#Roran Littlehammer at this point

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Look at my Son (Pre-Eragon)

Brom hunched his shoulders against the gust of snow flurries that tugged at his clothes as his horse clopped tiredly along. He knew he was getting close, could still feel the tiny threads of Selena’s energy leading to the small farm on the edge of Carvahall.

His stomach churned. Not only because he was hungry, but because he didn’t know what he was going to find when he reached his destination. Had the healers observations and Brom’s own hypothesis correct? He didn’t know if he wanted to be right or if he wanted to be wrong.

The Rider pulled his horse to a stop at the small house his spells were leading him to.

It wasn’t anything fancy. A simple homestead with a single story, a paddock next to the side porch. Brom could see a small patch of empty farmland behind the paddock, stubbled with the remains cut, dead stalks of grains poking up through the light layer of snow.

It looked like a home for a family.

Sighing, Brom leaned his forearms on the saddle’s pommel and examined the home, looking for some excuse to enter. He found a reason in one of the two work horses, a muscled bay, that had a pronounced limp.

Moments later found him knocking on the front door. His heart thumped in his chest. He had to play this along for a little while, then he could have the truth.

At the third knock a thin man opened the door. He looked at Brom with intense, dark eyes, then cocked an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Brom cleared his throat. “Ah, well, not to intrude, sir. I was passing by and saw that one of your horses has a quite a limp. Didn’t know if you were aware, and I just…”

The man sighed tiredly. “Yeah, I’m aware. Thank you.” He leaned out to look over at the bay as it lapped water from a trough. “Poor girl. I don’t have the money to replace her, but I don’t have the money to get her looked at either. I’ve been resting her since winter started, but nothing seems to work.”

“I might be able to help, if you don’t mind me working with her a bit.” Brom gestured to his own steed. “I’m a bit of a traveling storyteller, but I’ve picked up quite a few tricks for healing, especially where horses are involved. Can’t get anywhere with a lame animal.” He offered his hand. “My name is Brom.”

Out of instinct the other man shook his hand. “Garrow.” Then he paused. “I appreciate your offer, but as I said, we don’t have much money, and I’m not the sort of person to accept–”

Brom cut him off. “If you insist on paying me, I’d appreciate a hot meal and a porch to sleep on for the night.” He chuckled roughly. “I’m having a bit of money trouble myself. Don’t think I have enough for a room in town.”

Garrow rubbed his chin, obviously thinking it over. For a moment Brom was worried he would refuse again, but then a woman’s voice called from within the house, coming closer with each word. “Honey? Who is it?”

A woman appeared behind Garrow. Brom’s heart leapt to his throat when he saw a child balanced on her hip, but then he came to his senses. The boy was much too big to have been born in the last few months.

“This gentleman–Brom, was it?–Brom was offering to take a look at old Betty for us.”

“And you were going on about not accepting charity, weren’t you? Garrow, you are not going to let this opportunity slide after all the complaining you’ve done about Betty being lame. Let the poor man in!” She swatted her husband on the shoulder good naturedly. “I already heard his offer to trade. Brom, you are welcome to stay for dinner and sleep in our guest room if you can help our horse.”

Garrow chewed his lip for a moment as the woman went back into the house, the toddler on her hip staring back at the stranger at his door with wide gray eyes. “Fine, fine. You can let your horse into the paddock to feed. I’ll get my coat.”

~~~

With magic on his side, the horse’s leg was easy to fix.

To keep impressions up, Brom took to murmuring to the pained animal in the Ancient Language, weaving in his spells subtly as he checked each leg and gently manipulated muscle and bone. Garrow would occasionally ask how he was doing certain exercises, but mostly kept to himself, leanly corded arms wrapped in a well worn jacket and crossed on his thin chest.

After two hours of working with the horse, Brom managed to get Betty to put her full weight on her previously injured limb.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Garrow grunted. “You must be some kind of miracle worker.”

Brom brushed his hands off and gave the bay a pat on her thick shoulder. “No, no. Just had many years of experience. She’ll still need rest until it’s fully healed. I wouldn’t have her pulling anything until spring. These types of injuries can get worse and have a nasty habit of popping up again if pushed too early.” The farmer nodded, assuring the stranger that he would take his advice, and then, finally, invited Brom into his home.

~~~ “Marian!” Garrow called, hanging his coat on the rack beside the door. Instead of his wife, the child from before came tottering out of what Brom assumed was the kitchen. “Hey, big guy! Where’s your mommy, huh?” In one fell swoop, Garrow crouched down and lifted the little boy up into his arms.

The child giggled, reaching out for his father’s head with grasping fingers. Garrow humored him, letting him tug at his ears, as Brom followed the man’s example of hanging his coat. As if suddenly noticing the newcomer, the boy let go of Garrow’s ears and leaned over his shoulder, pointing with an exclamation of childish surprise. “Ah, right. Roran, this man here is Brom. He helped the horse get better.” Garrow looked back. “This is Roran, our son.”

Brom awkwardly waved. “Hello, Roran.”

Roran waved back vigorously. “‘Aye Bom!”

“I’m in the kitchen!” Marian appeared in the doorway that Roran had come through, wiping her hands on her checkered waist apron. Her dark hair was tied up in a loose bun. “Supper will be ready in another hour or two. How did it go?”

“Brom here has magic hands, honey.” Garrow set Roran down, letting him toddle off, and clapped Brom on the shoulder. “Betty will actually walk on her leg now.”

Marian flashed Brom a warm smile. “That’s wonderful! Thank you so much, Brom. Please, have a seat! I’ll get some tea for you both to warm up.”

Garrow led the other man to the living room and offered him a seat in a worn armchair. “I know it’s not exactly the cleanest place in the world, but it’s home.” Garrow apologized, hastily moving blocks, a baby’s play mat, and various toys away with his feet. “We had an unexpected new addition to the family a little while ago. Hard keeping up with two little ones.”

Brom’s heart skipped a beat as he accepted the offered chair. “Congratulations. Two children are quite a blessing.”

Garrow chuckled slightly as he sat across from him on the couch. “Ah, well. He’s not ours, really. He’s my sister’s boy, but she had to leave him with us. We love him as our own, though.”

A boy!

He had a son!

“That’s incredibly kind of you.”

Suddenly, a soft cry came from a room further in the house.

The farmer stood. “There he is. Excuse me.”

Brom nearly choked as Garrow disappeared down the hall. He had a son! A little boy! His heart bashed against his ribs as he realized that Garrow was likely going to return with the baby. He was about to see his son for the first time and he was the only person in the world who knew it. He braced his elbows on his knees, trying to calm himself.

Dear Gods, he had never been good with children. They were small, generally talked or cried a lot, stank, and were prone to all kinds of trouble. He never knew what way he was supposed to hold them, especially babies, and when they weren’t able to talk he was secretly terrified of not being able to help them or give them what they wanted.

Would he be able to handle even seeing the boy? What if he had to hold him? Stars above, he wanted to hold him, but at the same time what if he broke him? What if–

“Here’s the little man.” Brom started when Garrow spoke, gaze shooting up to see the farmer settling back onto the couch with a squirming bundle in his arms. “Sorry about the crying. It’s all they seem to do at this age.”

Brom cleared his throat, trying to fight past the lump he felt forming. He couldn’t see past the blankets. “No, it’s fine.”

Garrow gently bounced the child in his lanky arms, trying to soothe him. “Have any of your own?”

The question struck hard. “Ah, no. I’ve helped care for a few while traveling with troupes though.” Tentatively, as if he might be breaking some unspoken rule, Brom stood and approached the couch. “May I see him?”

“Yeah, yeah, sit. Shh shh shh, it’s okay, Unkie Garrow’s here.” Brom took the spot next to Garrow as gently as he could, his mind blocking out even the crying. He still couldn’t see him.

“Roran, what have you go– GARROW!” Marian’s flustered voice suddenly cut through the din. “Garrow, Roran got into your tools again and is about to smash a window with that silly hammer! My hands are full!”

“Shoot! Not again!” Garrow looked between the kitchen and the babe in his arms, clearly torn. His gaze settled on Brom as his wife again yelled for him. “Ah, here, can you maybe just–”

Before he even had time to answer Garrow transferred the warm bundle of blanket and baby to Brom’s arms and was out of the room.

Brom looked down, eyes wide and disbelieving. His arms began gently rocking the child of their own accord as a calm suddenly settled over his panicked mind.

The crying stopped.

And so did the rest of the world.

A pudgy face looked up at him from the bunched up blanket, slightly red from the screaming earlier, appearing a curious at the new face that gazed down.

Brom couldn’t breathe. Something welled up in his chest that wasn’t anything he had felt before. It felt like…pride. But that wasn’t it. It was something distinctly different but nameless, sending warm tingles across his entire body and forming a lump in his throat.

Then the baby gurgled and smiled up at him.

And Brom fell apart.

“Hi.” The Rider whispered, nearly choking on the word. He carefully used a finger to move more of the blanket away from the child’s face, almost scared to touch him. The babe gave him no choice, though, by reaching out with a chubby little hand and grasped the finger near his face with a vice like grip. Brom choked out a soft laugh, wiggling the trapped appendage. “Oh, look at you. Hi, little one.” The baby laughed back, and pulled the finger up to explore with his mouth. “Hey.”

“His name is Eragon.” Brom tore his eyes from his son as Marian entered with a tray of tea. She set it down on the table beside the couch and settled down next to her guest.

“Eragon?” The Rider felt the name bolt through his conscious. Such a weighty name for such a small thing. Selena had picked a name of power, of history and peace. The name that had started the Golden Era. “That’s a…a powerful name.” He looked back to the child in his arms. “He’s beautiful.”

Marian took a sip of her tea. “You’ve heard of it? Garrow’s sister seemed to know some history behind the name.”

“It’s a very special name.” Brom murmured, gently rocking the smiling Eragon. “He’ll grow up to be an exceptional young man with a name like that.” Unbidden, another smile split Brom’s face as he gazed on his son. “Won’t you, Eragon?”

“Do you want me to take him off your hands?”

Brom didn’t look away. “No…. No, we’re fine. I’ll see if I can get him to sleep.” Marian smiled at him, thanking him for a welcome break from stresses of taking care of a fussy baby while trying to get dinner ready, and returned to the kitchen.

“You’ll grow up to be strong, Eragon.” Brom whispered to the babe. In response, Eragon let go of his finger and reached out, touching the man’s bearded cheek. “You’ll blow the world away someday. I know it.” Bright blue eyes, not yet pigmented, gazed into the same tone of blue in the eyes of the man above him.

If only Selena could see them now.

~~~

That night, Brom slept in the guest room.

It was also Eragon’s room.

Whenever the babe became fussy, Brom would quietly and carefully lift him from from his crib, consumed with wonder at his little body, and would sit with Eragon on his chest. As the beat of his heart lulled the child back to sleep, Brom softly crooned to him in the Ancient Language, weaving the words to the age old cradle song from Kusta. He familiarized himself with the face of his son, gently touched his downy brown hair, and whispered the story of the first Dragon Rider, the story of his namesake, to him as he slept.

In the morning, as dawn edged into the window, Brom forced himself to come to terms with having to leave. His heart ached as he kissed Eragon on the brow once, placed him back in his crib, and gathered his belongings.

After a small breakfast, again cooked by Marian, Brom gave his sincere thanks to the family.

“If you ever come by again, be sure to look us up.” Garrow shook his hand. “I want to properly repay you.”

“You already have.” The Rider assured him. The warmth of meeting his son was slowly seeping away to be replaced this a deep ache with each step he took to the edge of the porch. “Thank you. And thank you, Marian, for the excellent meals. I have eaten at many courts in my travels, and your food has rivaled them all.”

The woman blushed and laughed. “Well, thank you!” She glanced back into the house. “If you come back, I’m sure Eragon and Roran would love to hear a story or two. Maybe you could tell Eragon about his name.”

“I promise I will. Your hospitality has been most kind.” Adopting the old Kustan bow, Brom bid his final goodbyes and mounted his horse. “Take care. Both your children are very special. Know that. I hope you folks have fortune smile on you.”

As he clicked the steed into a walk, a sleepy eyed Roran grabbed his mother’s leg and waved. “Bye-bye Bom!”

Brom didn’t look back. He didn’t want them to see him crying.

From then on, everything Brom did wasn’t just for the Varden, elves, dwarves, Alagaësia or vengeance. It was all for his son.