AN: This is my First story, so give break. It's this plot bunny in my head that's been bouncing around my head for a while. I'm doing a crossover series (almost no actual crossovers) linking several universes LoEG style. So bear with me and read the damn thing. Feel free to flame (this is a two shot). There are several nods to different stories, so if the authors want me to cut them off (with a little trim) they are free to ask.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Cycle by Christopher P. If you don't know what that is, READ THE SERIES and WHY ARE YOU HERE? I also don't own the 're a bunch of old books. And f*** auto correct (using an IPad).
Eragon rolled to the side, looking out the window. Lying on the soft bed, unnaturally soft, still made him tense, startled, even after all these years, decades (centuries, millennia). He felt Saphire's near constant anxiety, like a throb at the back of his head. She always was-anxious that is-now, due to the pollutants clouding the air. He himself, with his elven senses, had taken a few decades to get used to it. The pollution had spread to any place that was favorable for dragons, so she and himself had, as eloquently stated by one of his (newer) disciples, had to 'suck it up and get used to it'. They both had, but chemicals still affected her moods, leading to near constant anxiety and 'pissed off'-ness, though it was slowly waning.
This world, the 4th age, the age of glass, the fragile-lest age in a new order, had, in part, been created by him. The creationists were right, in a sense. The earth, the current one, had been created in a violent flood, by him, guided by a mysterious presence, 'cliched' as it was. He still refused to think there was The God, for a entity more powerful them he himself, who had accidentally created gods, was a frightening prospect, to say the least.
The dragon riders, for they were his children, not disciples, had kept order in Alagaesia for five centuries, known as the Age of White Gold. Many, at least it seemed like that after five centuries, nearly the whole of his lifespan at that time, had betrayed him, starting with one of his first students, in the second century, Illumination of Black, the age within the Gilded Age, the age of Betrayal and Loyalty, a Shadow of the Gold Age, the unknown age of Loyalty, where neither Elf, Dwarf, Urgal, Werecat, Ra'zac, Selk, Nocklavou, Dulla, Human or even Spirits had existed (he figured the last bit out after finding the truth about them: beings that were detached from this dimension; imbetween two, their power near infinite due to the lack of the concept of mortality and power, among other things, in their Imbetween, the perfect middle point of dimensions, not those part in part out or allthe way his disciples meddled with ).
The she-elf, Lauki, Le Fay, Hermes, her name (Lafermki, House of Heresfay, for she was his daughter in spirit, and he will never forget it) lost in time, his third student, his foster daughter, Arya's (her name thought and spoken in reverence for the rest of his life) dearest ward (the war with The Red had cost many Elves, after their birth rate had increased following the hatching of the wild eggs, leading to seven orphans with great destinies). Their (foster) child, as he had loved putting it in their conversations, watching her normally stoic face blush, as it reminded her of their first night, their first reunion, and a tender conversation under a starry sky (now obscured by obscene manmade lights).
He had almost given up on the idea of the dragon riders' return (for only two eggs had hatched in the hundred years: the Gold and Silver dragons Sapapatha and Brahama, the only dragon twins, born after the most unlikely friendship, to the most unlikely races; to Duecalion, The Horned Noble, the Gold Sigil, and Puranas, The Forged Hero, the Knife of Silver. Also, the dragons had appeared to grow differently for each race except human and elf, leading to the first Breeds of dragons. When the Ice egg, as it was known, both for its colour and the fact that it had never even wobbled for anyone, hatched, for the virtual princess of the Elves, there was much rejoicing.
The pack slowly expanded, even to the Ra'zac, otherwise known as the Sca'dacs, Ra'zac that had reached puberty never tasted flesh after the mid of Night to the First of Rise, never acquiring the taste of Others; the most peaceable of the riders, but savage against those who harmed their friends, discovered by his dearly departed brother in the north.
Murtagh had been killed by the Red, protecting his pregnant liver, High Queen Isovin, destroying their accursed leader, Riovin in the process. He had been glorified, but his name was quickly forgotten, only known by the Royal family of the Nursadins, who's dynasty ended twenty years before the end, when Riovin's descendant finally claimed the throne for his ancestor. The name was forgotten due to the dark history to it, leaving him as the Red Wanderer, who cleansed by blood.
As for Lafermki, she lived peacefully with her, their family: Arya, himself and the Six. She discovered the Dulla and Convinced the Werecats and tamed the Great Sea Serpent.
And it was Good.
Eragon wrapped his arm around the lump under the covers. A hand, pale, almost too fast to be seen even with his eyes, whipped out and smacked him. This was followed by a muffled 'It's too bright' and he admonished her with a 'You can't just get as drunk as you did without a hangover, even with your metabolism'. If only now he can get the other woman in his life, Saphire, to just shut the hell up about hers (hangover, her hangover).
And it is Good.
It's all about Forgetting the Past.