as she did and still have enough left over to feed gems. As great as that sounded for boosting magic, he wasn't sure whether it counted as a blessing or a curse. Fasail would enjoy working herself to the point of collapse in a fight and would no doubt last longer than most other people, her spells boosted by the gems and her own extra energy. However, fighting was but one part of a Rider's life. He did not know what it was like to be so full of energy, but it was blatant Fasail felt a strong need to use it up. That had to be a hindrance, especially if it damaged her ability to sleep. If anything he imagined it must get very frustrating and annoying to have the constant urge to over exert yourself. He was aware Fasail hated to sit down for long meetings. Were he so afflicted, that would seriously damage his ability to carry out his day-to-day life. While it might be nice to have extra energy to fight, he'd stick to carrying extra gems or seeking the aid of Eldunari. He'd hate to have so much excess energy as Fasail.

Eragon nodded at her description of how she could tell soldiers apart. "I can't control the weather, but I'll be sure not to force you to face the Sun as much as I can," he gave a small smile. Thank goodness she was telling him all this now and not after the battle. He wouldn't make her suddenly have to face the Sun if he could help it, but obviously he would not go to extreme lengths. If someone was in more immediate danger, he'd pick helping them over preserving Fasail's vision. He assumed it was just a few seconds of being blinded by the light, not knowing the extent of her problem.

He was visibly surprised by her talk of magic. He had taken note of how she barely ever used even the simplest of spells, but had not guessed at why, assuming he just missed the times when she did use magic. Now she said it, it did make sense. Such an overabundance of energy would be harder to control, so her spells must be more powerful than she intended them to be. "If you worded spells extremely carefully, you might still be able to manage them. Or perhaps if you only cast them when you were low on energy," he said, but that wasn't really the point of why she was telling him. "I'll make a note not to rely on you for spellcasting, then. I would've expected you to do all that otherwise, so it's a good thing you're saying this."

He nodded at her request. "Sure, I want everyone to be at their very best for this fight. Gives us the best chance of winning together." He was trying to be gentle with her, but he couldn't help but feel annoyed with her. She had plenty of chances to tell him all this before. Why now, just a few days before? They had spent weeks training to best exploit her strengths and avoid her weaknesses, and all that time she'd never mentioned her biggest weaknesses to anyone, as far as he knew. That was not a smart thing to do. There was no good reason he could think of to withhold something like that. "Fasail, why didn't you just tell me this before? You've had plenty of time to do so. This is all pretty big stuff for a last-minute conversation. It's not like I'm going to kick you out the Varden or think any less of you," he tried to hide it, but a touch of his annoyance made its way into his tone.

[Harbor]

Fàsail nodded her gratitude. "Of course." She knew he couldn't protect her from the sun, and he knew that wasn't what she'd asked. He had too much else to worry about--far more than Fàsail could have handled--without trying to find a way to keep the sun from shining on her. Besides, this was Fasail's problem, and she had both the right and the responsibility to accommodate for and fix it herself. Her right had somewhat passed by now, seeing as she'd been unable to do so herself, but she still had to find whatever means she could. Surely she wouldn't go entirely blind. Surely, if she did, she wouldn't be trapped that way forever.

"Perhaps," she allowed, to his suggestion of more precise wording. As for waiting for her stores of energy were depleted, "That's not always convenient." As a minimum she had to have enough time to shove enough magic into her gems that her magic wouldn't go awry, but not so much that the spell would harm her, and then she needed to take the energy back out to return to the battle her hypothetical situation had placed her in. In everyday situations it was ungainly but workable. As for not relying on her, that was good. He should know that she wasn't reliable, and couldn't safely assist with magic.

His annoyance didn't in any way bother her: she had earned it. Again she hesitated before answering, but this time not because she was debating whether or not she should but because she wanted to be sure she said it in such a way that he understood her properly the first time. Eragon was one of those with whom she spoke who understood her nearly all of the time without her needing to repeat herself; she would have valued his company for that alone, though there were other contributing factors now.

At last she touched her fingers to the inner corners of her eyes, pressing them to the bridge of her nose. She couldn't face him directly. "Because I am ashamed," she answered softly. "Because my people are known, revered and feared for their strength and acuity of mind. To confess that I am so lacking in the trait we value so highly that I have caused myself irreparable harm to the extent that it may well cause great harm to others through my ineptitude is...." She shook her head. Maintaining a relatively steady voice had been a challenge, and she had heard where the emotion broke through.

Aroure lightly nudged Fasail's shoulder, and Fàsail brought her hand down to firmly push her long snout away. "I don't need comfort right now, Aroure."

The lavender dragon growled at her. That isn't what I was doing, I was getting your attention to tell you something else.

Fàsail knew what that something else was. "Thank you but I don't need to hear that I am good enough for you. Good enough is not enough for me; I wanted to be excellent. Or at least just good would have done. But I--" She forced herself to breathe. She felt like her ribs were tightening around her, beginning to slowly heat again, but this time they didn't smolder, they scorched inward with the intent to burn. "I used to draw, and paint, with colors, and I used to be the most creative fighter I knew. Now I simply fight dirty because I can barely keep up any other way." And how would she draw when she couldn't see? What would she do with herself then?

[Quetzal]

Eragon supposed that only casting when low on energy would indeed not be convenient. It would restrict the times when she could cast a spell, else she'd be forced to spend ages faffing about cramming energy into gems. Afterwards, having low energy to start with would leave her even weaker than usual. Surely it was still better than nothing. Maybe she'd tried that already. It seemed likely to him that she was too frightened to use her magic again for anything more than the simplest of spells. Such a dire consequence as losing colour vision was enough to deter anyone from risking something like that again. Now was hardly the time to press her to use magic. She might panic and let a spell go awry, and it was a terribly uncomfortable position to be put in on top of that. In time, were they both to survive this war, he might manage to coax her into exploring how much of her magic was safe to use.

Ashamed? He didn't see why she should be ashamed, but then again he was no elf. He knew their culture well, but he'd never truly be able to tell what went on in their minds. To a human, a visual impairment was highly annoying and varying costly depending on how you earned a living. Never shameful. He could understand her points about the shame of having done this to herself. Ridicule came to most who gave themselves injuries, but everyone knew how fickle magic was. Most humans would have blamed the magic and not Fasail, but an elf... Eragon tried to be more empathetic, thinking himself into Fasail's shoes. Magic was the pride of the elves. Elves without magical ability, few though they were, were never spoken of much and looked down upon. All Riders were gifted magical prowess in excess of that of the average elf through their dragons' connection to magic itself. Elven Riders should therefore have prestigious power, as they usually proved true. For an elf Rider to be damage themselves so greatly with the gift they should have been mastering since they could walk, he could suddenly see how huge a shame it must be to fail. Elves and Riders were so surrounded by legend and tales of magic they were expected to use it as easy as breathing. For a moment Eragon thought he felt a small insight into how Fasail must feel. He'd never considered what it would be like for a Rider or elf to be bad at magic before, the idea was too alien, which only made the shame of it worse.

Despite what Fasail said to Aroure, Eragon felt awkward just standing their while she poured her heart out to him. He moved closer but stopped himself from placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. He kept his posture open and expression concerned so it was plain he was ready to embrace her, hold her hand or put an arm around her if she wanted it. It was odd how sometimes Psychical contact with someone you trusted made you feel so much better.

Her emotion was greater than he'd ever heard from her before. The discrepancy between this and her usual determined fiery self was startling. It was healthy to open up. Saphira and Brom had taught him that much. He understood the feeling of having to be excellent much better than he did the magic thing. "I know the feeling. There have been countless times when I've succeeded, but then I think about some way it could have been even better and I still feel like I've failed. I completely understand what you're saying there. With the magic thing, I won't deny that you caused yourself the damage, but I think maybe the wild nature of magic is in part to blame. I might not be an elf, but I can see why you must be ashamed there." He wasn't certain how deep her shame was, only that it was real and strong enough to make her deny any problem at cost to herself.

"I can't give you back your colours, your painting, or your creative fighting, but I've seen how well you can compensate. Most of the Riders will fly into battle; your eyes will be so close seeing through Aroure's might help if it came to it. There's no time now, but after the war there may be a way to fix your eyes. I doubt I'll be of much help. Healing magic was never my strong suit," he thought of the blessing he'd tried to give Elva. He was loath to try using any magic on the body of a friend after that abominable screw-up. "There are good healers out there, and scholars who might be able to figure out how to eliminate the magic lingering in your eyes." It must be a huge challenge for Fasail to sit and think for ages about her affliction, so it was probably for the best she found someone else to do it. Plenty of healers and academics were happy to go out of their way if it meant helping an elf, let alone a Rider.

"Until then, it might be necessary to tell at least some of the other Riders. We could lie, if that helps. Tell them the magic that cost your colour vision was the work of a powerful spellcaster you fought once. Maybe he restricted your ability to use magic in the process, just like what happened to Oromis," he suggested. He doubted she'd be the sort to want to lie, but the alternative wasn't pleasant either.

[Harbor]

Fàsail was relieved to hear that Eragon wasn't about to give her some nonsense of the nature that she ought to feel differently. Such tactics had never failed to irritate her, and few things genuinely did. Just to be understood was enough of a comfort as she could want, since people telling her she would be just fine was foolish as well as pointless. No one could know the future. To pretend to do so merely vexed those you pretended to. She sighed. "Thank you for not trying to tell me some nonsense about having hope in the grayest of times," she said, heartfelt, but clearly expressing her opinion on such trite statements. Glad he wasn't as foolish as many people, she gave him a smile and reached up to lightly touch his cheek. He'd do fine things, this one. If he didn't get ahead of himself he'd help the world toward a more peaceful way of living.

Fàsail dropped her hand. "Perhaps," she allowed with a sigh. "But now isn't the time to ask them about it." The healers needed all the strength they had for the coming battle. Two tides were going to crash together and whether or not the land or people between them survived remained to be seen. Fasail's best hope was that there were still people left to save when they were through.

She paced, her typical restlessness reasserting itself now that her focus was no longer concentrated on her own discomfort. At his suggestion she gave a short laugh and shook her head. "I would rather accept the pity I wrought myself than a glory I fabricated. Tell who you must. At least I no longer have to do it." She tipped her head from side to side, stretching out the cramps from her neck to shoulders, and asked, "Can we walk? I've reached my capacity for this wretched stillness." She gave Aroure's snout a pat. "Staying here, Purple?" Aroure snorted. "All right then."

"What do you suppose you'll do after the war, Eragon?" she asked then, curious.

[Quetzal]

Eragon smiled at Fasail's thanks. It had been nothing, really. He said nothing, accepting the thanks. Her hand went up to touch his face, which he allowed, unsure whether the light touch of her fingers on his cheek was nice or uncomfortable.

The pacing was a warning she was gettingetting fed up with standing still. He'd been offended when she'd first done that, thinking it rude, but since then he'd learned that it wasn't anything personal. Fasail just could not stand still for very long. It was that excess energy thing of hers. For some reason it demanded use, as he understood, which seemed to make stillness unbearable.

"Not as all," he agreed, starting off at a brisk pace so it might rid her of just a little more energy. His legs were well bruised but by now he'd learned to ignore it and work out the kinks. It was good to stretch his legs. "I have to admit I haven't given it as much thought as I should have. It's weird to think that it'll all be over. I suspect my work as a Rider will be far from done. I'll try keeping the peace. Coming up with terms and treaties, making sure anyone in power is regulated and happy... you?"

[Harbor]

Fasail stepped brightly after him, relieved to be moving again. Her bones got to stay inside her skin another day, much to their dismay and her amusement. Poor Eragon was probably stiff all over, but the walking ought to do him well. She would try not to keep him too long though—too much politeness was required of him on a daily basis to allow him to request a stop even when he was with a friend. She hoped at least that he considered her a friend. She had a handful of human ones now, to add to the elven ones, once the humans of the Varden had realized that she was not as cool and distant as many of her kin. Fasail was averse to forming genuine connections to anyone likely to die before she did, however, so none of the other friendships she had made were likely to last after the war.

After the war. It seemed like such a long way away. As though it was an ocean that they had been crossing for so long they and their entire crew had forgotten that they were looking for land. There was just water, everywhere, and nothing else to do but learn to use it. Eragon’s assessment matched her own—how strange it would be when it was over. ”I wonder how many people will not know what to do with themselves at the end,” she mused. ”Once a man climbs a mountain, how can he bring himself to go down if it’s a whole new world on the other side?” Perhaps that wasn’t the best comparison, but she hadn’t sat and ruminated on that one long enough to make it any clearer. Fasail’s comparisons tended to be slightly off what most people seemed to think they expected, but if she’d expended enough effort on them, they all tended to fit where they didn’t seem to be intended to. ”I don’t envy you,” she said to his prediction of his own future. ”I would likely start another war if I tried to take your place.” Mincing her words wasn’t one of her talents. Most of the people she didn’t like she was allowed to hit, and it was a difficult habit to curb.

Fasail sighed, smiling up at the frothy grayness of the leaves high above them, imagining the many shades of green they probably were, shot through with yellow from the sun, and blue from the sky. ”I shall explore until I forget who I am and where I came from,” she said decidedly, and in truth this adventure had been decided a long time ago. ”I was about to, when Aroure hatched. I was going to stay with the dwarves until I thought I understood them, and the Urgals—they’re such fascinating people, if you find the right clan—and the humans and their many different factions. I love to learn about different places, and ways of living. The only downside is that most of the people I meet will up and die before I even begin to feel aged.” A frown drifted across her face. One of Fasail’s greatest regrets besides her own magical disability was how she struggled to distance herself from the deaths of others. Even strangers’ deaths cut at her like glass she had run her hand through. As capable of absorbing details as she was, Fasail could look at a common woman’s clothes and know that the woman carded lumpy wool, added scent to her tallow candles, had let down and taken up all of her own clothes, was handy with a potato peeler, and was deeply sentimental, as was proven by the child-woven bracelet around her left wrist. And because the woman was dead Fasail would be miserable for her because to her the woman’s name didn’t matter—she wasn’t a stranger anymore. Nobody was, if Fasail had seen them long enough to remember them.

”I wonder how Aroure will fare if I spend a year or two living with the dwarves,” she surmised then, more to draw herself out of her own dusty feelings than to consider their future. ”It may make a true immersion difficult.”

[Quetzal]

Eragon did indeed think of Fasail as a friend, and knew the elf thought something similar to that with regards to him. He got the impression she was the sort who would make it clear if she did not like him, and there was no way she would have told him what she just had unless she trusted him deeply. He would do his best not to betray that trust in return.

He smiled. "It will be hard for many soldiers to return to normal lives after going through all this. Many will be pretty lost. After so much action and terror, a quiet life with a normal job raising a family will seem slow and dull. Some will adjust, others will really struggle," he replied. He'd talked to the soldiers enough to see that. Most longed for home, but plenty of these he could see would be restless now they'd had a taste of adventure. He felt sorry for those people. Their place was with their families, but that would never feel like enough. At the same time, doing anything as dangerous as this would be too frightening. They were condemned to be unsatisfied for the rest of their lives.

Exploring sounded like a good plan for Fasail. Eragon couldn't help but think that perhaps her sight, or the lack of it, would be a hindrance to those plans. He didn't say anything. She would figure it out, and he was confident they may some day find a solution or a healer capable of reversing the spell. Perhaps there would be a cost, as seemed the way with magic, but it would probably be better than going blind. Seeing wasn't so important in learning about others, but it was in fighting, most exercise and in running around the world. He himself had spent a long time with the dwarves and found them to be pleasant on the whole. All the intelligent races were good at heart, he believed and had experienced so far, however different their cultures were. "The dwarves still have big rooms cut into the mountainsides for visiting dragons. They respect them, but won't suck up to them so much as other peoples. They're an interesting people, if you can stand being underground for long periods of time. I can see you getting along well with the Urgals. With all that energy of yours they would be happy to challenge you for strength," he knew Urgal culture was heavily centred on physical strength. Fasail would have no shortage of opportunities to overexert herself.

[Harbor]

”They could always join the army,” she suggested. ”Run properly, it will give them the exertion they need to curb any lingering bloodlust.” She spoke matter-of-factly, knowing how the throbbing adrenalin left over from battle could be heady for many, and downright dangerous for some. Her own she had predominantly under control, being familiar with the need to siphon off excesses, and when needed she tended to grant what energy she could to the healers that could accept it, and then took a sprint for as long as it took to feel as though she would sleep for a reasonable amount of time by the time she returned to her bed or cot that night.

Fasail outright grinned at the prospect of challenging the willing urgals—she was sure there would be many, once they believed her in her intent to spar with them—to matches of strength or anything else exerting. ”That sounds absolutely lovely,” she sighed, having not considered that particular upside before. Mostly she was attracted to the urgals because most other people avoided them, and Fasail enjoyed engaging in activities that were commonly categorized as ‘mad’. ”Perhaps I ought to begin when we return to camp. We’re sure to be an inspiring entertainment.” It was just a matter of neither side inadvertently or unintentionally harming the other. There were healers aplenty, but they needed their strength, and many may not be up to the task of reknitting whatever muscles she and the urgals may have torn in their efforts to best one another. ”Nar Garhzvog seems promising, but that could be a compromising position for him if I beat him.” She pursed her lips, pleased by her moment of diplomatic insight. ”I’m sure there are plenty other worthy individuals. Or groups.” Groups were fun—they challenged her in ways she wasn’t able to commonly test.

{I’m running out of ideas for them to talk about. Should we try to spice up the thread or start another?}

[Quetzal]

An army would be good for them, yes. Eragon sorely hoped they would have no need for an army after all this civil war business was done. Sure, they would have one just in case and to deter anyone else from revolting again, but it would be a huge shame to work so hard for peace only to have it broken.

Eragon laughed aloud when she talked of wrestling with urgals as soon as they got back to the camp. He wasn't sure who would win if she managed to pick a fight with Nar Garhzvog. She was faster, but if they were fighting the urgal way, throwing their weight around and trying to be as forceful as possible with their shoving and punching, Nar Garhzvog might be victorious. She was strong, but the kull was immense and far heavier as well as most likely matching or exceeding her in strength. "I'd like to see that," he smiled, "and I genuinely don't know who would win. There are quite a few kull around who are about eight feet tall, they might be challenging even for you," he suggested. He could imagine it now. The urgals would all come along to cheer on one of their own, and the other soldiers would definitely gather around to watch a sight as rare as that. Bets would be placed, no doubt. He wouldn't mind seeing the look on the urgals' faces if Fasail won.

((Either's fine by me, I'm running out of things too. I can't think of a way to spice things up, but you can feel free to throw whatever you like in here. If not, I'll just have Eragon go off to his next meeting))