Roran DeGrey

“Yes, of course, I know!” declared he, impatiently.  “I wasn’t born yesterday, Roran.  It’s perfectly obvious, what with you forever darting into my path every time I try to go into my own barn.”  Charles shook his head.  “Make no mistake,” he replied.  “I am sorely vexed, but you’re right.  I’m not surpris-”  Charles’ voice died in his throat as Roran pushed open the heavy door.

A sapphire head snaked up from amidst the hay, fixing him with familiar eyes.  Charles felt as though he’d been stabbed, as though something had struck him, hard, in the chest and dug deep inside to carve out the long-festering wound inside his chest.

“Naerys,” whispered Charles, but the illusion faded.  It was not possible that it was his dragon, returned to him.  Not at all, yet there she perched, staring at him with understanding eyes he’d once known so well…familiar, but different.  

Unbidden tears stung his eyes and Charles heard the hammer of his own heart in his ears.  He listened to Roran, half-hopeful, half-disbelieving, his eyes fixed on the dragon.  “No, not all,” said Charles, glancing at Roran as a revelation rushed over him.  “The eggs,” he rasped out, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.  “You found them?  She hatched for you, she…I should have known you’d be…” Charles glanced skyward, laughing.  “I should have known.  You’re your father’s son.”  Charles put a heavy hand on Roran’s shoulder, leaning on him as he felt his own knees growing weak.  “What’s her name, Roran?”

At the sound of Roran’s pleas, Charles turned to him, placing his other hand on Roran’s shoulder.  “I swear to you, now, Roran, so long as I am alive no one, no one, will bring harm to either you or your dragon.  I swear it by your father and by mine, I swear it by every true Rider that has ever been,” he looked to Arya.  “I will keep you both safe.”

Charles brought Roran fully inside the barn and closed the doors behind them.  “There is something I must tell you, both; a secret I have long kept, something I now see I should have told you long ago, but…” his voice trailed off.  “I thought you would be safer if I did not.  I have something for you, Roran.”  Striding towards one corner of the barn, Charles pulled a cart away, then unburied several layers of hay, and beneath that, dirt, until he uncovered something long and narrow, wrapped in cloth.  “Roran,” he said.  “This is your father’s sword: the sword of a Dragonrider.”

Roran wasn’t sure what his uncle had expected, but he could see clearly now that this certainly was not it. He had expected rage and was met with calm and then ... he couldn’t tell what his uncle was thinking or feeling, but he could tell that he was overwhelmed with emotions. And ... was he crying, just now? He didn’t think his uncle was capable of any other emotion that that scowl he always seemed to wear when he looked at him. (Granted, he supposed that he had often deserved it ... but, still.) 

“Her name is Arya,” Roran said, proudly. He’d thrown lots of names at her, after she’d hatched, but he eventually settled on Arya because she liked it the best. He thought it fit her. Arya had been the name of a great dragon, years and years ago. 

“But ... my father ... he wasn’t a dragonrider,” Roran said, confused, as though he knew better than Charles. “He was just a farmer.” Roran barely remembered his parents. He had images and broken fragments of memories. In truth, nothing to really confirm or deny the stories of them he had always been told. 

Still, he took slowly took the sword from his uncle. It was heavy in his hands. He hand ran over the hilt where a silver dragon was encrusted. Slowly, he unsheathed it and watched as the blade caught the light that had filtered in through the cracks in the barn door. “I don’t know how to use it.” He said, finally. He’d never been taught to fight, not really. He used to play with his friends with sticks as a boy, but his grandmother had never let him come within three feet of anything resembling a sword. 

It had been a long day, a longer fortnight, perhaps the longest months of his entire life.  Ed could not recall a busier season at the royal palace.  As soon as one earth-shattering event cleared off, another rose up to take its place.  Alexandir Godiva’s trial was only the latest in a long series of shocking twists and, being discreetly behind the scenes to facilitate such events was nothing short of exhausting.  Ed traipsed into the tavern half-bleary, and collapsed at a table without paying much attention.  Folding his arms across the space on the table in front of him, he laid down his head, grateful for the respite…only to open his eyes and find himself face-to-face with another person.  

Startled, Ed gasped (in fact, half-shrieking) and recoiled so sharply he fell backwards off the bench.  Recovering from his fall, he pushed himself upwards on his elbows, stared, sat up straight, stared, rubbed the back of his neck ruefully, looked away.  Ed cleared his throat and stood.  He smiled, turning towards all the people who had stopped to stare at his outburst.  “My fault!  You can all go back about your business, everything’s fine.”  To himself, he muttered, “I really need to pay more attention.”

Apparently they had only somewhat learned from their last excursion. Cedric went to purchase some supplies and he left Roran alone to order and wait for their supper at the pub where they’d meet before heading back to the camp. 

Roran had been enjoying a bowl of stew when someone came and sat down across from him and, exhausted, seemed to go directly to sleep. Roran didn’t think he had even noticed him -- he wondered if a moment if he had even noticed where he was (Roran had been to few public houses in his lifetime but he did not think it customary for patrons to sleep at the tables). However, he minded what Cedric had said and decided not to say anything ... at least until his stew was finished. 

“It’s alright,” Roran said. “I’ve done worse.” He confessed. He had certainly had his share of embarrassing moments. The other day he’d begged and pleaded to go with Alaric, Cedric, and his uncle to stop a group of soldiers who had just collected an obscene amount of taxes from a starving nearby village. He’d been told that he wasn’t ready and that it was too dangerous. He’d begged and pleaded, but the answer remained the same. No sooner had they left, Roran decided to sharpen his sword and that’s when he got distracted and accidentally sliced his own hand on it. Kate had patched him up before his uncle had returned. He’d managed to hide his injuries thus far: he was afraid that if his uncle found out that he’d hurt himself just from sharpening his sword that he would never be allowed out of the forest again. 

Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t even look at anyone. 

Cedric’s words came back to him, but as he had already managed to disobey both commands, he wasn’t about to be rude. Besides, Edmund had a friendly look about him. There wasn’t any harm in striking up a conversation with him, was there? Certainly, it might be more suspicious if he simply got up and left? And, as there were no open tables, he wondered where he was supposed to go? And where would Cedric find him? No, this was indeed the smartest choice. And he’d explain it all to Cedric when he got there. 

So many!!!!!! There’s a lot of them who haven’t ever even tried cooking at all???? And just kinda think food just appears for them??? Like Rowlin Stafford, Leck Quasar, Henrietta Allen, Ward Eastwood, Chase Hawthorne, Max Monroe, Renfry Moran, Cornelius Pembrooke, Lennox Stanford, and Harvey Wilder would all cook terrible meals (if they could be bothered to even try … which I don’t think any of them would be. Except maybe Ward when he’s trying to impress the ladies, but lbr he def thinks that having a five star chef cook a private meal for them is more impressive so …) 

I know that Roran DeGrey and Kara Larsson have both tried cooking and failed terribly (but they both keep trying ~*~thumbs up emoji~*~) 

ALMOST AS BORING AS MY UNCLE LAKDSJFKLJSDLJF DO YOU ALSO HAVE A TRAGIC BUT EXCITING BACKSTORY BYEEEE *flies into the sun*  Hahaha I agree like maybe they’d run into each other in town but???? yeah????  But anyway I’m glad we figured this out hahaha  The way I see it we can either start them and see where it goes or wait until we have something more concrete about…I’m cool either way.  Thoughts?

hall of the dragon riders || an of dragon riders (mini) mix

burning the past - harry gregson-williams

dance of the druids - bear mccreary

dragonsreach - jeremy soule

from dusk to fall - charles ian evans

#respect

Ok, so I feel like these two might run into each other, potentially, since they’re both in the east but I def don’t think either would realize who the other is or anything like that.  Tristan’s in general pr quiet but he’s not unfriendly and I think he’d enjoy Roran’s company if they ever spent much time together.  That being said…idk that they ever will hahahaha

As he joked with her, Cordelia tried to look self-possessed, but ended up grinning back.  There was an artless air to Roran, utterly unstudied, that was wonderfully refreshing.  Perhaps he was not so polished a flirt as Romayne Vitalis or as cultivated a one as Dmitrei Massard, but Cordelia trusted Roran more, which meant the flirtation was more real.  Of course, Cordelia wasn’t looking for anything, really, save a little excitement (she knew what to expect from her life too well to look for much more than that, but what could be more exciting than sneaking off under false names for a forbidden adventure?), but it was a flattering thought nonetheless.  

“Well,” she replied, coquettishly.  “You have my attention.”  She laughed when he spoke of efficiency.  “I daresay you were correct in that.  I can’t seem to dream up a much more immediate approach,” she teased.  “Short of climbing the walls yourself which…would be a terrible plan.”  

Fain was nothing if not ostentatious and, short of the Imperial Palace, was the largest hall in the East.  Unlike the other royal family of Aragoth, House Arrington was keen to publish its glories, something it did at every opportunity.  No sooner did one leave the main road to the path which led to the entrance of Fain than one encountered twin lions on either side of the road, their plinths almost as tall as a man on horseback, the lions themselves stretching on and on and on.  As a child, Cordelia used to climb a nearby tree and climb onto their stone backs, playing all across the breadth of them.  These greeting lions were so far from Fain, itself, as to be out of view of the castle, and that was only the beginning.  An effort to climb Fain would be foolish in the extreme and was, thus, something she mentioned an alternative too ridiculous to entertain.

Though Cordelia was doing her best to appear statuesque and beatific, she couldn’t help coloring at that, said with such impulsive sweetness.  “No,” she assured him in a low tone, biting her lip to conceal its smiles.  “I won’t be held accountable for that.  Everyone thinks it was some poor bird that flew through the glass.  No one will be held to blame.”

What he offered sounded perfectly delightful and Cordelia made no more effort to conceal her smile.  How exciting, to eat in the woods, to meet new people!  It sounded like something from a legend, and Cordelia was determined not to turn up any opportunity that resembled one.  “I should be delighted!” she replied, happily.  “I doubt as I shall be missed at all till my broth-” she cleared her throat, shrugged.  “Till my brother has need of me.”  Since her brother was Lord Arrington, she’d hesitated to mention him at the last moment but, realizing Cora might well have a brother as well, she decided to say as much, nevertheless.  “That shouldn’t be till my Lord the Duke thinks to retire this evening,” she clarified with a shrug.  “Is it very far?  I’m sure we could borrow some horses, if we like…”

“Good.” He relaxed at her confirmation that no one should be blamed for his accident. He wouldn’t like to think of someone else having to take responsibility for his actions. He was quick to evade punishments if he could, but he’d never let someone else take the fall. 

He was happy that she’d accepted his invitation to come along. In fact, he started beaming, despite his better efforts to stop. He knew the sort of silly smile he wore and how ridiculous he must look, but part of him didn’t care. He was excited to show her his world and everyone in it. 

“It isn’t far,” He said, “But it’s best reached on foot.” He added. If they came up riding on horses when Roran had left on foot, they may be attacked. He was certain that no one would harm them until they’d come into view, but Roran wanted Cora to be met with smiles not swords. 

He was glad for the cover of night. He wasn’t going to take her on the most direct route. He trusted her, but he was still cautious. He felt that the others would feel safer if he told them that he took her round in circles, so that she would likely lose her way if she tried to find them on her own. Part of him had even wanted to tell her not to say anything to anyone about them, but the smarter half of him also knew that if he did, it would be extremely suspicious and only breed more questions. If he was to bring her round, he knew that he ought to make it sound as though this was a perfectly innocent gathering of friends. 

Perhaps one day, he’d be able to tell her the truth. He wanted to, desperately, but he knew better. He felt that if she knew what they were doing, she’d want to help. Of course, he had no idea that she wasn’t who she said she was.  

But then, neither was he. 

“It should take us less than half an hour to walk,” He said, “And we can leave whenever you like.” 

Yassss, ok so!  Iirc, Cassius heard rumors or just happened by or something??????  And he was there w Rhaegar????  And the barn burned????  And the DeGreys escaped????  And that’s why they’re the DeGreys again rather than the Drakes.  I can’t remember the exact situations so here are the things I think ~might have happened??????

Cassius burned up that barn just because yknow you see the old enemy you let live your instinct suggests ‘i got a dragon, he don’t, let’s burn shit’ idk???????????? it could happen

Charles was like ‘oh shit’ when he saw Cassius and was like ‘he don’t know about roran and arya yet’ so he pushed roran in the barn and ‘accidentally’ set it on fire, knowing they wouldn’t be hurT so that cassius would think roran was deAD/simply not look in there and learn about him/them

Cassius saw Roran and/or Arya and they were like ‘oh shit’ and Rhaegar was like BURN BABY BURN and started chasing them w fire but like???? they dragon(rider)s so they didn’t diE

something???? else??????

Basically, my main question here is whether or not Cassius knows about Arya and/or if Roran (and she) are still alive.  I think he def knows about Charles and he’s like ‘i fucked up’ regardless hahahaha but manye that’s happened more recently than we originally thought bc that’d def impact him and i haven’t had him thinking about that…idk?????? thoughts??????

Honestly, I have no idea what we were thinking b/f???? I know it all had a reason???? iDK the best one seems like maybe the barn fire, but I’m also cool with not doing any of them and Cassius finding out another way????? eSpecially since he hasn’t been thinking about it at all and I feel like Charles/Roran have been with the resistance for a little while atp????? But honestly whatever you wanna go w/ I’m cool w/ it????

Charles had a head of steam.  It was one thing when it had been a harmless flirtation, but while in town, Charles had heard villagers whispering about it and whispers were bad.  Drake or no, Charles and Roran could not afford to invite attention.  Though it had been more or less harmless for Roran to keep some girl in a barn up till now, that was no longer the case.

Despite everything however, when Charles heard Roran’s excuse, his brows shot up and he bit back the impulse to laugh.  Now was not the moment to encourage such behavior, but it struck him just then as something he, himself, might have said at Roran’s age in a similar situation.  The humor soured on his tongue, however, when he realized the person he most likely would have said this to…would have been Will.

Even to this day, there were nights when Charles woke up in a cold sweart, absolutely certain he could hear Will screaming his name.  He had, once.  It was the last time Charles had ever heard his brother’s voice.  It had been a frantic sound, as Will must have thought, as Charles and Naerys fell from that sky, that he was watching his brother die.  It was the only time Charles had ever heard fear in Will’s voice.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Charles shook his head, grimly.  “Open the door,” he instructed, in his best authoritative tone.  “Or step aside, Roran.  We are going to have this out in the open at last.  I know good and well you’ve something - or, rather, someone - hidden in that barn.  Let’s see her.”  Reaching around Roran, Charles lifted the bar from the great door and pushed it open, beginning to walk inside.  “Tell your friend to come out of hiding, Roran.  I’ve a mind to meet her, at long last.”

“You know?” He asked, mouth agape. 

Roran had thought he’d been a little more subtle than that. How had he known about Arya? He'd known that his uncle was aware that he was hiding something, but how could he have known that he’d been hiding her in the barn? Had he followed him? Had he seen her already? Why hadn’t he confronted him earlier, if that had been the case? 

But all in all, the most remarkable thing, was just how calm Charles was. 

“You don’t seem that angry.” He said, “Or surprised.” 

But then, he never had been able to understand half of the things his uncle did or said. Why should now be any different? 

With a shrug, he took one more glance around him, just to be certain that they were alone, and then he slid back the barn doors. Arya was perched in the hayloft. She’d been growing (and growing fast) but she was still small enough that the barn suited her nicely. She’d started to learn to breath fire, however, and Roran was afraid that she would accidentally burn it down. So perhaps it was lucky that his uncle met her now and not ... after. 

“She hatched for me,” He explained, “I thought they were all dead but ... she hatched for me.” He repeated. “You have to let me keep her. I’ll make sure no one else knows.” 

How he planned on keeping a full grown dragon a secret, even way out here, even Roran did not know. He supposed his uncle might have some idea on how they might do that. Long term planning had never been Roran’s strong suite. 

But it seems I wasn’t the only one, he said and Evie held her breath, expecting to see a gaggle of boys popping out of the shrubs behind him.  The brush didn’t stir, however, save for the pelts of rain that caused their branches to nod now and again.  Evie glanced dubiously at the bushes and then back towards town, not too far off.  It struck her as odd that he had sheltered in the bushes when only a little travel might have brought him to a fire.  Evie, however, did not immediately question this logic - perhaps not all doors in this town were so open as she had once believed.  Celia had described to her the bad condition of living - perhaps this young man was afraid of being turned away.  

Her brow contorted as Evie listened to him describing the spider.  Of course, she herself was not overfond of spiders, but she liked to think she should not hide in their domain and then be surprised to see one.  She would have thought differently, ironically enough, had she known that it was not only a mouse but one that was running up his person.  In absence of this knowledge, however, she felt confused.  This, she decided, was a strange young man, indeed.

“I can’t help but think there might be a great many spiders in that brush,” Evie pointed out, softly.  She felt a mild concern for this poor fellow and asked herself if perhaps he was a tad touched.  “Perhaps you’d better come into town with me.  Come, I’ll buy you a cup of hot mulled wine…or whatever they might serve that is warm,” she added, frowning, thinking perhaps spiced wine might be a specialty more pertaining to the wealth of the land.  “You must be soaked to the bone!”

Evie’s horse pawed at the ground, quickly transmuting from earth to mud, and waved the boy towards her.  “We best get on and quickly.  The storm seems to grow only more ferocious.”  

Beginning to walk, Evie favored him with a kind smile, hoping not to alarm him.  “What’s your name?” she inquired.  “I’m-” she broke off, suddenly, realizing that - in the long list of things she’d foolishly failed to consider - a suitable alias was one.  “Nataly,” she supplied, quickly, recalling her favorite tragedy.  “I work at Ravenwood Hall,” she added, gesturing towards her livery, as she constructed her false identity.  Realizing, however, that perhaps she was suspiciously oversharing, she forced a smile and stopped herself from adding that she lived in the Imperial City, which was why he had probably never seen her face before.

“Do you live in town?” she inquired, instead.  She hoped he did.  Perhaps he could furnish her with a perspective on what it was like to live here - spiders and all.  “I’m passing through on a mission for my mistress,” she said.  “I wonder which of these is the best tavern,” she supplied, casting her glance towards town and merry lights flickering from the windows.  “It looks a pleasant place to be.  Cheerful.”

“At least one more than I would like,” He said, hurriedly, moving away from the bush.

“I’m not from here, either.” He confessed, “I don’t know my way around. But I think closest is best.” He said, pointing a finger towards a small building that had a roaring fire through the window and a faded sign reading The Two Crowns.

He crossed the road with her and once her horse had been tied up in the stables, they found an empty table near the fire. He’d apologized for not having any money, but she insisted she had more than enough for both of them and ordered them both a warm drink. He was more thankful than he could say to be out of the rain and by the fire.

But he knew, then, he’d have to talk to her and answer questions. He had to lie and he wasn’t any good at lying.

His uncle had known from the moment he’d starting hiding Arya in the barn that something was amiss, but he couldn’t allow for this girl to have any shadow of a doubt as to who he was and why he was there. He knew he’d been messy when it came to Cora, but then … she was different and he trusted her.

When it came to Nataly, he would not be so careless. Charles was already going to have his head for this. In fact, he would have both his head and Cedric’s (if they managed to make it out of this scrape).

But for now, he knew that he and Nataly both needed to get out of this storm. Heading into a tavern with lots of people did not seem like the best move, but he supposed that no one could know who he was. The only troubling thing was that he did not know who Nataly was, not really. He hoped going somewhere with her would not draw attention to either of them.

“I’m from Dorwaine,” He explained, finally, “I’m passing through the capital with my cousin. We had a farm back home but … there was a fire and we lost everything. We don’t have much of a plan really. We may travel on south or perhaps we’ll stay. I don’t know.” He paused, “I’m Roran, by the way.” He wasn’t sure if he should use his real name … but then he had used it with Cora and what if they knew each other?

She’d delayed too long.  When first she’d conceived of the plan, she’d shied away, devolving into her natural anxieties and indulging them.  But time drew on and Evie knew she could wait no longer when, one night, she watched rain streaming down the windowpanes of her chamber.  

Summoning a maid to bring her tea, Evie promptly spilled some on her livery and had the maid take it off and leave it in the chamber for Evie’s own laundress to mend, as the accident had been her own.  Grateful, the maid had agreed and gone to fetch a new livery.  Evie then informed the guards her mother set upon her that she was going to sleep and shut the doors on them.  Changing into her plainest frock and pulling the livery over it, Evie also found her drabbest cloak and pulled up the hood, ostensibly for the rain.  It was then that she set out on the most reckless adventure of her life.

Opening her casement, Evie crawled out onto the roof, biting her lip to keep from screaming when she slid in the streaming downpour.  This is a mistake, thought Evie, desperately clinging to the slick tiles.  This is a mistake.  And I have no plan for a return journey, she realized too late.  But rather than clambering back into her window, Evie slowly descended, finally dropping down upon a parapet.  Glancing around to be sure no one had seen, Evie gathering her skirts and scurried towards the stairs, rushing down into the courtyard and helping herself to the horses reserved for messengers.  She struggled with the saddle for a few moments, never having done it herself before, and felt the glow of accomplishment when she knew she’d finally done it right.  Evie led the creature out into the rain.

A guard - one of the new ones, Jon Valles’s - stopped her.  “Where are you going with that, little miss?”

To see the truth for myself, thought Evie.  Between the awful events at the wedding, and just after it, and the things she’d heard from Celia since she’d been home, Evie’s head swam with questions: questions about her entire arena of life.  

Celia said that, outside the Imperial City, Aragoth was racked with famine and poverty; that Rowena was a cruel and grasping queen; that all the nation stood on the brink of revolt.  A few weeks ago, Evie might not have believed her, but Rowena’s total disregard for justice left Evie feeling queasy.  She did not think Alexandir could possibly be guilty, but Rowena had assured her otherwise.  Rowena also assured Evie that the Aragothi were well-fed and happy.  Before Evie could accuse a queen of such atrocities (after all, James might have taken Celia to the worst town in Aragoth or - less likely - perhaps Alexandir had killed Jon - Who could truly blame him? Evie thought, wickedly), she had to know for certain, and she knew only one way to find out if her cousin was a liar.

This, however, was not the thing to say to the guard.  Forming and smile, keeping her head down low under the hood and the rain, Evie made her best peasant accent.  “Off to fetch back some wine for m’lady,” she said.

“At this time of night?  In this rain?”

“My mistress has an awful thirst, sir,” replied Evie with a pang which only increased when the soldier nodded.  Even he knew it was true.  Even he did not want to come between Avelina and her wine.  

“On with ye, then,” he declared.  “And see you’re soon back!”

Evie made a click with her tongue and prodded the horse with her ankles.  She didn’t answer.  She had no idea how long this would take.  The guard lifted the portcullis for her and Evie rode out into the stormy night, outside the city, and out into the country, to the nearest village.  She had to know the truth for herself.

It took her some time to arrive there, but when she had, much of the rain had abated.  Unbidden, Evie found herself thinking of Celia and Cordelia, as she dismounted and led her horse further into town.  She wished she were brave like them.  She didn’t feel confident or courageous: she felt guilty and frightened.  If she were wrong, what horrible things she had imagined!  If she were right, what a horrible truth she lived…

Despite the rain, Evie pulled back her hood to gaze at the twinkling lights of town and she drew a deep breath.  There could be no turning back, once she’d begun.  Hearing a crash in the nearby thicket, Evie whirled to face it.  “Who’s there?” she hissed, terrified she had been followed.  

It was perhaps not the best choice. 

Cedric hadn’t been able to resist dropping in on Kate Miller (especially given the weather) and Roran had grown restless sitting in her cottage, listening to the rain and Cedric whispering soft words that were met with a blush and a smile. 

If he slipped out and took a quick look around, no one would notice. 

He looked just like everyone else in the dark and the rain, shrouded in his cloak. Even at night and in this storm, this village was more to behold than the Dorwine ever was. This village sat on the outside the Imperial City, itself, and so far, this was the most impressive place Roran had ever seen in his life. 

He didn’t intend to spend most of the evening sitting inside by the fire. 

The trouble was, he’d only meant to go down this street a little ways (but not so far that he lost sight of Kate’s cottage). He hadn’t taken into consideration that the Queen’s men would be patrolling the streets and, rather than risk being questioned, he darted down one street and then another until he realized he was turned around. 

He didn’t know where he was. 

He smiled for a moment, enjoying the irony that this was the very situation which they had tried to avoid by coming here in the first place, but then the gravity of the situation sank in. What if he never found his way back without Cedric? What if the Queen’s men caught up with him? How could he have been so stupid as to think that there could be nothing wrong in indulging his curiosity?  

He kept out of sight as much as possible as he tried to retrace his steps. He saw someone approach, leading a horse, and quickly darted into some bushes nearby. He waited for them to pass, but just as they were right by him, a mouse ran up his leg and caused him to fall over and cry out. 

He would have ran, if they had not been blocking him. He realized as soon as they called out to him that it was only a young girl, perhaps only a few years older than himself. She seemed as afraid of him as he had been of her. 

He stood up quickly, unsure of how he was going to explain his position in the bushes without seeming suspicious. “It’s only me!” He said as though the mere sight of him would ease her fears. He realized, despite being a dragonrider, that he did not look like much then, in his rain drenched and torn cloak. 

Lying on his back in his cleverly disguised half-cave, half-tent, Cedric opened one eye.  He could hear someone creeping about, crunching through the forest floor.  Slipping his fingers out, they closed around his bow, his quiver.  Cedric pulled them towards him as stealthily as possible and scanned his surroundings with his one open eye.  Seeing nothing, he creeped into a crouch.  The footsteps were approaching his own tent and, nocking an arrow to his bow, Cedric drew a deep breath…and pounced.

Turning the corner quickly, he held his weapon ready to fling an arrow at the intruder…only to come face-to-face with Roran DeGrey and his dragon.  Heart-pounding, Cedric suppressed a curse.  Shaking his head, he carefully unstrung his arrow, replacing it in his quiver.  

“By all the gods,” he hissed.  “What do you mean creeping about like some blasted thief at all hours?  I might’ve shot you, you know!  Aragoth’s last best hope, indeed,” he added, cocking a brow, half-horrified at himself, half-bemused.  He might have known.  

In truth, it had been neither of those things. Roran and Arya had both been sneaking around the forest and hadn’t realized they’d gotten so close to the camp. They were still learning their way around this forest (which was one of the many reasons Charles had told them not to go off alone). But Roran had been bored and Arya had been hungry and so they’d ventured out (by Roran’s standards not far, but by Charles’s further than he should go, even with a companion).