Memories in a Silent Glade
The world has changed.
Eragon knew that through sheer age, his musings had become steadily true. He ran his hands across the leaves he clutched within his palm. There was a life within them that he had never seen before - As if they shared in his relief, and praised his mental fortitude for carrying on. The world was a better place now - He was certain of it. The sun warmed the forest, and, although the elves kept true to their spells and enchantments, the plants grew anew - Flowers and trees never witnessed before in all the sentient race's history. It was a gentle change, yet a monumental difference. With the restoration of the dragons, the humans and elves had laid down their weapons - And had sort a rare happiness that only widespread peace could provide.
I may have burned and slaughtered and fought, but I will never regret it. It is strange however, that so much evil could forge a greater good. Does that account for it's nature?
He ran his hands across the bark of a familiar stump - When, all those years ago, the Dark King and Oromis and Nasuada had lived, he had meditated - Observing ants. In the end, he had followed Oromis's example , and had built a house on the Crags of Tel'naeir, and there he resided - Duties permitting.
The war had ended many years ago - With great fire and strife; loss and pain. Eragon defeated the Dark King - But at the cost of thousands of lives, and his internal peace. But he had learned to accept the world, and, very, very slowly, returned to sweet dreams, no longer tormented by laughing madmen or epic battles. It was a reward, he realised, he would have never thought to wish for.
Eragon had been welcomed in the New World. A hero throughout. But, like all true heroes, he only desired rest. He oversaw the construction of the riders, and then left. The younger, more eager riders, had set out, desperate to prove themselves. Eragon often amused himself when he gave advice - He saw the younger him within them, untouched by the villainy of war.
It was a price he believed was worth paying.
During the first years of the new alliances, many rebellions and disputes had broken out. Eragon and many others had responded with an iron fist - Stamping out the seeds of distress and hammering home their better future. Some called them tyrants, yet Eragon remained certain that his views stood true - War had tarnished this world, and he feared that it would be unable to survive another.
Eragon had made his peace with Arya. The two were close, and yet, despite brief moments of passion, remained merely good friends. It was perhaps, a more comfortable arrangement for both - Eragon's younger drives had given way to calm acceptance of their relationship, and he believed Arya preferred it as well - though she sought no lovers, and only confided her deepest secrets in her most trusted friends, which Eragon was delighted to be part of.
Saphira helped command the other riders - She had not been as distressed by the War as nearly as much as Eragon, and had disgorged her Eldunarí in order to remain in contact with him. Though her visits in her physical form were rare, both treasured their time together. Saphira maintained her watch over the Riders in Eragon's stead. She was the senior Dragon - And, taking Glaedr's place, discussed the secrets only Dragons should know. However, her immense size and strength also kept people in line, despite the fact her ferocity had declined steeply over the years.
Nasuada had ruled for many years as Queen. Few opposed her rule - Helped greatly by the Varden's undying loyalty to her and promises of vengeance upon any assassins. She had died in time, yet her children had gone into the world and took up her mantle - Ruling wisely and carefully. Nasuada had been a very good teacher.
Roran had built his farm in new Carvahall - Which, as many of the Varden followed him and the original followers, became a sprawling city with good connections to the elves, as the fringes touched Duweldenvarden's borders. Indeed, it was common to see elves and humans alike in the markets and buildings - Although that was now a custom reflected in many cities. Few were foolish enough to question it.
The Urgals had never abandoned their old ways, yet now kept their combat to themselves. Nar Garzhvog was the first to declare the new code, and had his Rams follow it to the death. Others followed in his footsteps, and the custom was now instinctive. Yet the threat remained very real - If the Urgals rebelled, only death and destruction awaited them. Humanity's old fears never truly died.
The Dwarves had at last left their tunnels and mountains behind. Many once again settled in the Hadarac Desert - Using new inventions to prevent the heat from defeating them and water from running out. Few remained in the mountains - Those that hadn't become Nomads joined the races within the cities. The old clans had ceased to exist in the city-dwellers. Eragon had never truly agreed on whether it was a good thing or not.
The Humans had changed by far the most. With the Dragon's return brought the linking with the Dragon's gift - They lived far longer - Not immortal, but a century or more was common to see, and strength and grace now touched their strides. Art had risen, and peace was appreciated. Soon, they would become similar to the Elves.
The Elves either adopted themselves into the cities or remained in Duweldenvarden. The final fighting against the Empire had laid waste to the majority of the population, yet they had sprung back, slowly but surely. Few were older than Rhunön and lived. Eragon had met all of them, and he treasured his conversations with them, if only because they remembered. He enjoyed their wisdom. He enjoyed their history. He enjoyed their existence, real proof that he had succeeded, and had not fallen into a strange, unusual yet beautiful dream world.
Arya was Queen of the Elves now. Islanzadí had survived the war, yet chanced upon disease and had sadly passed into the void. She was mourned by all. Arya, though reluctant to take the throne, had been encouraged by Eragon and others besides, and ruled them gently, as if afraid of rebuke. However, the elves had come to love her, and Eragon suspected that after a while, when she accepted her new self, was finally happy.
Peace reigned in the land. A war of strife had yielded it's own reward - And Eragon could not of been more grateful. It was only as he cast his mind back through history, that he realized he had not touched Brisingr for nigh on seven hundred years.
"Peace is it's own reward." -Gandhi.
I've read enough books now to realize it's rare enough to see the New World that the characters forge. And I'd always wondered what would happen. I'm still considering whether to write separate fanfictions on the stories I've referenced here - Be it Arya's ascension to the throne or the Dwarves leaving the mountains. Undetailed, yet I don't mind it.