Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing! Everything belongs to Paolini.

Rated: M for future/mild mature content.

A/N: This was a story I began work on a few months back, but just now remembered and revised with my up-to-date writing style. I like the idea, but don't really know if I'll continue this. It might be one of those stories I generally update.

Anyway, I've always wondered about Brom and Selena's relationship, and this is basically my version of that. If you like it and want to see a little more, please comment. All reviews are greatly welcome.

EnJoy!

{DJWind}

1

Thick mist obscured the looming peaks of the Spine that stretched across Alagaësia's western shore. Nothing moved. No beast rumbled through the underbrush or bird croaked on a bare branch. Everything was eerily still with the cold and wet brought on by the mist.

In between the mist a black figure could be see walking wearily down the rutted road that lead to the castle little more than league away. His weather-stained cloak was wrapped securely around him, the hood drawn up. Only grey eyes could be seen from under the hood's shadow, glancing swiftly along the dark horizon. At length, he took his eyes off of the castle and with a sigh, slumped his shoulders and dropped his proud head as he changed his appearance from a middle-aged Rider to a old lowly gardener.

Brom was surprised to see such a commotion before Morzan's castle. He slowed to a halting stride and leaned heavily upon his staff, raw with the fresh carvings he'd shaved out in his spare time. He watched what was going on, noting two carriages stuck in the mud in the middle of the road before the castle gates. Brom frowned as his heart was filled with renewed hate and anger. All he wanted to do was to kill the bastard behind those walls, the same bastard who'd murdered his dragon and ruined his future. Revenge came slow, but bitter-sweet when it did. Brom could taste victory already in his mouth for these carriages carried the Black Hand of Morzan, the most deadly assassin the Empire had ever produced, to its master. Brom was here sinking information, but he might also strike a fatal blow to his enemy in the process.

Brom edged closer to the suck carriage. One of its wheels were stuck and broken and servants were quickly trying to stabilize it and unload the carriage before further damage could be done. Brom wanted to howl with glee, the sight was a little too amusing for him. He turned away, grinning in the shadows of the hood, and was about to slip into the crowd when his eyes caught someone coming out of one of the carriages. A posed and slender woman stepped down from the carriage. She was clad in dark purple velvet with corset bodice and full skirt. Black gloves covered her hands while a gold ring graced her left finger. A veil of black Surda lace covered her face, but through Brom could something out of her fetchers. Her face was pale and her rich brown hair was pulled up in an arrangement of braids with a few strands escaping across her forehead. Her eyes were brown but life had gone from them, replaced by bitterness and sour sorrow.

For a fleeting moment Brom thought she was beautiful, but in the way a raw gem is before being sculpted and polished by the jeweler. The woman turned away and disappeared through the castle gates.

-Ξ-

Selena's heart throbbed painful as she entered the gloomy depths of the castle. She didn't look up as she already know what would meet her gaze, frowning balconies with watchful gargoyles. A part of her jumped to see her young son, Murtagh, again

after so long, but another part of her feared to face his cruel father Morzan. It had been a year since Murtagh's birth and the first time she'd land eyes upon him, secretly swearing she'd protect him from Morzan with all her power. She'd been married to Morzan for many years, but was only now becoming aware of his true self. Selena cursed herself for being the naïve maiden who'd fallen haplessly in love with a tall dark stranger. She'd realized her mistake too late. By then she'd been thrown into a harsh reality of death and sin, her innocents being snuffed out like wind to a candle flame, and she'd turned cold and bitter, merciless towards that resisted her husband's rule.

But with Murtagh birth something had changed within her. Selena now did her duty with some reluctance. She found herself turning away from a fresh kill with bail in her throat and tears in her eyes. She tired to crush those emotions, no-one would tolerate an assassin who felt.

Selene waked through the barren garden beds before entering the castle tower. She was half-way across the courtyard when she saw him, a stumped old gardener who toiled with a late blooming rose bush. He was cutting away its tangled stems with great tenderness as if he relished this above all else, even his own wife and family. Selene stopped, captivated by his hands that moved with such deft ease and grace despite the fact that they were growled and callused.

Against her best intentions Selena found herself walking towards the gardener, drawn to him by some unknown force until she was standing only a few feet away. He stiffened sensing her presences, but didn't stand and run away like the servants did. After a moment of consideration he stopped want he was doing and looked up.

Selena started.

For a moment she saw the old gardener, aged and haggard with deep wrinkles and tangled grey hair, his unwashed beard spill over his chest like thorny vines, but his grey eyes weren't old. They were clear and bright with the spark of youth, yet strangely shallow and chiller as if shaken into some sort of doubt, a deep love lost and shattered to pieces to be replaced by anger and hatred with a profound sorrow behind everything.

"Yes…?" The gardener answered Selena's unspoken question—almost as if he was reading her thoughts though her expression was blank.

Selena withdraw her eyes from his and glanced down at a freshly cut rose in his hand. Without a word the gardener held it up as if it were a peace offering, and she took it. Suddenly Selena turned away and left him, leaving the old gardener looking after her with something akin to longing in his eyes. Brom's throat tightened as he watched her disappear into the tower. She was the Black Hand, and suddenly he realized he couldn't kill her even if he had the chance. Something in his heart softened, and all that bitterness and grief he'd held onto for so longer began to melt, replaced by an emotion he believed he'd never feel again: Love.