Kvetha

Welcome to my rewrite of the story Losna Wyrda! that I had written several years ago nearly right after I finished reading the book Brisinger. It will be following a similar plot but it will be better written, as you can see if you read the original. The plot will hopefully flow better without all the jumping around I was cursed with. I pray I will not lose you!

This story takes place around the time of the final battle against Galbatorix in Inheritance. It plays with the idea that rather than Eragon defeating the king, it is flipped on its head. He fails, and with him the Varden begins to fall. At this time you do not have to have read the final book to understand. As you know, I had written the previous before this one. Thus, not until later will spoilers jump out at you. I have taken liberties, of course, so I hope you enjoy my take on the world of Alagaësia.

Flames do not belong here so enjoy! OF COURSE IT ISN'T ACCURATE! If I make any silly mistakes like spelled someone's names wrong, you can say. OOC? Just deal with it!

Much love and enjoy!

Prologue

Now it Begins

Never once could I have understood the entire extent of faith... And yet, it is by a dream that all is fulfilled.

He could never have known such pain born from the intersection of both mind and physical body. No normal human being could begin to understand what pain could truly be. What it was like to feel it coursing through your veins like millions of tiny shards of glass that were thrust through the system with each irregular, forceful beat of the heart. It pounded in his ears as he lay upon a cold surface, the chill seeming to seep into his pores and to his very bones. Pain was more than a feeling; it was a state of mind. To have it placed in your mind and so cruelly lacerated upon your body is to know what pain is. Pain is to be thrust upon the teetering edge of death but not allowed to fall into it. But, what was the cost, what could be the reason why such a cruel punishment could be poured over his body? Why would the shards of real pain flood through his body, flesh burned to rotting and torn with the sharp claw of the blade? There was none, no humane meaning but a pitiless game, merciless and sadistic purely to gloat upon victory. Yes, the pain was not just his own, but a combination of his other consciousness and his own. He was tortured with the knowledge that his pain pained the other and knowing that the pain he felt was not just his own.

"Now, Eragon Shadeslayer…" came the murmur, a distant echoing in his mind as it fluttered across his flickering wakefulness. "How does it feel? Knowing everything, every struggle, was in vain? And over a silly dream you new very well had no meaning at all." The man who lay uselessly on the floor allowed his eyes to flicker open, bare chest exposed by a missing breastplate rising and falling raggedly with the exertion of having to muster the energy to even breathe. His eyes rolled closed again, falling with the movement of his head to the side. His wrists and ankles were chained down though not with physical bonds, covered with the memory of a struggle he once found himself in. Now the abrasions stung dully while being caked with blood both old and new. His lips were parched and tongue stuck to his pallet. He wanted nothing but rest… even if that meant the sweet relief of death. But, could he die? Could he truly give up the life so many had fought to give to him? His jaw worked uselessly, giving the one above him some satisfaction.

"Such a sad child," the voice sighed smoothly, masculine though the deep shadows did not show his face. The flickering torches lined methodically on the vast walls of the room casting dancing shadows across his face, only revealing to him eyes darker than the abyss. "Wouldn't it would be kind to let you die?" His hand that rested at his side lifted slowly. The chained man weakly gasped, gagging against the invisible force that slide past his mouth. Saliva escaped down his jaw as his throat muscles clenched, causing him to cough and choke, retching in vain. He didn't even have the strength anymore to muster up a counter spell. That was what drained him first. And quickly. "This is the end and all has fallen into my hands. Because of your failure… your failure to be a worthy opponent. At least a considerable one."

A beat.

"This pitiful struggle is over. In fact, it never really began."

Was it? The dragon rider helplessly wilted back as the pressure receded, trailing the bloody saliva over his lips. His breath now gurgled with the fresh blood in his mouth and throat. Is it? The black king examined the bloody dragon rider as he heaved for his breaths before turning his head away by his attention stolen elsewhere. Each time his chest rose and fell, it revealed the deep system of lashes across it, ribs showing cleanly. It was excessive, and that was the entire point. From the greatest of men to the living dead. Now drugged, he couldn't even speak to the one whose pain he felt. The link was only strong enough for that.

And yet, neither could truly understand what happened next nor understand why it occurred at all. When all seems hopeless, even the most steady-minded can make the stupidest, most rash decisions. Drugged, he could not even recall the words of the language. What language?

His eyes fluttered beneath the lids restlessly, mouth open to allow him to breathe. The king, basking in his victory over his foe, did not fear the drug-induced Rider. He was bound, his mind fogged to the point he could not have the ability to cast a spell, let alone speak. He had no choice. He had no hope of surviving anymore. And, if he did, it would be even worse than death.

"M-mm…"

The king slowly lifted his head, watching him with his eyes uninterested. He could barely speak let alone say an intelligible word. Thus, he moved forward with a swirl of his robes and bent down to place his hand at his throat. There he slowly beginning to put pressure, right over his swollen trachea. His Adam's apple jerked convulsively as he began to suffocate, his body straining desperately against his binds. Why would he kill him?

She was screaming.

Eyes shooting open; his mouth stretched farther; lips splitting to cause blood to run down his chin and into his mouth. "M-m…mo…" he sputtered with his right hand straining upwards towards the face of his assailant. Unable to finish, he suddenly lost all control of his breath. Still, he kept pushing farther, his prisoner writhing as he struggled to find that lost breath. Spells could be cast without words. He couldn't… not as life began to fade.

"Ono weohnata eldrvarya!" the king cackled, thrusting hard, hearing with glee his neck snap.

Moi wyrda.

Of course it's not very long, it's the prologue! It's getting you into the real story! I'm working on the next chapter now. Patience is a virtue. If you take a peek at the other story I will slaughter you.

Thank you!