Destiny (Volume I: Shur'tugalar)

Chapter Three Part XX (ED)

Here's chapter three, dedicated to my fan horses4ever16 for recommending this story to be read on her profile - thanks, horses! For the rest of you guys, feel free to send a vote my way or become a fan if you like my works. Also, click the external link to check out a novel of my own entire ingenuity from my other account Nikkisha01 about the first Niaomi called Knives Make Lives (picture of cover up above). :D

Chapter 3

Inside Niom's home, his family waited out the storm. He jiggled the boys on his lap while Leafë held Nia, humming to keep her daughter's tears at bay. All three babes whimpered as another crack of lightning sounded, and their parents looked at each other in worry.

"Do you think - "

"Of course not," the man answered before his wife could finish the question. "Alalëa's barriers will hold. And Vanilor is sheltered up at Du Breoal Abr Kvaedheya."

"I still worry," Leafë replied. "Nia almost never cries."

"I know how she feels." Niom walked over and settled onto the couch, leaning over to look his daughter in the eye and wink as he stage-whispered, "I want to cry, too."

The elf merely rolled her eyes in exasperation, but Niaomi smiled and reached out to her father.

"See, see?" he crowed. "My girl knows what I mean."

"You're crazy," Leafë said, but she grinned wickedly as she held her out further so that she could pull her father's beard. Niom winced and tried to gently tug it free, but the babe's grip was iron. The mother was snickering as her other children began reaching upwards to grab their father's beard as well.

"A little help, love?"

"Oh, I'm sure your girl will figure out what you mean," Leafë said with an utterly serious face.

Niom looked up to narrow his eyes at her, only to wince as Niaomi pulled harder. Grumbling about an uncaring wife and inconsiderate babes, he traded his sons to the elf for Nia. Leaning over, he tickled the girl's nose with his beard, and she let go as she giggled. Niom smiled smugly at his wife.

"Well, you certainly don't need my help." And with that, Leafë handed the boys back to him and got up, moving towards the window as she pulled back the curtain and looked through the glass. "I believe the storm is clearing."

Ignoring Niom's desperate glance for assistance as the triplets began to climb all over him, she left the room. Eragon glanced around the warm environment, taking in the deep green curtains and beautifully woven carpets depicting fantastical creatures like unicorns and griffins. A fireplace blazed opposite the couch where the babes were still crawling atop their helpless father. Two other comfy-looking chairs were placed there, and on the fireplace mantel sat several small fairths in marble frames: the one of Niom and Leafë on their wedding day that he'd seen earlier, another of the triplets climbing over one another and laughing, Niom and Vanilor flying through the sky, the house on a sunny day, and an older one of Tristan and Niom standing together on top of the library's roof. The boy was bent over and gasping for air as Tristan patted him on the back, roaring with laughter.

Other knickknacks were tossed around the room: a pair of knitting needles and the object it was creating laying on the back of a chair, an empty plate with bread crumbs on the glass table in front of the couch, a coat rack in the corner with shoes underneath it. The room was obviously well lived in, and well loved.

"Leafë, these three are going to kill me," called Niom as he tried to grab a hold of his children; unfortunately, the man only had two arms.

"Don't be silly, dear," the elf called back in a singsong voice.

Sighing, he stood and put the boys down on the rug before setting Niaomi her down in a cradle that was lying hidden in the shadow of one of the chairs.

"You stay here, missy," the father ordered sternly, wagging a finger in her face. His daughter grabbed it, cooing, and Niom couldn't keep from smiling back as he tweaked her tiny nose and turned to gather his sons. He headed to the window to see that the storm was over. The beach was awash with driftwood as the remaining raindrops rolled off the edge of the roof (apparently, the winds had been strong enough to blow the rain through the island's border).

He gasped suddenly, and the reminiscence shifted so they were seeing from Niom's point of view. Near the shore far down the beach, close to the mermaids' rocks, was a rowboat. It had slid onto the sand during the storm, for it was bobbing slightly in the rising tide. As the mirror's focus enhanced, the viewers could see a pale hand dangling over the side.

"Leafë!" Niom shouted, setting Nate and Nick down beside their sister as his wife came rushing in, hands floury.

"What happened?" she asked, wiping her hands on the apron she'd tied on. "Are the triplets alright?"

"Yes, they're fine. But outside there's a boat, and someone is in it. Looks like they washed in from the storm."

"Then let's take a look," Leafë said briskly, stripping off the apron and tying back her black hair into a ponytail. Niom hurried to the door, opening it for her as she strode out and following her close behind.

"Vanilor would come, but the satyrs are throwing a party," he told her as they quickly approached the boat. "Hope our new visitor is friendly."

As they arrived at the boat, both gasped at the sight of a pale young woman laying down, eyes closed and breathing shallow. She was human, but her beauty could rival the Fair Folk themselves. Her heart shaped face had a delicate nose and full pink lips. Her golden hair, the color of sunlight streaming through a window, was tangled and wet. But the most notable feature about her was that she was pregnant, with a very large bulge that was gently rounded in the place of her stomach.

Leafë sat down, gently placing her hand to the woman's forehead, who opened her eyes at the touch. They were large and framed by thick curling lashes, and the color was as blue as Alalëa's sky - a shade only a whisper lighter than Rosaminda's.

"Where...where am I?" she asked faintly. Her voice was exhausted, but Eragon could tell it was as melodic as the elves.

"Alalëa," replied Niom. He leaned down beside his wife, looking at the woman with curiosity. "Who are you? And how did you come to be here?"

"I am...Lady Belinda...of King Galbatorix's...court," the woman managed in between gasps. Leafë's expression remained unchanged as Niom looked on in disconcertion until she added, "And..I am...about to give...birth."