I've been tossing the idea around in my head for awhile of writing what would have been the sequel for VoR. That might sound strange, writing the sequel when the first one wasn't fully finished, but this particular plot makes it okay. Readers only need to know that Arya never became queen and instead sailed off with Eragon, and Eragon (and my OC) managed to convince Murtagh that he didn't disappear for who knows how long. My OC's from the first book are not the main POV's, but they do show up (mainly in the beginning), so it's not really needed that you read VoR unless you're curious about my OC's or my take on the ExA ending on Inheritance.
All in all, it's a take on the Post Book 4 world - about 21 years. And, to avoid me disappearing or losing faith in this story, I'm going to write most to all of it before I begin really posting. For the sake of a test, however, I'd like to show you the beginning.
Eragon crawled into bed late in the night.
His lower back ached from sitting hunched in a chair studying reports and writing responses. By the time he'd finished, his forefinger and thumb refused to grasp the quill correctly. Finally, he'd decided to call it done for the day.
Careful not to wake his mate, Eragon slid underneath the covers and exhaled when the pillow embraced his head. He closed his eyes to sleep when the body next to him rolled into his side and gripped his arm. "Eragon? How late is it?"
"My apologies, dear Arya, if I woke you." Eragon burred his arm under her body and tugged her nearer. "The stars are settled in the sky, and the moon is bright," he said.
Arya sighed. "This is week three that you have come to bed so late. You need rest, Eragon."
At the mention of the past few weeks, he curled his other arm around her and kissed her forehead. "I don't mean to worry you. My responsibilities have been thick and piled high."
"Something is bothering you, and it isn't the students." Arya's perception at his distress had him hiding his face in her hair. He didn't want her to be hurt again, didn't want to remind her. Saphira he could tell. He needn't worry of her sinking into depression.
"Let us sleep," Eragon said and tucked her head in the crook of his neck. "You, as well, have not been prioritizing your rest."
"I would like to talk."
"How was your day, then?" He felt her warm breath on his skin, making it tingle and pop. He missed her.
Arya conceded to his inquiry and listed off her accomplishments for the day. Her soft voice soothed him, and he imagined, as he often did, a world where he heard her happier voice each and every day rather than here or there. Even now, he could detect the emptiness in her tone that had crept in over the last twenty years.
"I think I might choose a student to apprentice," she said near the end of her narration.
Eragon grinned. "Really? That would be great. Have you any in mind?"
She mentioned every year the desire to train an apprentice. Every year, Eragon encouraged her. But, every year, she ultimately decided to wait.
"I thought perhaps Daman Cadensson," she mused. "I trained his father, after all."
Eragon winced. "That is a wonderful choice, but you will have to wait a few months for him to return to the island."
Arya shifted in his arms until she was propped up on her elbows and looking down at him. "He's left?"
"I approved his appeal to visit his home a month ago. He left this morning."
The frown that creased Arya's face made Eragon wish it wasn't so. She nodded, quick to accept the circumstances, and laid back down. "It is only right that he should visit his family. Perhaps he'll tell us of his home when he returns?"
Eragon grimaced hearing that numb edge to her voice. He cupped her cheek and coaxed her face up to his. "Arya, how are you faring?"
She blinked and shrugged. "As well as I ought to be."
"You are still so sad," he said and then swallowed, daring to resurrect the topic. "It's been twenty years since we've–"
"I know it has." Arya pushed away from him and leaned back on her forearms. Fire alighted her eyes. "Not a day goes by that I don't think of it. I'm not human, Eragon. I don't forget those kinds of things."
Eragon reached for her but she shoved his hands away. "Please, Arya, I haven't forgotten either. You know I haven't. But it breaks me to see you so," he gulped, "empty."
Liquid brimmed her eyes, and she blinked it away. "I don't know how, Eragon. I fear even your love is not enough to pull me out of this pit of despair. I try and try, but I just can't move." Her fingers tangled into her long tresses and yanked. She growled with frustration, and sticky tears squeezed out of her angled eyes.
Eragon sat up and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her temple, willing his energy to fill her. She cried into his chest, the first sign of true emotion she'd shown in the last year. "It told you once I would follow you to the ends of the world, and I am. I told you once I would build a palace for you with nothing but my bare hands, and I have. Now I tell you that I will stop at nothing until the cracks in your heart are mended and all you feel is joy."
"Eragon," she said with a shudder, as if he'd said her true name. He said her old one now, the one that had been true twenty years ago, as she said his. He locked his arms tight around her in response and kissed her.
As he tasted her lips and pressed the tips of his fingers into her soft flesh, Arya struggled in his grip. She managed to shake his face from hers and covered his mouth with her hands. "I'm sorry," she blurted and ducked her head.
Eragon sighed and left it at that. He guided them down where she twisted in his arms and let his chest warm her back. With one last kiss to her hair, Eragon murmured he loved her and drifted into his walking dreams.
A/N: So... anything perk your interest?