Dagny: An Inheritance Cycle Fanfiction.

6. Lady Brigitta of Teirm

6. Lady Brigitta of Teirm.

Teirm looked exactly as it ever had. And Bree looked exactly like Mama. Well, like Mama would have looked, if she'd worn fine silk dresses, expensive furs and bejewelled headpieces. Bree was so changed. Dagny got a little shock when she saw her, taller than her sister now, with streaks of grey in her braided hair. Her face was almost unrecognisable, lined, wrinkled and layered with cosmetic paint. But her wide hazel eyes were the same.

She stayed standing on the high dais with her husband - husband, that was a thought Dagny definitely wasn't used to - when Tornac, his guard, his advisors and Sverrir and Dagny entered the main square. For a moment, Dagny had half-expected her to come running down to meet them. But, of course, it was foolish to expect the behaviour of a twelve year old girl from a grown woman.

Sverrir cast his eyes around the main square, recognising it from his earliest memories. He looked at Bree and couldn't reconcile her with the child in Dagny's mind.

She's grown, Dagny said, feeling like she had to defend her sister even if she didn't know why.

You hardly know her, Sverrir replied, simply, matter-of-factly. You've been gone most of her life.

People don't change that much. Not in essentials.

Dagny drank in the sight of her darling Bree, her little sister, her baby girl. Mama had been so disorientated, so incapable of looking after either of them. Dagny had been more of a mother to Bree than a sister.

Then the man standing next to Bree stepped forward and Dagny's attention focused on him, her eyes narrowing with dislike. She had hated Risthart; she wasn't disposed to like his son, despite the fact that he'd somehow gained Bree's approval.

Lord Emedin closely resembled his father. He had the same vast girth, deep-set piggy eyes and heavy, fishy lips. He was dressed richly - which was to say, ridiculously. The colourful tights and sequinned doublets that were currently in vogue suited him horribly. He looked more like a jester than a lord.

You're being unkind because you don't like him.

Am I incorrect?

He looks like a fat fish dressed in circus clothes, Sverrir conceded.

"Prince Tornac of the Broddring Kingdom." Lord Emedin's voice was loud, unnecessarily loud and echoing. He gave an odd little half-bow. "It is my honour to welcome you to Teirm."

"We are honoured to be here." Tornac's voice, by contrast, was deep and sonorous. It rang with authority. To Dagny's ears, he sounded like a King should.

Dagny, it pains me to say it, but your opinions are fickle. Sverrir told her.

What do you mean? Dagny was caught off guard. I always thought he had a nice voice.

Less than two weeks ago, you said with certainty that he wouldn't make a good King.

My opinion has changed upon better acquaintance. She said cagily.

Sverrir's little snort was more mocking than she would have liked. She let it pass, redirecting her attention towards the formalities.

Tornac was presenting the members of his company. His advisors had both bowed politely to Lord Emedin, and to Brigitta, as had Captain Slake on behalf of both himself and his men. Tornac extended his hand towards herself and Sverrir and Dagny was thankful their internal conversation had ceased in time.

"You may not have been aware, Lord Emedin. A dragon and Rider travel with us, emissaries of Eragon Shadeslayer."

Dagny stepped forward gracefully. "I am Dagny Aliviasdaughter, Lord Emedin. This is Sverrir."