Disclaimer: I do not claim to own anything recognized. Credit for everything recognized is property of Christopher Paolini.
Life is a memory now.
A distant one at that, fire being the king of all the land now, rivalled only by the wind.
The cities that still stand or retain any semblance to their original counterparts are silent; only the dead occupy them now. Life, in the great realm that was once Alagaesia has all but vanished – Save for a single figure that moves steadily on.
Once eyes that sparkled in the moonlight and laughed with those around them are clouded with remorse and sorrow, loss and pain.
A mouth is frozen in a grimace – A word has not been spoken for nigh on fifteen years.
Cuts and bruises adorn the face; curled in an intricate shape that was the result of a desperate slash from a soldier.
The hair is long and matted – It has been a long time since it washed.
A nose is disfigured – Broken, sometime during the war.
And a mind, that runs steadily on like clockwork, driving the body forwards, refusing to stop.
Eragon is ready to let go. His sadness has finally caught up with him, and shadows dance in his mind and memory. Flashbacks plague him – He does not desire the cold brutality of what could of been or was.
Eragon recalls life, a distant hazy memory in his mind.
He remembers the sun shining; Orik standing tall, laughing at him for refusing a glass of Mead. His crown glinting in the light. Practicing with Volund, with Eragon grasping a shield as Orik raged blows upon him, both testing themselves – Eragon defending, Orik attacking with his new weapon.
Nasuada, scratching her head over yet another scroll. The pair sighing as yet again they realized a certain route to Urû'baen would fail, and laughter amongst friends spurring them on when fear gripped them and their fellow members of the Varden entirely.
Brom, being his father, and eventually his main drive – To accomplish and truly know he had achieved something for the old man besides surviving whilst Brom passed into the void. And a fainter memory of Brom picking him up as a child and telling him a story for the first time of the riders, Eragon's eyes wide all the way.
Murtagh, and how he freed himself from Galbatorix's oaths – Returning to the Varden, yet another fresh beacon of hope, agreeing to fight for freedom – And how that hope was dashed against the rocks as he was slain, early in on the siege of Urû'baen. Eragon's anger and fear erupting at news of his death.
Angela, and her predictions; Her strange, maddened interests; her unusual personality and her death – Leading a group of the Varden for the first time into Urû'baen proper – Only to be slaughtered by the tides of soldiers lining the streets.
Arya – Her enchanting eyes, quiet, saddened life. Distant memories that, like him now, assault her being, bringing a cold, bladed edge to her emotions and personality. And those final days, when all hope seemed to be lost, kissing Eragon amongst the fires and the deaths, promising to return if only he would. The sorrow at seeing her corpse, and the resulting anguish and thirst for vengeance. Charging headfirst into the castle, refusing to stop – Creating a sea of blood with Brisingr and his sorrow. The fear in the soldiers eyes, every superhuman blow that ended another life, locked away in a crazed Riders mind.
Saphira – The light of his life. Her gentle personality, her caring emotions and passionate being – The wonder and curiosity of her as a mere hatchling – The affection the two had shared. The journey – Across the world several times – From Terim to Farthen Dur, Surda to Ellesmera. The learning – Oromis and Glaedr tutoring the two. The nights curled up under her wings, and falling asleep to her gentle, content humming – Saphira, who swore to fight to the end – And finally sealing themselves in Galbatorix's throne room, shattering the place with fire. Slaughtering Shruikan, only to discover the reason of Galbatorix's silence; A spell that could end all life that the caster knew existed – And Saphira's final gift – Immunity. Immunity! Safety from that great spell that would destroy her and every other Human, Dwarf, Elf or Urgal. Every cricket or grasshopper, every bird or fish. Even those within Du Weldenvarden were destroyed. The ants in Oromis's glade had gone – As had the leaves on the forest floor. The trees had become pillars of the dead. Every single aspect of life – Gone.
Eragon must walk alone now – The madness that once grasped his mind has decayed with time – Vanishing into the rhythmic pattering of his boots upon the soil.
Fifteen long years, gathering instruments and maps from all corners of the land. Eragon had strolled through the ruined elf towers dotted about the land.
He'd been in the darkest tunnels underneath the Beor Mountains.
He had discovered the hidden Urgal towns and grasped their maps and gleaned information.
He'd been into Ellesmera and the other elven cities, raiding every single house that might have something - anything!
Gathering supplies, and repeated trips up and down the entire stretch of Alagaesia, depositing them on a beach on the very northern tip of the land.
And he'd built his own devices and maps. He'd studied the legends and used them to paint a picture of long forgotten maps or routes across the sea.
He'd studied shipbuilding and navigating, reading the stars, cooking, fishing, learnt the name of every other herb or plant and had become impossibly powerful with magic.
He had learned everything he needed to leave a world in search of a new one.
And one day, he was ready. For the first time in an age, he spoke.
"It's done. It's finally done!"
A great ship, built by his hand drifted on the waves.
Supplies, gathered by years of work in the lifeless loaded on it.
His instruments and maps gathered in his own cabin.
He stands at the beach now – The sky is grey and cold – A bitter wind seeps warmth out of his body.
He sighs and begins to descend the face of the cliff.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
They sound different now – The natural sandstone of the cliff gives way to softer sand, muffled under thick boots.
A splash; The rider swims for the deeper water in which the ship is docked by magic.
A muffled groan as he scales the rigging. A muttering. Unnatural wind erupts around the ship, and it carries itself, away from Alagaesia.
The world is silent.
The World Is Silent is the first piece I have created for FanFiction. It was something of a test run – It was the holiday and I decided I could work on a various series of projects – And this was one of them. I'm sorry for it being so short – If I ever do work on a piece fully, and not because I have a spare hour, I promise it shall be longer. As always, review please – I've turned Anonymous reviews on – I would just like to ask that if you have any criticism please make it constructive. I am looking to learn from this, and I can't learn from just being flamed.
And a final thanks for reading – I hope you enjoyed it.