When Fitch started speaking, it wasn't about Cedric's father, Merlin, but about the boy himself.

"When you were about two years old, you came down with lung-fever. Was the worst case I ever saw—it's a miracle you survived, really."

The old man brought his lips to his fingers, searching habitually for his pipe, only to find it wasn't there. When his illness worsened, Cedric confiscated it—something Fitch didn't appreciate.

He continued, grumbling.

"You don't look a thing like him, but until then, you were that… man's spitting image."

"…"

Cedric's eyes flickered, not sure what Fitch meant. However, from his grandfather's tone, he had his suspicions.

"You didn't inherit much of his looks, and you've shaken off whatever impression his personality left on you, but for better or worse, you have some of his luck. Merlin's always had the devil's own, getting out of things he should rightly shouldn't have."

Fitch looked at his grandson for a second or two before chuckling.

"I can see that doesn't satisfy you, but I don't know what you were expecting. The only thing special about your father is how much of a bastard he is. If he weren't my own son, I'd have put him out of everyone's misery long ago."

Cedric's eyebrows twitched. His grandfather wasn't telling him everything, that much was sure. Merlin running away with his wife and leaving his son behind was pretty scummy, but didn't warrant such a… murderous reaction.

Unless Fitch was exaggerating, but Cedric knew he wasn't the type to talk big.

"As for your mother, I don't know much about her, to be honest. It goes without saying, but there was no proper courtship nor marriage between your parents, at least not to my knowledge. He just showed up on my doorstep one day with her in tow. At first, I pitied the girl, ensnared by someone like him. However, I soon realized they were birds of a feather, something that disturbed me greatly…"

Fitch sucked in a slow breath between his teeth, his expression dark.

"…bad enough he was out there, causing gods knew what harm. The last thing the world needed was for the bastard to find a partner in crime."

His eyes flicked briefly to Cedric, scanning his face.

"I'm not telling you this to sate your curiosity, boy. It's a tragic thing, for a child to grow up parentless, but you're far better off forgetting you ever had any. The last thing you need is to get dragged in to their messes."

He stared intently at his grandson, expecting a reaction.

Cedric raised his eyebrows.

"You're scaring me, gramps. From the way you talk, my parents sound like a pair of murderers, or worse. In any case, I'm not really that curious, nor do I lament their absence."

Fitch grunted, seemingly satisfied.

"Good, now stop bothering me. Merchants will be coming soon from out of town, and there's work do be done before then."

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The next day, Fitch was dead.

Cedric found him in bed, laying on his back. There was no expression on his face, like he'd simply fallen asleep, never to wake again. The cause of death was a mystery, but he suspected a heart attack or perhaps a brain aneurism.

Fitch was old, and he'd lived a hard life. Taking care of his health was never a priority, smoking like a chimney and drinking like a fish. Sixty-two this year, he wasn't a spring chicken either.

Though his death was sudden, Cedric wasn't that shocked. However, the sense of loss in his chest was surprising. Since arriving here, he'd wanted to sever attachments, but now that his biggest one was gone…

"Old age did him in, or natural causes if you prefer."

Sighing, Gertrude, the village healer straightened, having stood over Fitch's corpse. She glanced from it to Cedric, her eyes pitying.

"It's a hard place to be in, child, but now that you're the last of the family, all responsibilities will fall to you. Funeral arrangements will have to be made, but the village'll help you with that much, at least."

Cedric nodded slowly. His face was expressionless, but he wasn't holding it in. There was no impulse to cry, nor even much sadness. His emotional state was strange and difficult to describe.

"Thank you, auntie."

He didn't say much else, nor did he meet her eyes.

Gertrude shook her head before walking out the door. She counted on Cedric to follow her, which he did. A corpse would keep long in this season, but they'd rather have the burial over and done with. In the meantime, they'd need a few hands to help relocate it to the village cemetery.

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Two days later, the funeral was held.

The atmosphere was a bit strange. Though nearly the entire village attended, nobody seemed particularly sad. Fitch was an outsider, having only lived here two decades – short, compared to most, who could trace back their family line hundreds of years - and it was well-known he served as a soldier before retiring.

Needless to say, that didn't exactly make him very popular among the locals.

As the proceedings wound to an end, including mournful singing and the local-custom funeral rites, people came to offer their condolences. Some were genuine, others not. Cedric didn't pay much attention to the latter, and was surprised at himself for appreciating the former.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

It was uncle Garrow, acquainted with both Cedric and Fitch.

"Your grandfather, he… well, he was a real codger, but far from the worst I've seen. He was like a stone, the stubborn old bastard—almost part of the scenery. Can hardly believe he's gone."

Cedric's lips involuntarily pressed into a thin smile, feeling the tension in his shoulders lighten somewhat.

"If only he was a bit less stubborn, he'd still be alive. I talked to him about it multiple times, but he kept smoking secretly, no matter what I said. He could barely breathe as it was."

Garrow sighed, patting his shoulder.

"He was stuck in his ways, that's for sure. Happens to everyone when they get old. Don't blame yourself, boy, he lived a full life. And you're still here—his last blood. No matter how grumpy he might've been, I know Fitch cared greatly for you."

Cedric briefly met Garrow's eyes before looking away. He suddenly felt guilty, knowing the man would be dead in a few months without him doing anything about it.

He started contemplating if that was really the right thing to do. Yet, not only did it not make sense, there was no benefit to act the hero. He was selfish by nature, with no desire to change, but… if he had so little principle that he was unwilling to even try, he'd really lose all respect for himself.

Was pursuing one's self-interest really the be-all-and-end-all? Should values and principles be discarded just because they didn't make sense? If so, could he even call himself a human being? How was he behaving differently from an animal, or a machine?

Before he could reach a resolution, an unexpected visitor arrived. He was gray haired and bearded, and carrying a runic staff in his hands. It was none other than Brom, the village 'storyteller'.

"My condolences, lad, insufficient as they may be. It may seem callous of me to pose the question right now, but tragedy doesn't remove the need for practicality. What will you do now? It seems a poor idea, for a thirteen-year-old boy to be living by themselves."

Both Cedric and Garrow looked it at him, the former showing more surprise than the latter. In fact, the farmer only briefly showed and expression of disapproval before his eyebrows furrowed, contemplating the question.

Cedric kept the uneasiness off his face. He avoided dealing with Brom as much as possible, and for obvious reasons.

"When gramps' illness worsened, he couldn't help with the homestead in any case. I'll be fine on my own."

Brom scoffed, tugging on his long moustache.

"Nonsense. Fitch may not have been chopping wood or lugging around produce, but that didn't mean he sat around all day doing nothing."

Cedric felt his cheeks heating up, and hurried to explain.

"That's not what I-…"

Surprisingly, it was Garrow who interrupted, but not to step in on his behalf. To Cedric's dismay, he sided with Brom.

"We know what you mean, boy, but I also don't think it wise you stay on your own. Last time Fitch took his eyes off you, you wounded up half-dead and freezing on my front porch. If Eragon hadn't found you…"

Garrow drifted off, staring at Cedric, his meaning clear.

"It's decided, then. You'll stay with me for the time being. There's room enough for the both of us. When I've instilled some sense in you, or you've come of age, you can move back into the homestead."

Brom took advantage of the brief lull to suggest something ridiculous. Not only Cedric, but Garrow as well were stunned by his words.

"What, no, why? I can't just leave! If the place stands empty, who know what'll happen to it? Never mind regular upkeep, thieves will-…"

He scrambled to reason himself out of something that'd likely prove extremely disadvantageous, but Brom was quick with a retort.

"Don't be foolish. You'll take everything important with you, and there's nothing stopping us from checking in on the place every few days. Besides, what thieves? You're not accusing anyone in the village, are you?"

Cedirc's eyebrows furrowed, his mouth opening and closing. Not knowing what to say, he looked at Garrow, hoping the farmer would shoot down Brom's idea, or maybe make his own offer.

"That's… You'd do that for the boy, Brom? I'm not doubting your motives, I just didn't expect…"

His eyes flicked between Cedric and Brom before he cleared his throat.

"…The village won't have you live on your own, Cedric. If you keep insisting, you'll just worry them. As much as I'm willing to have you, or even Horst for that matter, I think it's best if you went with Brom…"

As he spoke, he lowered his voice, having noticed a few funeral-goers trying to evesdrop.

"…everyone treats him like a stranger, but I can assure you he's among the best of us. If everything ever happened to me, I'd trust Brom to look after Eragon..."

Cedric blinked a few times, wondering if he was dreaming. This sudden turn of events was too outlandish to the point he struggled processing it. Brom was indeed a bachelor, one of the few people with either space or money to care for an orphan, but something about the situation felt off.

He couldn't help feel the old rider had grown suspicious of him, wanting to make use of this opportunity to keep Cedric in his sights.

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