AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hey everyone! I literally haven't posted on here in years, but my recent re-reading of the Inheritance Cycle has gotten me all stirred up and wanting some juicy fanfiction.
Sorry to those of you who were following some of my other stories which I just kind of ditched. I have never been, nor will I ever be, a good writer, so when confronted with writer's block I just kinda quit.
This story is mostly some jumbled up thoughts I had, and I'm going to try and make them work as I move forward with this. No promises on continuity or quality, but I will do my best.
That being said, I want this story to involve the readers a little bit more than usual. This first chapter is just a prologue, but once we get into the meat of the story, I would love some suggestions from you guys on different things to incorporate. Like I said, I have a lot of vague ideas that I want to work into this narrative, but tying it all together is going to be difficult for me. So please, throw me a bone if you see the opportunity for interesting stuff. Like I said, this will really make more sense after a chapter or two.
Last thing, sorry. I would be remiss if I didn't mention I drew from many influences for this. Firstly, and obviously, Christopher Paolini and his characters. All of that belongs to him and I am so grateful he brought the Inheritance Cycle into the world. Next, of you haven't already, please listen to Logic's album Everybody. Even if rap isn't your ting, it has a lot of great social commentary and a surprising amount of philosophy in it. The narrative of that album is based off of a short story originally posted to Tumblr (I think) but the way it is presented in the album is amazing. And finally, but certainly not least, a certain chapter from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows also influenced me a lot. (This will also make more sense around chapter 2).
Alright guys, please enjoy!
I am dying, thought Eragon.
Of course he had thought of death. After fighting in bloody wars, practicing deadly magic, and living with dragons for decades, death was always a possibility. But nonetheless, the prospect frightened him.
A shiver passed through him as he felt Saphira's pain. A brief glimpse into her mind showed her diving off a nearby cliff, in a hurry to be by her Rider. Even from nearly a mile away, Eragon could feel her pouring energy into him.
However, even Saphira couldn't stop the unbearable pain in his chest. The knife had been so well placed, slipping between his ribs and skewering his heart. Even now, he could feel the blade embedded in his chest cut the organ further, as his heart continued to flutter.
He decided that leaving Saphira was his biggest regret. They had been inseparable since that fateful day in the Spine, all those years ago. Just as he could not imagine a world without her, he knew she would feel the pain of his passing. Grimly, he recalled Glaedr's conscious after having lost Oromis, and hoped that Saphira would be able to recover.
After all, there was so much more to be done. In the 95 years since they had left Alagaesia, Eragon, Saphira, the Eldunari, and the handful of elves with them had accomplished much. Yet there were still only a dozen riders, and barely two dozen wild dragons. Du Fell Hvitr, the city they had inhabited, was barely the size Carvahall had been.
The thought of Carvahall reassured him in a grim way. At 112 years old, he had outlived his family and friends. Roran and Katrina had died almost 40 years ago now, Even their children, Ismira, Garrow, and Eragon, had passed. Eragon faintly recalled a great-grandchild being born. Marian is her name, thought Eragon. Nasuada was also dead, as with Orrin, the former king of Surda. The last remaining was Orik, and even he, at nearly 160, was approaching the end. His father, Brom was dead, killed by the Ra'zac. And poor Oromis, slaughter by Galbatorix. At least I can see them all again.
A yelp called Eragon's attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man slump to the ground, his head rolling beside his body. It was the one who had stabbed Eragon. His beheader, Blodgharm, was sprinting towards Eragon's prone body, with three other elves.
Eragon had enough energy to smile. There was no way to fix this wound, yet he knew the elves would use all the magic at their disposal and more in an attempt to save him.
A groan escaped his lips as the knife was pulled from his chest. Eragon heard a distant apology, almost like they were in one of the caves of Farthen Dur, and an echoed shout had reached him. He heard more murmurs, probably as the elves prepared to work their magic on him, but with each second the sounds became more distant and softer. Even the roar he heard from Saphira as she landed might as well have been on the other side of the world.
No, Eragon decided. He had one other regret. He wished he could have seen Arya one last time. What he would have given to be with her one last time. Even throughout the years, the longing he had for her hadn't lessened; only been covered up as he delved into other pursuits.
The world around him grew sharp again as Saphira flooded him with another gust of energy. However, even that quickly escaped, like the blood flowing out of his chest. Eragon knew he didn't have the time or energy to tell Saphira everything he wanted, so rather he sent images, feelings, and ideas across the connection they had shared for so long now. He wanted her to not forget him, but also not to grieve, and continue to work to save both the Riders and the wild dragons. He wanted her to be happy, learn from the Eldunari and teach the young dragons that were the future of her race.
As he died, Eragon felt the world pitch around him, and then nothing.
Hope you guys liked it! This is just a prologue, but I always welcome constructive criticism! If the plot doesn't make sense yet, give it a chapter or two please. If you still hate it, well then I guess we don't have to be friends.