Hi everyone, this is just a story looking at Eragon's life many years after the war.
The title of this story came from the book "Worm In The Blood" by Thomas Bloor. It's basically about how a family have been carrying a curse for generations that causes certain members of the family to turn into dragons. Although it's not a typical fantasy novel I would definitely recommend it to anyone looking for a fantasy book with a modern twist, although parts of it are quite dark and disturbing so don't read it if you are one of those people who can't deal with that stuff.
I know you are probably expecting Arya to be a part of this but it seemed like, to me anyway, Paolini was drawing a line under their relationship at the end of Inheritance, don't get me wrong I loved their relationship but Eragon had changed so much over the course of the final book that I realised he wasn't the boy who fell in love with Arya anymore.
Disclaimer- I don't own Inheritance. If I did it would have an awesome musical number in it, perhaps Eragon and Saphira singing "We Go Together" from Grease?
...
His first son was born in the depths of winter. His mother had passed into the void hours before he had arrived back from the fragile peace talks with the Urgal tribes of the far north. He was greeted at the door by her parents who were regarded him with eyes as cold as the snow outside, inside her body lay still in her coffin.
He reached out her, needing to know it was true, touching her cold cheek with his fingertips. Gone was the warmth he had become so accustomed to. The eyes that had always looked so softly at him would never open again. The memories of her flashed through his brain.
Her standing in the doorway of a cottage smiling as he walked closer. Kissing in the barn, while he really should have been working. Staring at her across the crowded village green, while dancers spun in front of him. Her laughing eyes as he stumbled towards her after having a dozen too many drinks at the local tavern. Her soft body moulding into his as they lay by the fire, reassuring him softly, yes she wanted this as much as he did. The smell of the freshly bloomed flowers that always seemed to cling to her skin. Her warm fingertips warming his very soul as she touched him. Drinking wine in the meadow, talking of everything and nothing. Her hand gripping his tightly as she told him what he had already begun to suspect, she was with child. Her pale face as she told her parents the news. The way her eyes would light up when he talked of the future that they would spend together and the child they would soon have. She never talked of the bad things of course, her father refusing to speak to her and the village girls who would never dare say anything in front of him but who's snide whispers followed her when unaccompanied.
He kissed her one last time before whispering into her cheek "Stydja unin mor'ranr", rest in peace.
He turned towards her mother who was sat by the fire cradling a small bundle in her arms. She looked up sensing his gaze.
"Is there.." her voice cracked at the end.
"If there was anything I could do you know that I would" he replied hoarsely.
She nodded before standing up. She took a few steps towards him before hesitating. He closed the distance and held out his arms, the child was so small and fragile. He felt that if he were to hold it any tighter it would break into tiny pieces before his very eyes.
"A boy" said the woman.
"A name?"
She shook her head, "I thought perhaps you would want to name.."
"Merda" the old man said sharply, speaking up for the first time, "stop this now."
Eragon looked at the child, his son, before gently brushing his mind. "He is weak."
The old woman sighed "Aye, though it is not surprising, he was born early probably because of the fall she took earlier in the day. I would not have expected him to survive this long but..." she looked at Eragon "he is a fighter just like his father."
"You know?"
"Of course, she told me at the very beginning. I had no objections, she deserved the best."
Eragon was shocked; he had always taken measures to conceal his identity from those around her, as it is what she asked him to do.
Eragon knew his son would need all the help he could get to survive the coming days and months, he knew early born children often didn't survive, succumbing to internal failure or sickness more than healthy infants. Under his breath he started to place wards around the boy, wards that would protect him from illness, accidents and anything else that could harm this tiny thing that lay so peacefully in is arms.
"Leave" the old man's voice was low and dangerous, "this was your doing, she would still be alive if it were not for you."
The words were spoken out of grief and anger but Eragon knew there was some truth in them. If it were not for him...
"Did you not hear me, leave now and never come back." his voice was rising with each word.
"He is my son," Eragon protested, "you cannot..."
"She was my daughter!" he was yelling by now "And you, you took her away from me! Leave! Go back to whatever godforsaken place you came from, I don't care, just leave!"
Eragon knew he should have argued, should have fought for his son but he felt drained as if all the energy he had had been sucked out of him.
Numbly he placed the child into his grandmother's arms before turning to look at the girl whom he had loved. He closed his eyes as the weight of his sorrow threatened to overwhelm him. Drawing a shaky breath he drew out a pouch of coins from his pocket and placed them on the table.
"We don't want your money"
Eragon didn't reply, sometimes in life you don't always get what you want but you just have to deal with it.
Then he turned towards the door and left. The wind outside bit into him as he walked away from the small cottage. Behind him he heard the door slam.
"Wait," it was Merda, "you haven't named him."
Eragon took a second to think. "Alagos"
"What does it mean?"
"Great storm."
He thought he saw a ghost of a smile as she looked up at the clouds, which were unleashing huge amounts of snow from within their depths. "A great storm indeed."
"Will you write to me? I cannot lose her and my son, please?"
The old woman nodded.
"I will send money and..." Eragon paused, Ithreal?
Yes Eragon?
Would you...?
It would be a great honour to protect your hatchling, Eragon.
Eragon drew the canvas bag from his pack and gave it to the woman. She looked at him with confusion in her eyes. "What is this?"
"Place it under the floorboards in his room, it will protect him but you must tell no-one, not even your husband."
"As you wish, My Lord."
Then he turned on his heels and left.
...
Leitha poured another glass to the brim with a honey coloured liquid that burned his throat.
"Grief can make us irrational sometimes Eragon, do not judge him too harshly."
It was times like these that Eragon felt as if he were the student and she was the master.
"When did you become so wise?"
"When I started listening to you," she said smiling "and personal experience." The smile wavered.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while until the sun sat low in the sky.
"Alright, I must ask, why is your hair white? I was not gone for that long I believe."
She looked slightly flustered. "Murtagh."
"What, he did this to you?" Eragon was confused.
"Of course not. He refused to teach me some words in the ancient language so I decided I would try to get him drunk..."
Eragon sighed, it was true at times she showed wisdom but soon enough she would revert back to the seventeen year old girl she was.
"...and once I had put out the fire on the curtains he started singing again. Well..."
The story was getting odder by the second, if it were not for the fact she was talking in the ancient language he would have accused of downright making this up.
"...enough was enough, I poured the poison into his drink and..."
Eragon looked down at his own drink, surely she had thrown away the bottle she had poisoned? It was true she was scatterbrained at times but he didn't think she could forget to do something that important, could she?
"...he started running in front of the targets and I didn't want to stop shooting so..."
This tale was turning into quite the epic ode, Eragon wondered if Murtagh remembered any of it but he didn't think so because Leitha was still alive.
"...if that were true, I told him I would swim up the waterfall, unfortunately for me..."
Saphira interrupted his thoughts, Swim up a waterfall, is that even possible?
If anyone can do it Leitha can.
"...once I got him away from the donkey he started calling me a..."
Do you believe this little one?
If I know her at all, then yes.
"...halfway home I gave up and left him there."
An interesting story.
"I intend on turning it into an epic poem and reciting it at the next blood oath festival in front of a crowd of Elves"
...
My Lord Eragon,
My husband died not long after I wrote my last letter to you. The farm has been sold and an old friend of mine, Helda, has offered me a place to stay. I do not think I can continue to support and care for Alagos without my husband. I have not been in the best of health now for many years and believe that I will soon follow him into the void. I do not wish for Alagos to see me wither away before his eyes like his grandfather as it caused him a great deal of sadness. I wish for you to take your son from me and care for him, he needs his father now more than ever. Come as quickly as possible, I fear my time grows short.
Merda
...
"Who are you?" asked the solemn eyed child in front of him.
"Your father." How long had he ached to say those words? To hold his own child and tell him what he had just said.
The hazel eyes opposite his own filled with tears before the boy leapt out of the chair and wrapped his small arms around Eragon, who wrapped his arms around his son.
The words came spilling out them, "I love you, I'm sorry, so so sorry."
Alagos didn't respond, he just held his father tighter and buried his head into his neck.
...
Merda passed on barely a moons cycle after Eragon had taken Alagos.
They attended the funeral together. Many of the villagers noticed the fine clothes they wore and told others at the local tavern what they had expected all along, Alagos' father was a noble or at least a fine merchant. After all, remarked one local farmer, even when the harvest had failed they had never had to ask for the state's support, the father must have helped them.
Eragon returned home with Alagos, who turned slightly green when he told him how high he usually flew, however once up in the air Alagos decided that yes, he rather liked flying.
Leitha and Murtagh were waiting for them on the shore. At first Alagos was wary of them having grown up in a small village where everyone knew everyone else but he was soon the best of friends with Leitha when she offered to give him a piggyback. Murtagh of course had a different theory as to why they got on so well, they were of a similar mental maturity, this opinion earned a smack on the head and food that always seemed burnt for the next three weeks.
Other than growing up on an Island with only dragons and their riders, learning several languages early in life, being adored by elves- for some reason, Eragon noticed, they had a weakness for small children-, being spoiled by the dwarf king regularly, learning how to wield a sword and shoot an arrow from one of the greatest warriors of all time and being taught magic, his upbringing was rather ordinary.
At the age of nine one of Saphira's eggs hatched for him. He named the sapphire coloured dragon Adlanna.
He advanced quickly through the now growing number of students, partially due to his unorthodox upbringing and partly because of his thirst for knowledge. He had always been more mature than many his own age, Eragon always thought this was because Alagos had grown up around those much older than him, this was only highlighted when, at the age of just fourteen, he finished his studies and was declared a fully fledged rider.
Eragon was reluctant to let him start carrying out duties that were usually done by much older riders and Alagos was impatient. They agreed that when he turned sixteen he would start his official duties but until then he would tutor other students.
On the day of Alagos sixteenth birthday Eragon was filled with much trepidation. When he told Leitha this she called him a hypocrite because at the age of sixteen he himself was fighting in some of the bloodiest battles in the history of Alagaƫsia.
"Have you got your map?" asked Eragon.
"Yes"
"Have you..."
"Father, I will be fine, I think I have proven myself more than capable."
Eragon sighed, to him Alagos would always be the fragile child he was a birth instead of the strong young man stood before him.
As his son turned and left Eragon looked at the clouds which looked heavy with snow.
"I didn't do a bad job, did I?" he asked and in response the first flakes of snow landed on his upturned face.
...
Thanks for reading. If you liked this chapter please review and if you didn't please also review because I appreciate structured criticism!
