I have recently rediscovered old Inheritance fics in my scarily huge documents folder. This is one of them. I am well aware of the fact that this can't pass for a decent story. I wrote it years ago. I was a kid. I thought you might want to read it and laugh at how bad of a writer I was. What's worse is I thought I was good...I do not own Inheritance.
The arrow flew.
It impaled itself in the centre of the target. The archer lowered her bow.
Arya gazed at the target, her expression inscrutable. No pride, or pleasure, or even satisfaction was noticeable, even though the shot had been near flawless.
"My Queen," murmured a voice. Arya clenched her jaw at the title, but when she turned to face the one who had spoken, her face was completely blank.
His face and voice were heart wrenchingly familiar.
But they weren't his. More than that, he wasn't him.
The elf greeted her quietly. She replied even more softly, her emerald eyes guarded. As he spoke, she examined him. His face was more angular than Eragon's, with the wild beauty and grace of an animal. His elven features were far more prominent than the Rider's.
Yet he still resembled Eragon enough to make her want to weep.
When had she cried last? Cried from something more than pain, or fallen comrades?
She knew the answer to that.
It had been decades, but she remembered.
On the night Eragon and Saphira had left, she had shed a tear. A single tear had traced its way down her face, despite her attempt to stay strong.
They had already been gone. No one had seen the tear rolling down her cheek.
She had returned home feeling fragile and vulnerable-two emotions she abhorred.
The elf bid her farewell, then hurried away, head bowed. Arya watched him leave, then unstrung her bow. She walked down the shooting range to retrieve her arrow. The elves parted for her, remaining at a distance.
She yanked her arrow free. She slid it into her quiver, breaking into a run. Unbecoming of a queen. Especially for the one who had become known to humans as the Ice Queen.
Was she cold? Perhaps. But no more so than her mother had been, no more so than many elves. So why had she been granted the name?
She knew why, of course. It was a rare elf that withdrew as quickly as she had. Many elves were cold, but most were naturally like that. Her icy shell had grown over a brief period of time. Even the humans had noticed, and few had ever met her.
Arya slowed to a walk. She raised her clenched fist, opening her hand to reveal a small ring. A gift, given decades ago. A bittersweet reminder of what she had given up.
"Goodbye, Eragon," Arya said softly, stiffly, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Fare thee well, Saphira."
"And you, Arya." Eragon hesitated, still grasping her hand. "It may be folly, but I must tell you once more. Soon, I shall be gone, and if my words upset you, you shall never hear them again."
Arya stiffened, waiting for him to voice what she knew was coming. He was looking down, but she knew that the moment he began speaking, he would meet her gaze.
"Riders and elves live long lives, Arya. Saphira and I will leave this land, and perhaps encounter others whom we will befriend. But the chance that they will be immortal is slim. They will pass on, and we'll have only each other.
"I'll remember those I have left behind. I'll remember friendships strong, and family bonds. But over the centuries, even the strongest memories fade. I shall likely forget those I respect and those I care for. But you, Arya...
"Our relationship has been a friendship, yes. I value your friendship beyond anything else. It pains me to know that it may hurt you if I say what I must, but say it I must. I love you, Arya. Have your feelings...have your feelings toward me changed?"
Arya avoided his gaze, her eyes glazed with a film of tears. She counted to three in her head, trying valiantly to compose herself. Finally, she raised her face so she could meet his eyes.
"Eragon," she said gently, her tone surprising even herself, "Perhaps they have, perhaps they haven't. What of it? My feelings matter not. We both have our own responsibilities. I am the Queen of the elves. You are the last Dragon Rider. Our paths were never intertwined."
"It does matter," Eragon insisted. "Even if we never see each other again..."
He had grown up considerably in the time Arya had known him, yet there were times when he still looked and sounded like a child, wanting something he couldn't have. He hadn't matured enough to realize that if she admitted her feelings, neither of them would have the courage to do what they needed to do.
"Arya...Take this. A reminder..." Eragon released her hand for long enough to pull something from his pocket. He pressed the small object into her hand. Arya glanced down at her open palm.
Atop it lay a ring, a simple circle of white gold. She tried to hand it back, but Eragon shook his head, taking her hand again to close her fingers over it. "Keep it, Arya."
Slowly, she nodded. She leaned closer to him, placing a light kiss upon his brow. "Goodbye, Eragon."
Years had passed, but she had kept the ring. It was a reminder of a friend, of what could have been. What they had given up for the greater good.
It was ironic that she was walking through her beloved city, longing for the company of someone whose advances she had often spurned. Longing for the company of someone with whom she had parted ways years before. Longing for someone that she didn't know for sure was alive.
Tears stung at her eyes. She blinked them away. Ice Queen? She was anything but. The thought of the person who she hadn't seen in years was enough to make her cry. Her mother had been stronger. Even when she had received word of her mate's death, she hadn't cried.
"The time of the Riders is over," she hissed to herself. "Even if they wished to, they couldn't remain, and if they could, we couldn't be together. I am a queen. I have too many responsibilities to pay attention to anything other than politics."
Arya examined the ring she held in her hand. The one who had loved her had been the one who had destroyed her. He had told her he loved her, and now she could never keep her thoughts from straying to him for more than a few hours.
You aren't a child. Move on. Care for your subjects, remember your friends. Do not allow memories of him distract you.
She remembered speaking to Eragon's cousin and his mate, shortly after Eragon's departure. She had felt their emotions. They had been wary of her. They had found her polite, but cool. The differences between her species and theirs had unnerved them. It had amused her.
Roran had been similar to Eragon in many ways, and yet he was so different. Roran would never have befriended an elf, nor a dwarf. His deeds, so widely praised, had all been for his love for Katrina. Eragon, on the other hand...
He had started off on his journey a child, seeking merely to avenge his uncle. Many of the friends he had made, he had made because he wished to. He had rescued Arya from Gil'ead, even though he had known she would slow him down. Roran would have felt guilt, but he wouldn't have done the same.
Eragon was unique. Saphira had been the catalyst that had caused him to change. Before, he had just been a simple farm boy, despite his parentage. If Saphira's egg hadn't hatched for him, perhaps he would be the same person Roran had been. There was no way of knowing.
Arya clenched her fist over the ring she held, a sudden surge of irrational anger spreading through her. Why was she angry, and at what?
Her anger faded quickly, leaving her cold, and hollow, and alone.
And, that's a wrap! Wow, my ending was bad.