Self-Immolation

[Harbor]

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The day that Fasail woke up nearly entirely blind came earlier than she could have expected. She had taken mental track of how her sight worked and when it failed, in what situations. Without using magic to examine the workings of her dying eyes it was hard to know what exactly was falling apart inside them, but she suspected from her prior studies of anatomy that, after destroying the cones of her eyes, the rods had begun to weaken as well.

When she woke up that day all she could see were swaths of light and shadow. It was as though the world stood behind an ivory quilt and she was looking through it. Patches of shadow if the light was bright enough, and even looking at the sun didn’t cause her pain. She could see the outline of her own wrist if she held it right in front of a source of strong light, but her fingers were too slim to cast a dark enough shadow. Everyone else in the world, including Aroure, had turned into a gray-shrouded ghost.

Aroure tried to comfort her, working her head into Fasail’s tent, as Fasail prevented herself from being sick because she didn’t want to have to hide the results or use magic to vanish them. You haven’t lost everything, she reminded her softly, with a tone as close to urgency as Fasail had ever heard her use. You can still see light, and shape. You aren’t trapped in the darkness.

I did this to myself, Fasail moaned. Her nails dug into her skin underneath her hair as she rocked on her cot, every muscle tensed. I just wanted to be able to draw things that no one else could see and look at what I’ve done to myself.

Ask Blodgharm if he would—

I don’t want help.

So you’re going to try to do it yourself, is that it?

You know I can’t.

Aroure retracted her head with attentive care. Then I’m going to ask Blodgharm.

Fasail shot to her feet. ”Aroure don’t you dare!” She reached for her and stopped abruptly at the tent’s entrance. It was too late, the dragon was gone. And Fasail was disconsolate.

But nothing said she had to wait for Blodgharm to appear. Fasail found her dagger by touch and left everything else behind—her waterflask, her staff. She was lucky she’d fallen asleep in the previous day’s trousers, boots, belt and tunic, as she was in no mood to care what others thought of her. She flung the flap back after reaching toward the air that held the most warmth, where the sun must be coming through the opening, stumbling as her foot caught an edge of the tent. She could see the difference between the sky and the horizon, but nothing else was close enough or tall enough for her to be able to distinguish it, so Fasail circled around to the back of her tent, which was near enough to the edge of the camp that Aroure had room to sleep and Fasail could take off for her runs if she felt the need to. Now, with stumps and cookfires still about and invisible, was a poor time to run. But she could tell by the voices and the snapping of early-morning fires when she was past the majority of the hazards, and broke into a sprint.

Until she hit the trees there were few things Fasail could run into that would cause her irreparable damage. When the light hills dipped she jarred her knees catching herself, but she wanted to run until the air in her lungs began to burn, until her bones turned to cinders and blew away. Until she could forget what she’d done. Rarely did Fasail have cause, with her attitude toward life, to disapprove of or regret her own actions, but today she resented them, and felt as though shame lay on her skeleton like chainmail shaped especially to her, and locked into place, never to be removed.

Aroure felt Fasail leaving. She knew Fasail would never intentionally harm herself, but her Rider had a peculiar vice for allowing harm to come to herself for sometimes illogical reasons. ”Saphira?” she called, deciding that perhaps Blodgharm was not the best choice of person, today, to speak with a Rider who, at present, felt absolutely no need to ever stop running. ”Where is Eragon? May I speak with him?”

It was early yet. Aroure hoped Saphira wouldn't mind her intrusion, and picked her way to Eragon's tent, assuming he would still be there, and loomed over it, nudging at the wooden poles that held it up. "Eragon. I need you." She didn't want to encroach on the young man's mind, but she pressed firmly against it when she found it, hoping that he would hear.

{Hope this isn't godmodding--I left it vague, so he may or may not be in the tent and other whatnots.} 

[Quetzal]

((It's fine, dw))

Saphira's wings were stretched out in the morning sky, the crisp spring chill waking her up sharply. Eragon was still asleep. He might need to get up early to fit in more training this close to the battle, but it was too early for her to feel the need to wake him. He needed to be well rested as well as trained to fight. Worry had gripped his mind recently, too, and fear, so he often spent long night hours giving up on even trying to sleep, turning to books or more training instead. Let him sleep while he had the chance. Below her rang out the dawn chorus as the much smaller occupants of the skies awoke too. In almost all directions everything was still and calm. Only at the camp just behind her and Uru'baen behind that showed signs of tension.

Aroure startled her from her daydreaming. Recognising the foreign mind immediately, she relaxed her mental barriers enough to allow her to speak. Merely from the feel of her mind she could tell something was very wrong, though she could not say what. "Aroure, of course," she said, sending an image of Eragon's tent with the words. Communicating via feelings, ideas and images was something she did automatically, more so with Eragon who understood better or other dragons who sometimes did the same. It was simply a lot quicker than trying to relay the same thing in words.

Aroure would stretch out to find Eragon's mind now. That wasn't hard to guess. It would be best if he was awake for that. They hadn't completely shut off their connection for a long time now, so she had no need to find his mind. She simply found the channel in her own mind, the unbreakable bond, and spoke to her Rider through that. "Eragon, wakey wakey," she felt him stir, his mind joining hers and strengthening as he woke.

"Saphira, it's so early. I'm tired. What's the matter?"

"Aroure is going to contact your mind in a moment, and I thought you should be awake for it," she sent him the memory of the brief interaction.

Eragon sat up abruptly. There was no need to get dressed if it was only a mental interaction, but it still felt odd to talk about something that could only be urgent when only just woken up. His eyes didn't want to open, and a foot poked out from his bedroll to test the air but quickly retracted again. It was cold outside, and warm and snug under the covers. It couldn't hurt to stay in just a little longer. Not a moment later, he felt Aroure's mind and let her speak to him. She needed him. Whatever this was it had to be important else she would not have gone to the trouble of finding him at this time and probably not long after she had woken up either. She must have gone to him swiftly after this problem occurred. "I'll be with you as soon as I can," he promised. This all gave him the motivation needed to get out of bed. He hurriedly pulled on some clothes for the day, leather to offer some protection, strapped Brisingr in its sheath to his hip, then rushed outside.

He realised he didn't actually know where Aroure was. Saphira was flying towards him, looking out for the purple dragon. He quickly reached out for the mind that had just made contact with his before he lost it completely. "Aroure, where are you? I can come and fine you." He scanned the skies hopefully.

[Harbor]

Aroure resisted the urge to pace urgently, frustrated by the lack of a clear path from Fasail's tent to Eragon's. as soon as she felt Eragon's acknowledgment of the faint pressure she was exerting to reach him, she continued, anxious. She'd never seen Fàsail this....desperate. Driven before her unhappiness and guilt like a slave before a thundering cart and a man with a whip. "Fàsail is....upset. Frantic. I've been trying to help her for months but there's nothing I can DO, she'll run herself to death but if I try to stop her when she's fighting me I may squish her and she knows she's more likely to harm you if she fights you and is therefore less likely to. PLEASE stop her before she hits the trees?" Fàsail wouldn't let a little thing like trees stop her.

Desperate to see that Fàsail hadn't impaled herself already, Aroure threw herself into the air, gaining altitude until she found her Rider again, still sprinting as though chasing down her last chance at life, her booted feet pounding at the uneven ground. Unable to see the way the shallow hills sloped before her, she stumbled frequently but hadn't yet fallen. A miracle.

"I'm above you and west," she said, realizing that Eragon had reestablished contact between them. "Fàsail is already two leagues out of camp in the same direction." Aroure tilted her wings and brought herself to circle several hundred feet above Fàsail, not wanting her to feel cornered if all three of them came to question her at once.

*

Fàsail wished that she could run forever. If she ran fast enough could she chase down the last of her minutes of sight, or of color? There was only so much her imagination could do to save her from the black and white--how would it fare faced all with one swath of black, broken through sometimes with gray?

The chill of the air was nice. If it had a color she would have painted it as pale blue just touched with green. A washed out version of spring grass still bowed from the memory of snow, touched with frost and the hope for a fruitful summer. Feeling the bent over stalks snapping and knotting around her shins and ankles wasn't enough. She wanted to sit before the half-frozen flower buds, with their translucent skins still hiding their faces, and guess the bright hue of their petals. If nothing else she wanted at least to be able to look out over a field and know that the flowers were there.

But that part of her life was done now. She'd never do either of those things again. Fàsail had spent all of her life giving all of her efforts to a variety of things--learning acrobatics, drawing, painting, becoming a Rider, learning to fight, learning to defend--what would she give herself to now if she could no longer do any of those things? Simply become an advisor? Her stomach lurched at the thought.

This couldn't be the end.

Fasail heard wings overhead and assumed they belonged to Aroure until the dragon landed before her--a dragon's landing was as specific as a two-legged creature's stride, and Fàsail had learned to recognize the rhythm of it. But she couldn't guess quite how close or far the dragon had come down and her feet skidded out from under her as she hastened to stop, tumbling back, and caught herself on one hand. When she recognized the voice that spoke she felt herself whiten further; somewhere in her panic she had imagined she might be able to simply run away, to not have to face the human she so admired, who also happened to be one of the few people with the power to tell her what to do. To tell her to leave, which was different from running away of her own accord. Being sent would imply that he agreed she was useless.

Fasail righted herself on the uneven ground almost instantly, though her balance was off, and she spread her hands shallowly at her sides briefly as though she expected to fall again.

"I don't need your help!" she shouted, barely restraining the sound of what would have been a misplaced accusation, coming out more as a warning. She looked in his direction, knowing her eyes were instinctively wide in an attempt to see anything they could, and unable to help it. Her chest heaved as she fought to drag air in and out, and even past the exertion she'd just put herself through already her bones felt as though they might burst into flames at any moment if she didn't run and let the wind punch them out. She shifted backward, wondering if she could edge around Saphira by estimate alone, and quailed at the thought of looking foolish when she did so.

[Quetzal]

All traces of sleep were gone from Eragon as Aroure begged frantically for his help. He didn't understand what she meant by hitting the trees, assuming she must be running towards them. The worst thing he could think of about reaching the trees was that it would be harder to find her and for a dragon to land. It was blatant that something was seriously wrong here, something new, something terrible enough to make a dragon so concerned for their Rider. "We'll be right with you," he said firmly. He almost added 'don't' worry', but thought the better of it. There was no point in telling Aroure that. For one, she had every reason to worry. She seemed genuinely frightened for her Rider. The phrase was pointless also because it was an empty phrase. He had no idea how much help he was going to be. Fasail might listen to him, but how much would that help? He didn't even know what this was about, he could hardly start making promises now.

Without having to say a word to her, Saphira knew he needed her to carry him from what was going on in his anxious mind struggling to stay calm. She tilted to one side, dipping her wing to wheel about in a tight circle so that it was a straight path to the young man. She launched into a dive with a gentle gradient, travelling diagonally downwards through the air to land in front of Eragon's tent. She hated to see another dragon as upset as Aroure was. Wishing to get to her aid as quickly as possible, she practically threw herself back into the sky before Eragon had even got a secure hold on her back. Startled, he clung to the spike in front for dear life.

"Careful! You're not wearing a saddle, I'm not strapped in, remember?" he complained as she beat her wings hard, trying to catch the wind to speed her progress.

"You weren't going to fall, you know I can tell that pretty well by now. We have to hurry, so excuse me if it's no luxury pleasure trip!" Her tone made it plain she was in no mood for him complaining of trivial things when a friend was clearly in some serious trouble.

Following Aroure's directions, they spied the purple dragon against the steadily brightening and deepening blue sky with little trouble and followed after her. Both of them scanned the ground. The fast movement caught their eyes, and they Saphira sped up in pursuit. Flying was quicker than running, even with the elf at full pelt. She could see her stumbling, the going slower than her usual flat-out sprinting. That was wrong. "She's stumbling. She's slower than before," she pointed it out to Eragon.

She landed some way in front of Fasail so she wouldn't have the time to run past while Eragon slid off her back. He rushed forward, ignoring the chaffed, stiff feeling in his legs. It was too short a flight for the scales to break his skin, so there was no lasting damage and he had more important things to deal with. He saw her stop suddenly, and fall, catching herself. His eyes widened in surprised. She never fell. This was easy, open ground, if a little bumpy. It was not like Fasail to trip. "Fasail!" he called, starting to move closer. He saw her pale, righten herself, then shout. He stopped in his tracks then. She sounded almost angry at him, as if he'd done something wrong. Her stance was as though she thought she was going to fall again. Her eyes were looking at him, but didn't really look as though they were aimed precisely at his face. They were wide, pupils larger than would be expected of the current lighting. They were slightly off focus too.

Anger often covered up fear, shame, or misery, in a person like Fasail. He had to be careful, kind, as understanding as he possibly could to tease whatever this sensitive issue was. Joining the dots, he guessed that it was to do with her eyesight. Aroure said she'd been helping her for months, so it was a long lasting problem. Her eyes did not look as though they were looking at him despite being in his direction, and she was clumsy all of a sudden. Aroure had been worried about her hitting the trees. She was already colour blind, and felt a huge shame about that since the problem had arisen from her own magic. This might just be related to that. "Fasail, it's- you can trust me," he stopped himself from saying 'it's OK' in time, because clearly it wasn't, "and you can tell me what's wrong. If you don't need my help, you must need someone else's help, because you're stumbling and falling all over the place. Whatever the matter is, tell me as much or as little as you want, but please don't run from help if you really need it! You'll only hurt yourself more." He made an effort to keep his voice as calm as possible. He regretted slightly mentioning her stumbling, knowing it might hurt to point out that they had been noticed.

[Harbor]

”Fasail, it’s—” At first she thought he was going to say “Fasail, it’s Eragon.” And he would have known already what was wrong, what she’d done. But when he reminded her of the trust she could have in him, which she wished she didn’t have to use like this, she knew he’d been about to say something else. But it couldn’t have been anything worse than what she’d thought he was saying originally. With the trees and Saphira behind him—she sensed Aroure hovering, distantly nearby—she couldn’t see his outline, though she thought there may be a curve at the vague horizon she somewhat saw that might be Saphira’s spine. ”I know,” she insisted, voice hoarse, knowing she was being uncooperative. But Aroure could have told them Fasail had a history of refusing help when she needed it. She loved finding her own solutions. If there were any.

Hurt yourself more. Fasail wasn’t physically hurt. Chances were she’d let herself come to physical harm by the end of this regardless of what happened today though. Sometimes it felt like the only way to let the fire out was through gaps in her skin, which she would not inflict on herself, but she would permit other forces to. Like tree branches, sharp stones.

The kindness, the concern in his voice was incongruous with the sharp edges in her mind. Her hands came up to grip her hair again and she turned away, briefly, nearly spinning in place. Immobility had its uses—it forced her to speak in the hopes that he’d let her leave. At least temporarily. She didn’t know if she could in good conscience leave permanently. At last she voiced the first of her assembled miseries. She turned to face him again. ”I lied to you. I lied to you!” And now she must explain why she’d disrespected him so. ”I told you I was colorblind and that’s only half of the mess I’ve made for myself. The spell was meant to increase my perception of detail, remember?” She shook her head and tangled her hands in her hair again. ”Well it worked splendidly—I could see the seeds on a blade of grass—but I’d become nearsighted. My sight has blurred even further as time progressed and now I can count the cells in my skin if my finger is touching my eye but beyond that everything is a mass of gray and shadows. I’m blind, Eragon, and I told you I was fine.” Her mouth worked as she tried to shape the words she wanted to say to herself but she felt first were owed to him. ”I’m sorry.”

Fasail raised her face to the sky because it was better to look at hazy light than hazy darkness, and wondered how high Aroure was, and whether or not she could see her. She wondered if looking through Aroure’s eyes would still allow her, with some adjustment, to do some of the things she loved. Drawing of course, painting perhaps. Fighting….maybe. Someday. But for now she was out of the running. They were about to attempt to siege the capitol, Galbatorix himself, and through her own ineptitude Fasail had been dropped from the ranks. Others would move ahead and she would be left behind.

”I don’t know what I’ll do,” she whispered. ”How am I supposed to fight when my first enemy is myself?” How was she supposed to lead a more sedentary life? She would have to habituate herself to siphoning off the vast majority of her excessive energies, when she already divested herself of a considerable amount throughout her days. But what would she do with herself when for the last century she had been occupying herself with as many activities as she could physically handle without killing herself and now she couldn’t consistently run without assistance?

[Quetzal]

Eragon wasn't in the least bit surprised when Fasail replied stubbornly. He had expected as much. He could understand why she might react in that way, having such a strong sense of independence the mere idea of becoming in the slightest way reliant on others was repulsive. That was the impression he got, anyway. Sometimes people just needed space, and Fasail needed enough of that to run for hours on end without meeting another person. Normally, he was fine with her being that way. It was simply how she was. Presently, on the other hand, it was frustrating and annoying. If she knew she should get help, why didn't she?! Blatantly this was not a small matter. As long as she trusted someone, Eragon highly doubted they would think any less of her for asking for help.

Then the bombshell was dropped. Eragon stared in shocked silence for a moment, allowed a silence to swell and rage in the background. "You... lied. Why would you lie about something like that?" Letting a need to refuse help go that far was foolish, and Fasail was no fool in his eyes! Anger was finally starting to creep into his voice. He stared at her apparently unseeing eyes, rubbing his forehead with his fingers, unsure what to make of this. He knew she trusted him, he knew she hadn't even told anyone else about being colour blind, so found it hard to think why she had held back something so vital. Seeing in shades of grey was one thing, not seeing at all another thing entirely.

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Saphira's voice spoke sharply. "Eragon," she warned, bringing him out of his steadily worsening anger.

He paused, calmed himself, and forced himself to be more understanding. "I accept your apology. So... this has been getting worse and worse? You should have said, I would have made allowances... I could have done something to help, found a way to stop it! Why didn't you tell someone sooner?" he moved closer, but slowly, not wanting to startle her by suddenly being much nearer. His tone was not unkind now, more concerned. Fasail had made a bad decision. It may be in the past, but its affects had really caught up with her.

The whisper gave him a rare glimpse at a more vulnerable side of Fasail. He had no doubt she trusted him now. Surely she was careful to never seem like this to anyone. "I can't tell you what to do, but there's no way you should stop being active. Someone like you has to keep powering through, should never stop fighting. You can't release that excess energy any other way, right? I think you're going to have to take a lesson from the humans and adapt to survive. There has to be a way, somehow, to keep going. Aroure's eyes, would they help? There must be some way to unweave this spell, however complicated. You have other senses, too. Do you think you could learn to hear things? Or feel the life around you with your mind?" he asked. He was thinking aloud now, mind racing to come up with any idea that Fasail might latch onto, hoping she could find something that suited her. He doubted she would want to have to rely on someone else's senses, even with something as severe as the loss of sight.

[Harbor]

”You….lied.” Fasail felt as though her insides had solidified and now were beginning to fracture. ”Yes,”. She lifted a hand to cover her eyes, unable even to pretend she could see him. Her lips trembled. ”Because I am so proud of my other skills that I was only more ashamed of what I lacked, and the fact that I did this to myself. My people are prized for their magic and the fact that we are revered for something in which I cannot partake has been humiliating!” And this was just as terrible, to have deceived someone whom she had convinced to trust her, and whom she cared about, and to know that she deserved neither his trust nor any considerations from him.

Fasail’s hand dropped at his next words. ”I have never wanted allowances! I will carry my own weight if it drives me into the ground, Eragon. I won’t be the person whom everyone has to tiptoe around because the vibrations in the water might tip over my fragile lily pad!” The thought of being babied, patronized, in such a fashion turned her stomach to acid, threatening to eat through the cracks in her skin and fall down to earth. ”I’ve already been questioned and examined by the elves of my own city—they could come up with nothing to change what I’ve done. I doubt anything will have changed that. There was no point in telling anyone and lengthening the time for which they could pity me until I could no longer hide it.” Unsaid, that she would never have confided in him if she hadn’t been utterly forced to do it.

Fasail nodded and shook her head in the appropriate places. Of course she would continue being active, somehow. She would learn to crochet if forced to. With Aroure’s cooperation she could continue running until her knees gave out, without breaking anything in the process. But the question remained of how would she ever fight others again without risking harm to those she didn’t intend to hurt? ”Aroure can help me run but in a true battle she needs to look after herself. In sparring, with practice I will be able to avoid accidentally maiming anyone. But the both of us cannot fight together again.” Saying the words, which she hadn’t ordered in her mind before but had miserably understood, stiffened in her throat and not for the first time Fasail felt as though she might vomit. To never fight together again with her sister of the sky. For Aroure to have to fight alone and Fasail to wait behind safe lines of soldiers and wait to see if someone would tell her the other half of her heart was dead. ”I can sense minds, not arms and legs. If ever someone invents the spell that would allow me to do so they are welcome to experiment on me, but I won’t do it myself.” Hearing, too, could only tell her so much. The coil of air around a weapon, but not the angle of said weapon. She could get close…. But by any gods of any world, to achieve such a perception would take years. Decades. She was not an owl. Her ears weren’t meant to be so precise, despite how sharp they were in comparison with human standards. It would be worse than learning to walk again.

Fasail’s lips nearly cracked from the effort of offering the tiniest of smiles. ”Don’t worry, Eragon. I’ll survive. It’s just a matter of learning how not to burn things down while I figure out how to be happy.” She could still feel the ache of her body’s disuse crackling up her spine and through her shoulder blades, but she’d had to learn to tolerate and ignore it for short periods in her life, and could at need, despite rarely seeing the need. If she began running again now Eragon would be within his rights—and likely his desire—to let her go, and Fasail knew she wouldn’t have the courage to face these people again having abandoned them even once. Once was all it took. Swallowing, she said again, ”I’m sorry. Please understand that I withheld this out of sheer selfishness and my inhibition had nothing to do with my opinion of you. I happen to like you, and that has never stopped me."

[Quetzal]

Racking his brain for more solutions, Eragon struggled desperately to find something that might help. Fasail was right, there was no substitute for sight, but that didn't stop him wanting to try. Fasail was upset, visibly so, more upset than he had ever seen here before. Life went on even when some things were left discarded on the way. Sight was a terrible thing to discard. Life might go on without it, but of what quality? The majority of people could see, so nothing was made with those who could not in mind. Many people were completely understanding of conditions such as these, but as Fasail had plainly expressed, she did not want to be tiptoed around, treated differently. He had experienced something similar since becoming a Rider, but that was a far more positive thing, being treated like a great person by most rather than as someone to be careful and gentle around like a person with an impairment.

Her points were all perfectly valid, his suggestions had been shots in the dark. No one had yet taken the time to find a way to allow a warrior to fight while blind. As far as he was aware, throughout history if a warrior went blind, their fighting days were over. That would never suit Fasail. There was a chance in time she might learn to enjoy something else. She had liked painting before - but that was impossible without functioning eyes. A Rider like her had to fight too. He had not heard of a blind Rider before, and surely if there had been one they had learned to adapt and find a way to carry on fighting. Even a scholarly life, as some Riders chose, was out of the question - she couldn't read any more.

"You'll survive, of course, but I'm worried about how long it will take you to find your happiness, if you can," he frowned. A pointless thing, facial expressions when conversing with a blind person, but it was an instinctual thing. "Thanks."

Saphira understood that it was impossible for Aroure to fight at the same time as her Rider. Fighting without her own was something she would do if need be, but she agreed it was not the best thing in the long run. The blue dragon didn't say anything, thinking this was more Eragon's call as he was closer to the elf than she was.

"I hope you won't lose hope. They'll be some way to keep you happy, somehow. Magical mechanical eyes, an animal whose eyes you could look through. You can learn to deal with how people treat you, because however annoying it may be, so long as they know you are blind, some people will treat you as though you're really delicate." He stuck to the truth, valuing honesty as ever in the face of a heavy subject.

[Harbor]

Fasail's posture was no longer on the brink of running again. That option had deserted her. Being unable to see affected her balance more than she'd thought it would--she hadnt thought it would affect it at all--but at least standing still was no difficulty. She was already in for a long stint of stumbling into things; it wouldnt do to be swaying and lurching about as well.

Beginning to feel slightly less as though she would implode, Fasail turned her face to the sky again, where she knew Aroure was waiting somewhere high. In a matter of seconds the invisible dragon had landed beside her. Fasail stretched out a hand, and Aroure laid her angular head beneath it.

Eragon's concern was touching. "Dont worry overmuch," she said quietly. The energy burning in her bones was beginning to dim. "I am not prone to long fits of despair, although admittedly I haven't much experience with it either."

A sudden thought struck her, and her brow furrowed. She and Aroure had, she knew, been very useful to the Varden in the last several weeks. Aroure felt no need to overexert herself without reason, but Fasail had done it as a lifestyle. She had taken on the responsibilities of multiple people at times, when she didnt have enough to do. Mindless sprinting wasnt always enough. But what would Eragon do to fill her places now that, for the time being, Fasail was no longer capable of helping? She had become a temporary nonessential. But with everyone but her feeling overworked how would the other camp inhabitants replace the gaps she'd left behind?

"Eragon, how will the work I can no longer accomplish be continued? If there is anything I can do to alleviate the workload of others you must tell me." Her expression, aimed in his direction, was stern. "I'll find things to do regardless and they may no longer be considered necessarily safe." She felt little guilt at attempting to manipulate him this way--she hadnt told him she would hurt herself, but if she tried felling trees or sharpening swords to cure her boredom and he thought she or someone else may lose a finger, if it encouraged him to continue giving her jobs she would stop trying to push him to do so.

"I hope you won't lose hope."

Fasail's lips creaked up into a wry imitation of a smile. "I am sure I will begin to find it as a challenge, and you know how I respond to those. It will make my scrimmage with an Urgal even more interesting." The smile loosened a hair at the thought of animalian or mechanical replacements for her eyes. Such things were a long way off. And she doubted they would be terribly attractive. As far as being treated delicately, she snorted. "Such people will quickly learn that I do not appreciate it."

"I hope you don't break any of those people," Aroure remarked to all. "Perhaps you should begin learning some patience, just in case. You could count the number of times the chickens peck the ground. Or the stable master swears."

Fasail's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure I can find more productive things to do," she replied acerbically.

"But it may take you a while."

Fasail glowered down at her. "Trying to vex me into a more active state of mind isn't going to work today, Purple. But do keep trying." Now that the smolder she'd spent her life combatting had seeped away, Fasail felt oddly detached. Strangely half-tired and without ambition. Her own unhappiness had exhausted her.

Aroure rumbled a low whine in her throat. She was more concerned about the sudden shift than Fasail, who lifted her head and blithely asked, "Did I at least nearly make the trees? I had a bet with myself that I could before Aroure's reinforcements came."

[Quetzal]

Eragon saw her posture shift into a more relaxed one, no longer looking as if she might run off at any moment. He hadn't blamed her for her previous stance, since he was aware the urge to run was more or less constant for her. He had no way of knowing the reality of the fire in her bones ebbing away, having little understanding of what it was like for her besides giving her an overabundance of energy wanting to be used.

Giving the purple dragon a smile as she landed, he thought Aroure might be less panicky by now. Saphira was pleased to see another of her kind join them.

Eragon nodded when told not to worry, realised that was a pointless exercise, and spoke aloud instead. "If you say so." He couldn't commit himself to not worrying. Concern was a difficult emotion to suppress. He wouldn't spend hours pondering new solutions to help his friend, but there would always be something niggling in the back of his mind to wonder how she was coping with this new condition, whether she was on the way to happiness or sitting herself at the top of a slippery slope.

Work was a more practical issue. It was not fair on Fasail to bar her from working altogether when she was still capable of some tasks, but others were totally out of the question now. Hunting, foraging, both called for a sharp eye to spot movement or fruit among the background. Patrols searching for any potential hazards approaching the camp was an impossible task without being able to see off into the distance. It was hard to say which tasks aside from the obvious were now out of Fasail's reach an which weren't. In time she would learn for herself where her new boundaries lay. She could push them herself, but when finding someone on whom other people were relying, such as someone on patrol, someone testing their boundaries was not ideal and he had to favour those already skilled. "There's always an idle soldier, they can take up the duties somehow. We'll put you to work on something that's safe for you and others around you, I don't want anyone getting hurt because of this. Being a courier wouldn't necessarily need sight, once you figure out a way to navigate for yourself, and you could recognise people by their voices. You can spend time learning to fight again as well, I suppose," he struggled to think of much. "As you learn more about what you can and can't do, they'll be more and more things you can take on. Just don't do anything stupid."

He laughed, remembering her expressing a wish to fight an urgal shortly after she had told him she was colour blind. "It certainly will!" He still wouldn't be surprised if she could beat an urgal after a little training. Now that would really bring down the unfortunate urgal's ego a notch.

"Nearly. Another couple of minutes and you'd have been there. Aroure was anxious we might not get to you before you crashed into them and hurt yourself. She really cares and worries about you when you do reckless things, you know," Saphira answered the question before Eragon could, letting everyone present hear her as was customary for gatherings of multiple people. She knew the feeling all too well. Eragon was certainly reckless at times, though thankfully his sense of duty often brought him back to sense.

[Harbor]

Fasail concentrated on how much air she could put in her lungs before they felt as though they might lift her off the ground. Aroure nosed at her hip just hard enough to edge her off balance and as she caught herself Fasail scowled down at her before replacing her hand. ”Can I help you?” she snapped.

”You’re thinking too much,” Aroure disagreed, and Fasail arched a single brow.

”My sincerest apologies, I’ll try to prevent that in the future.” But she knew what Aroure meant. Fasail had never taught herself how to ward off unhappy thoughts because she’d so rarely fallen prey to them. If she spent too much time wallowing she’d only create a sinkhole for herself to drown in. ”Goodness knows I’m not the clever one in this relationship,” she replied with a lighter tone, forcing herself to plan how she would begin already to circumvent her newest challenge. Sitting too long in her own vexation only exhausted her, and not in any of the pleasant ways. She would begin with giving new meaning to some of the things she already did—in running she could learn to orient herself without visible markers, judging by the slope of the ground or the clatter of weaponry or tree branches. In unfamiliar places she would have to grow accustomed to her own disorientation, and ensuing temptations to hit things with frustration, but she would find a way to manage. She could feed off her anger if she had to—sometimes anger was what had driven her to her most active, absent nights, as she worked while others fell to sleep and she to as many labors as she could find.

”Eragon will you come eat with me?” she asked abruptly, throwing her shoulders out of their wilt. ”I need someone less intimidating than my violet companion to tell me when I make a fool of myself. I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself eventually.” Fasail had never balked from criticism. Tender as the stitches she was placing in her discontent were, she had placed them well, and they wouldn’t tear under evidence of her new incompetency, a state in which she was almost entirely unfamiliar being.

She was glad that he at least believed her previous labors would be satisfactorily filled in some way. They would not be as efficient as she was when bent to a task as opposed to merely distracted by it, but that was the price she paid for her pride: knowing that it had caused a deficiency elsewhere. ”Since when do you disapprove of blind people accidentally shooting their own allies?” she said blandly, in a perfect deadpan. She wasn’t about to grin again yet, but dry humor was an easy replacement. ”Give the healers someone to practice on. And I do not engage in stupid or merely reckless activities,” she defended, ”the exact purpose of them simply evades most people.”

”You spent nine straight hours finding over six thousand acorn caps in the forest and creating a mural with them on a stretch of bare dirt last year,” Aroure said, swiveling her head to watch as Fasail took off at a brisk walk back toward the camp.

”I was bored.”

”And when you decided to create a rope bridge between a tree you could climb and a tree you couldn’t, and broke four bones in one incident when you didn’t leap far enough to reach the other tree? Was that boredom?”

”I am a hundred and ninety-four years old, Aroure—broken bones are easily mended at my age.”

Aroure groaned. She extended her wings, gave herself a bound for momentum and lifted away from the source of her irritation.

”Saphira,” Fasail implored, twisting to face briefly in her direction. ”Do you not sometimes do things that may leave you sore afterward but were informative or useful in the end?” She couldn’t be the only one. And Saphira struck her, of the Rider pair, as the one more likely to experiment with such things.

{Aroure is always speaking ‘aloud’ in this post.}

[Quetzal]

Eragon and Saphira listened to the talk between the Rider and dragon, glad to see the latter pushing the former into a more positive outlook. It was blatant there was an underlying sad note to her humour, but it might help. Pushing problems down and pasting over them with somewhat hollow jokes did not always seem the best solution. In many cases, however, it worked wonders, taking the upset person's mind off things. Aroure knew Fasail better than anyone and he trusted her to steer her mind in the right direction in any troubled times ahead. He himself would be there when she required more company than one constant companion.

"Of course! I'm always up for food," Eragon smiled at the offer. In his rush this morning he had neglected to have breakfast. The rest of the camp were surely awakening by now, all forms of meagre porridges to plump sausages or toast cooking over the scattered cookfires. He could see the smoke rising from the tents to meet and merge with the fresh morning air. He was not any more hungry than usual, but he usually did have a good appetite. That helped when he visited new cultures and was made to sample the local delicacies, having no choice but to clean his plate and praise the food regardless of how good it actually tasted.

He played along with her humour, pretending to think for a moment. "Hm, I'll admit it's a new idea. Might be a bit radical but I think it'll catch on," he acted just as seriously as she was, yet a playful tone still made its way into his voice to confirm to her he was aware this was all a joke. "That's very kind of you, I'm sure the healers are grateful for it."

Saphira glanced at Fasail as Aroure spoke of a few examples of silly things she had done, and Eragon raised an eyebrow. Riders often were the sorts of people who took daring actions such as those described. Being willing to do things others deemed too dangerous had its flaws in the injuries sustained, but often he had found ideas such as those were exactly what it took to achieve truly great deeds, to make a significant impact on something. That was probably why it was a trait common among Riders; they needed it to be able to have the motivation to figure out and do what it took to protect people and put an end to evil doings.

"As much as I scold this one not to, yes," Saphira admitted, earning a protesting look from Eragon that read 'unfair!'. "I think it was worse when I was younger, when I was still experimenting all the time with flying. Then it was trying to see what kind of magic I could do. Of course, I could never do any when deliberately trying to. Now I tend to try out new ways of tracking or diving at new prey when I hunt."

Eragon knew there was more than that. The two knew almost everything the other did, so it was difficult to hide anything. "You didn't mention the bit about it leaving you sore afterwards," he pointed out.

"Well, I've crashed before... and trying out battle tactics alone can result in total loss of control in the air for a moment, or sudden winds jarring my wings... shall we head back to grab some breakfast?" the blue dragon abruptly tried to change the subject away from her own failings.

[Harbor]

Fasail didn’t know how to put into words how significant was her relief that he allowed her abrupt turn into wry humor. Fasail had never—and never intended to—thought of herself as weak, but admittedly she had erred in not learning to build such defenses as those she wished for now. Perhaps she should have subjected herself to more disparity in her youth; it might have prepared her for disparity in adulthood.

But she was well exhausted already of thinking about herself that way. Or of her future. Her stomach yanked in on itself at the thought of her future now, so she calmed herself by hypothesizing whether or not Eragon would be battling sympathy or amusement if she struggled to keep food out of her lap at this meal. His natural disposition suggested amusement, but he was kind first, and she feared he would allow her more sympathy than she could face. While a level enough person, she believed, not to lower her with pity, his compassion for others was greater than hers—she who tried so hard not to allow herself to care for those she would soon outlive—so chances were he would suffer a bit from that sympathy.

Another thought gave her reason to scowl with frustration. Now that she had reduced herself to a more sedentary pace she was able to account more quickly for the slopes of the ground, but that was not her primary concern now. Unless Aroure kept her eyes on her at all times Fasail wouldn’t be able to navigate the camp at all. Not today at least, and it was unlikely she’d develop the skill immediately. And once they reached the cook tent Aroure wouldn’t be able to help her at all. Fasail hated to rely on others for any assistance, but she would have to beg it of Eragon today. And simply because she was a woman those who saw her touching his arm would assume what she had always tried to avoid.

Humans could be so foolish.

Be nice, Aroure privately chided. They can’t help their nature.

Bloody bollocks to it all, Fasail irritably grumbled back. ”Precisely,” she answered to Saphira and Eragon. ”If your effort hasn’t earned you a few strains or bruises by the end you probably haven’t earned much anyway.” Fasail battened down on a smile for Saphira’s sake at Eragon’s reply and the dragon’s response. ”Of course those of us who are capable of greater feats, such as dragons, are ill-fated to suffer greater failings as well. But you can be assured most of we ground-bound would still take those failings at the chance of having wings. Perhaps not the dwarves,” she allowed, and shrugged. But others likely would. Who did not dream of flying? And one had to learn how to compete with gravity before one could learn to circumvent it.

Fasail couldn’t resist the drag of another gray scowl as they neared the camp. Aroure sank in the clouds so she could watch Fasail’s progress through the tents and fires, and through her eyes Fasail could avoid tripping through them. In this manner Fasail navigated adequately, but she knew it was barely a temporary solution. She could feel the wariness on other humans’ minds when they saw her disgruntled expression, and the caution, or concern, or confusion, from the minds of those who knew her a bit better—the elves, dwarves and urgals—when they saw her as well. She hoped for the first time that news of her condition would spread quickly enough that she never had to explain it. She was tired of explaining it, even having only had to do it twice, and once having been half a lie of omission.

At the edge of the long cooks’ tent Fasail stopped, Aroure hovering some two hundred feet above. ”Eragon, I’ll need your help,” she said quietly, angry with herself again, jaw set with irritation. Her lips pressed together at the gouging of her pride, but there was no escaping this. She’d best learn to tolerate what she’d done of her own accord.

[Quetzal]

Eragon and Saphira were pleased to see Fasail walking at a more sensible pace than the full-on sprint she'd been attempting a short while ago. Saphira walked with them up to the tents, then took off to fly low over their heads as that was far easier than awkwardly picking her way through paths most likely far too narrow for a two-year-old dragon.

Concerned Fasail would stumble and walk into things, Eragon readily held his arm a little closer to her to make it easier for her to find and keep hold of it. Despite his incredibly informal attire, Eragon was still recognisable and attracted some attention from those who knew of the famed Rider. Heads turned, no doubt willing to have a new story to deploy should a name drop be used in future. His being accompanied by a woman was not itself entirely unusual, but her touching his arm raised attention. People muttered things to one another, gossiping the way they do. The dwarves and urgals dotted about did not seem to care in the slightest, having little interest in some human Rider's relationships. That was his own business. The humans, however, by far a majority in the camp, would no doubt spread the gossip like wildfire. There was an inherent love, Eragon had found since discovering he had become quite well-known, for humans to speculate on public figures' personal lives. For some reason they often wanted to know what he did the whole time, who he was friends with, who he didn't get along with, and most of all if he fancied anyone or had a girlfriend. He hated those rumours. The elves were whispering a little too, though Eragon was unsure if they were disapproving of an elf possibly being in a relationship with a mostly-human, speculating just what was going on with them, or something else entirely. He couldn't hear the words, and it was hard to tell with elves sometimes.

Saphira agreed with Fasail. "The higher you fly, the further you have to fall," she said. "Dwarves do like to stick to the earth, but I bet there's a few adventurous ones out there who'd happily give flying a go," she thought aloud. Carrying a dwarf on her back would be easier than a human, though at this point carrying a human was pretty easy for her. There might be different challenges posed in communicating directions, though.

Eragon nodded, forgetting Fasail wouldn't know he did so. "Of course. I'll take you up to the food now," he said, walking a bit slower as he wove his way among the rickety easy portable makeshift tables, benches and stools. He smiled at the cook and stared into the array of pots. "There's some kind of meat stew - deer, I think. There's chicken soup and vegetable pie as well. Which will you have?" He took a slice of the pie for himself, preferring to eat meat only on occasion. He was fairly certain that as an elf, Fasail would take the vegetarian choice but he wanted to be certain and at least tell her what she was eating before she took a mouthful.

[Harbor]

Fasail sensed that Eragon was walking perhaps closer to her than he usually did, and didn’t begrudge him of it. She begrudged herself. Her foolish, careless self, that she’d now have to learn to live with. She heard a few hushed murmurs once inside the tent, in particular, when she extended a hand to lightly rest her fingertips on the back of his elbow. She could have rested her hand inside his arm, as would make it easier to keep track of him, but this made them look less like they were courting each other. Fasail tended to, whatever her feelings, avoid such nonsense. It only tended to bring about complications, and she preferred her life simple, particularly in an era as tumultuous as this one.

Wending their way through what she knew was a mob of tables and benches, Fasail grimaced as she repeatedly knocked her knees against the edges of the latter, gritting her teeth with frustration when she caught her hip on a table edge. She suspected she would be muttering far more curses—and more eloquent ones—in the coming months. ”The pie, please,” she answered. ”About half the size of portion you take.” She wasn’t feeling hungry enough to finish even that amount, but it would please her observers, even if missing a few meals here and there never hurt a healthy person.

Fasail held her hand out for her plate, asked for a fork as well, then followed Eragon to a table with two fingers brushing his elbow. She hoped that he’d chosen one where her back would be to most onlookers, so they couldn’t take too much enjoyment from some of the more amusing aspects of her sightlessness. She wouldn’t growl over Eragon smothering a chuckle or two if she spilled things in her lap, but he also knew why she was suddenly so clumsy. The majority of the other Varden would lose faith in her entirely if they saw her suddenly behaving like a drunkard. ”This shall be interesting,” she grumbled as she threw her legs over a bench, hand on the table for balance, and sat heavily down. ”I won’t snarl at you for taking amusement from the sight I believe I will now make of myself,” she announced, ”But I will take offense if Aroure finds a spot on my shirt you didn’t tell me about.”

[Quetzal]

Eragon put a plate in Fasail's open hand, then spooned a small slice of pie onto it. The crust collapsed over the filling, which steamed in the cool morning air. The smell at least he knew she would be able to appreciate. With the steam came the enticing, almost sweet, smell of the vegetables. He found her and himself a fork and glanced around to find a table. It still being early for lunch and late for breakfast, there were thankfully not too many people about. All the same, he led her to a table to one side of the others, out of the way of close passersby Fasail might hit for lack of seeing and away from most judging eyes.

"All right, I'll let you know if you spill anything," he promised with some amusement at seeing the old feisty Fasail show herself despite all the shock and upset of the day so far. He had been intending to ignore any spillages for the sake of sparing her any embarrassment, so it was a good thing she had told him otherwise. He took a first mouthful. It wasn't the best, but that was to be expected with the limited cooking capabilities an army camp had to offer. It was a bit burned, the vegetables a mix of whatever was left over, but it was warm, filling and tasted all right, which was the main thing.

He was about to say something, but with a mouthful of pie that wasn't really possible. His mind was starting to wonder what Fasail was going to do in the battle. It was close, for sure, and this new setback was poorly timed. Months and years were needed to get Fasail back to fighting, if at all, and even then he didn't see how she was going to ever be as good as she had been with her vision. A few days was all they had. It was not enough. He decided against mentioning it right now, but the issue was hovering over him. He knew he had to bring it up at some point. They had only just sat down, though, so maybe later. He struggled to think of something to say that didn't involve discussing Fasail's risk of death, but only managed "What do you think you'll do with yourself before we can figure out what tasks you realistically can or can't do?"

[Harbor]

{I'm so sorry for the wait! Life changed and I ran out of time.}

Fasail passed a hand over her plate after sitting, sifting her fingers briskly through the curls of steam to judge as best she could how hot it was. As elegant as the elves were supposed to be they still spat their food out—the less tactful ones, such as herself—when they put it in their mouth too hot. As much as she didn’t rue Eragon’s chuckles if they came she wasn’t about to actively contribute them. ”Good man,” she quipped to his promise, glad to hear a touch of humor in his voice. If those around her could treat her situation with humor it would be easier for her to do the same. There would still be hours, or days, in which she decided she very much needed to throw things, but there were plenty of dragons around these days to drop a paw or a tail on her if she got too rowdy. Goodness knew Aroure had done it plenty of times, usually in play though. Fasail was rarely angry enough to earn such a knocking about, though she wouldn’t say it hadn’t happened before.

Since she couldn’t see the crust and filling and didn’t want mouthfuls composed of entirely one or the other, before even trying to scoop anything up she used the back of her fork to mash everything together as best she could. ”What is in this?” she asked curiously, wondering mostly if there were any surprise vegetables in there. A sense of smell told her many of things, but after the vegetables had all been baked together she wasn’t accustomed to having to separate their scents. She hoped this hadn’t been salted too much. She didn’t want to ask Eragon to find her a drink. He owed her no services, nor did anyone else in the camp, but now she would have to lean a little bit on anyone in her presence because of what she’d done.

”I believe I shall learn to juggle,” she replied decisively. ”Of the many things I can toss about I never learned straightforward and simple juggling. To save your sanity I will even save the knife-juggling until someone other than myself or someone I’ve bribed tells you I’m safe.” Scooping up the first several bites was easy, with the weight of the spread food holding everything together. The last several bites would be a teeth-gnashing chore. She may just have to lick the plate to get those pieces. ”I can find the bridles I was looking at to the tannery, too. At least half a dozen of the ones up for common use with the donkeys and horses are so dry they may snap at a passing giggle. I don’t know if there’s a way to repair them before replacing them, so I’ll probably harass the tanner a bit too until he answers my questions to my satisfaction.” Since there was never too much knowing to be done. Fasail wasn’t shy with her questions, and she was certain everyone in the camp knew that by now.

But what else was there to be done? She wanted to give him as long a list of her retained abilities as possible, to lighten the weight of work he would now have to redistribute. ”I hate to suggest it but I can still wash dishes.” She made a face. What a plunge it was, from being one of the most creative fighters in the camp to an accomplished dishwasher. ”I shall also likely continue to practice some of the tossings-about I do with my staff, since I’m at least skilled with wards. So long as no one sneaks up on me there should be minimal bodily or property damage occurring.”

[Quetzal]

Eragon took a mouthful. It was too hot, but he chewed and swallowed all the same, the bite not being hot enough to scald. "Not really sure," he replied, poking at the vegetable mush with his fork. "Carrots and potatoes, I think, maybe parsnips, and something green," he was unable to identify the sad-looking green things dotted around his food. He tended not to think too much about what they were feeding people here. Mostly it was things grown by Varden-supporting farmers in the surrounding areas, carried in by men with mules or sometimes by dragons if the need was more urgent. Other food was from scavenging the local area. Meat was found by hunting and from the herds of livestock brought with the camp. Everything had to be preserved for as long as possible, and the quality was always questionable. Such was the way with camp food - he didn't feel a need to complain.

He laughed at her talk of juggling. "Excellent, you can be the chief entertainer at feasts. I'm sure before the week it through you will have no trouble juggling five flaming torches at once," he smiled. It was good she was able to joke about her condition already. Humour was a far better coping mechanism than letting a situation drag you down into bleak misery. Moping about her sight would not restore it, but at least laughter could make a person feel better. His only concern was that Fasail would keep up a relaxed, jokey attitude even when on the inside she was breaking down. He would have to keep a close eye on her for any sign she was disguising hard times.

Washing dishes hardly seemed like a task fit for a Rider. "There will be something that can make use of your skills, you'd be wasted washing dishes with your talent. Spend as much time as you like learning to adapt to a new style of fighting. Being skilled with wards, we could get you helping protect our warriors. Prevention spells like wards don't necessarily need sight to cast since you won't know when or where the attack comes without seeing the future. Wards are incredibly important, too. Devising and casting new stronger ones is always necessary," he was excited to have thought of something important Fasail could feasibly do, "I know you hate using magic, but you can still compose the spell and have someone else test it. Large-range non-magical traps could be in your abilities too."

[Harbor]

”Something green,” Fasail mused, putting the bite to her mouth. ”Well that sounds promising at least. Though I’ve always wondered at how carrots and parsnips look so different and taste nearly the same.” Granted, most types of grass probably tasted nearly the same as well. That didn’t mean all but one were expendable. Fasail suppressed a sigh at not having been able to tell the difference between many things in her life before, and having only more difficulty with the task now. That would be yet another task to set ahead of herself. She might as well begin meditating again. That was probably half the problem with her lack of concentration, not that meditation had much helped her with that to begin with. Fasail had always felt slightly separated from certain parts of her mind, such as those which most controlled her magic. It was one of the many reasons she feared to use her magic; it had never felt as though it belonged to her, it had felt as though it came from someone else pretending to be a part of her.

Fasail blew on another piece of mashed pie. ”Do you tease me?” she asked with an exaggerated archness to her tone. ”I am already the chief entertainer, if you haven’t noticed. Who else has growling matches with her dragon on a regular basis or has been known to choose fights with random people regardless of race? I challenged a werecat and lost last week. I am not accustomed to fighting something so small. He ran up my leg and later told me that in his mind he was ripping out my intestines. Supposing that I were a genuine opponent of course. Granted the werecats don’t appear to have half-opponents the way elves, humans and dwarves do. They either like someone or they don’t, and if they don’t you’re an enemy.” When Fasail’s fork got to her mouth it was empty. “Rat piss,” she muttered, brushing a hand over each of her legs. She had applied a spell to most of her clothes years ago to prevent food stains, but it only worked if the food didn’t sit on her clothes for too long. Grass and dirt and blood Fasail could charm out of cloth in a trice. Food spots fought her.

Fasail took a few more successful bites then set her fork across the edges of her plate and flattened her hands on top of each other, leaning forward slightly as she listened to Eragon’s generous offers and suggestions. He was determined to maintain her own opinion of usefulness, and not to permit her too much free time to mourn it seemed, even as he told her to take as much time as she needed to begin sorting out what she’d done to herself years ago. How many other commanders would be so permissive? It made her wonder if he was so with others, or if it was in his nature to be sympathetic. Had she been in his position she would have been livid and stayed that way, since disguising and evading one’s own weaknesses was, she believed, a cravenly and shameful act. That was one of the primary reasons so much of her upset had its blades facing inward. She had been a hypocrite.

Eragon knew most of her opinions on such things, they had discussed various and seemingly random things before. What she couldn’t understand was his lenience. Or did he merely believe she had punished herself enough to require no further sanctions? As it was he was being far kinder than she deserved, and someday she would find a way to show him how she appreciated it. As free with her opinions as Fasail was, she became distinctly less fluent when it came to her opinions regarding individuals, in particular those she liked.

”I am actually very competent with wards,” she said, trying very hard to look in the direction she imagined his eyes were in. ”They came naturally to me in the beginning—perhaps because I have a talent for avoiding things—and have yet to catastrophically fail me. I do not mind performing a variety of wards. Be that as it may, any other type of magic you’d do best to find another spellcaster for.” Or simply any other elf or semi-competent dwarf or human, really. Fasail’s magic had always treated her as though she didn’t belong.

Stray whispers reached her ears and Fasail slightly turned to listen to them. Murmurs of curiosity, assumptions, small people judging other people’s lives because they had chosen to be dissatisfied with their own. Her lips tightened with frustration. She knew her simple contact with Eragon’s arm and his making of a plate for her would initiate whispers with those who were watching, but the troublesome fact of the matter was that if she still had her sight it would have amused her, not agitated her. If she’d had her sight she would have chosen to follow Eragon’s arm though, and would have asked him to make her a plate, as opposed to needed his arm and his assistance. The distinguishing line between requesting and requiring was what irked her, and she hated that she now had no choice when it came to things she used to be able to do for herself and now needed others to do for her. At least for now.

She had best learn to take care of herself again quickly.

”I have never tried to compose such a trap,” she said, as though the whispers had never reached her. It occurred to her then that, with his enhanced abilities, Eragon may well have heard them too, and that only irked her more. She resisted the strong urge to grit her teeth and stomp off. ”However it would be fun to try. I’m sure Aroure wouldn’t mind walking through things to see if they stick to her.” A thought struck her. ”The harmless, irritating, impeding traps would be the most effective I believe. The men may have some magical protection against a trap that suffocates all who walk through its air, but I doubt they have protection against something that prevents them from walking in straight lines, or standing to their full heights. If we came across a troupe of men turning in circles or walking stooped we will know fairly swiftly where they’ve come from.”