Disclaimer: I don't own anything/anyone from the Alagasia world books- eg the Inheritance Trillogy.

Freedom Sunset: Shrukien's True Heart

Shrukien laid, forelegs and front talons hanging out over the roof of the topmost spire of the castle of Uru Bain, gazing westwards at the sunset. He felt Galbatorix far beneath him, down below in the marble and stone palace. The black dragon let his wings sag to the roof, his tail slup and lowered his head to his front legs, then gave as close a thing to a sigh as a dragon could; a huff really. He was depressed. Completely depressed.

He sat and remeniced. Galbatorix was a harsh rider. The self-proclamed king of Alagasia was not the true rider of he, the black dragon. He had taken Shrukien as a hatchling, and used spells to bind them to each other. Shrukien had never wanted the fall of the Riders, but the magic that Galbatorix had chained him with was unresistable. He could not escape it. Nor could he kill the brutal tyrant, for the same spells bound him that way as well. It pained him to be forced to battle against those his ancestral dragon memmories knew. The only joy he found was in flight, flying far and long.

But that was too few and far between, and always he was summoned back before he could tfully forget everything in the power and magic of testing his skills and wingpower. One day, he promised himself, when the time came, he would find one who could free him of the spells and chains. He had felt, as all dragons did, when an egg hatched, over a year ago. Though he had never felt it before, it was undenyable. For she or he, the new hatchling, was his own blood kin.

Shrukien knew there was a new dragonrider in the land, who would one day, inevitably, come to fight Galbatorix. That day, he had sworn so many, many times, was soon, and when it came he would fight for not only his freedom, but the freedom of all Alagasia. He continued to find new hope with each sunrise, even as each sunset, like these, sank his heart in depression.

He raised his head again and got to his feet. Shrukien spread his vast, silver-veined ebony wings, rearing back on his hind legs and beating at the air, and roared. His bellow echoed over the land. By the scales of the first dragon to bear a rider, he would fight, to rid the lands of Galbatorix, to rid the skies of the Ra'Zac! He laughed as he dropped to all fours and folded his great wings.

The time would come. The new Eragon was coming, and on the blood of every dragon he had been unable to stop himself from killing, he would avenge himself on Galbatorix and clense his soul of the dark taint that had bound him to the warlord.

The sun set, and the black dragon turned to curl himself up for sleep. His true rider would be revealed, and they would fly together as they should have done. Whether or not his dragon was with him, a Rider lived on longer than other riders. Galbatorix's mistake would be shown as not killing his true rider. Shrukien would wait. He had waited over the centuries to find his true rider, and he was sure his rider had waited for him.

Battle aproached, and freedom was as inevitable as the sunset and sunrise.