Summary: Nine years after the conclusion of Inheritance, an ancient evil rises in Alagaesia. When word reaches Eragon and Saphira while they train with the first generation of free riders, choices have to be made.
Author's Disclaimer: The major romance of this fic will be Eragon and Arya as implied by the characters and genre, however it won't be immediate in fulfilment or simple in execution. I don't believe that a simple 'kiss and make up' situation would work for these two complicated characters. However, having said that, it will happen, and there will be scenes/snippets to 'tease' or whet your appetite.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the non-original characters or places from this story. They are owned by Christopher Paolini, author of the Inheritance Cycle. This is merely my interpretation of what may have happened after the events of Book 4 (Inheritance).
A/N: This is my first fan-fic, and really my first attempt at a serious piece of writing. Give it a chance, the first chapter (more of a prologue) is a bit short and slow, but it picks up in both quality and quantity.
Sailing for weeks, they had navigated the unknown waters of the world. They had seen many islands, both small and large. None, however compared to the sprawling mass that lay forward of the bow of the graceful ship. Plains and mountain ranges peppered the land, so reminiscent of their lost home.
One range - higher than others clearly visible in the distance - faced the ocean. A stretch of land a few kilometres across separated the highest and lowest points of the island.
"What are your thoughts Shadeslayer?" Blodhgarm said quietly, sidling up to Eragon.
They had grown to respect and admire each other in the weeks following their departure from Alagaesia. Supporting each other through the pain, sharing encouragement for the future ahead; they had worked together in making decisions regarding the growth of the riders. However, it was always left to Eragon to make the final choice. He was the lead rider, after all.
"The mountains are certainly large enough, though they cannot compare to the Beors in Alagaesia. I'll find out what Saphira thinks," he replied, gazing upon the snow capped peaks before him, mentally contacting the partner of his mind and soul, the queen of the dragons, blue as both the sky and sea.
We shall see little one; our journey may be at an end she said after a moment, projecting the last of her thoughts to the rest of the ship.
The elves smiled as one. As if sensing their joy, the Talita's speed increased, the clean lines of a swan gliding across the water, although no men, elves nor dwarves assisted her propulsion.
Yes Saphira, I think we could be home!, Eragon sighed, contemplating the years of work ahead of them, and the pain they had left behind.
Nine years later...
Visions came to Eragon amongst his waking dreams.
Visions of places he had once seen, things he had once done, and people he once knew.
Details were different though, it was not as he remembered
He was hunting in the spine, yet his speed and grace was that of an elf. He did not desire deer nor rabbit, but herbs and plants not found on his farm. And when he returned, it was not Roran, Garrow, or Brom that waited for him; but a tall woman, radiant as the sun, smiling as he approached. Arya.
The scene changed, and again, Eragon saw events of his life, altered and changed as he was, as the world was following the return of the riders. Always Arya was there. Arya that he had known, loved, and left behind.
Once more, the scene changed, but this felt different, this felt real. Emerald flames in the night, hot as a furnace. Metal crashing against metal, accurate, precise. Booming out into the darkness time after time. The scene looked familiar, sounded familiar, even the smell, the scents of pine mingled with ash and molten steel. It was all vaguely familiar, yet he could not make out the two shadowy figures in the dark.
Inexplicably he knew, this clash to steel was not destroying, but creating something anew, giving rise to a fresh start. What that meant he did not know. Then the green flames ceased and all light was extinguished.
Eragon rose from his waking dreams, rested yet sore. A dull ache resonated from his heart as it did every morning, the dreams a reminder of a past he could not go back to. He sat in his simple bed, the only intricacy the wooden frame. It was carved with images and words, telling of a land that had been left in peace, finally at rest after years of war.
He glanced around the sparse room, pushing memories aside as he admired the space he had created.
Plain wooden panels concealing the heavy stone of the tower walls. Numerous fairths of various subjects, surrounding a great mirror rimmed with gold leaf. A fairth of each of those dearest to him. Roran, his family by his side. Brom, the glint of fire in his eyes as he shared memories of the riders of old. Murtagh, the intensity of battle clear in the concentration of his face.
One fairth was larger than the rest, and more detailed by far. A blue dragon, fire spewing from her jaws, breaking the crystal star within the dwarven stronghold Farthen Dur, an elven princess riding on her back, green magic cast about her. The fairth radiated power and care. The two beings he was closest to, helping him become who he was meant to be. Eragon Shadeslayer, Kingkiller, and now Leader of the Riders.
As he walked through the passages of the tower, steeling himself for the review of the morning's training, Eragon reflected on the past nine years. Since arriving at their new home, work had been earnest to restore the riders to their glory.
He gazed out through the sizeable windows and watched the plains, teeming with life of all kinds, the backdrop of the daunting ocean ensuring any visitors would be seen long before they landed.
Merely days after the Talita had landed on the shore, wild dragons had begun to hatch from their eggs. Despite Eragon's protests the hatchlings grew lazy and complacent from the abundance of curious animals not yet wary of the powerful beasts.
Saphira fixed that problem quickly enough.
Blodhgarm and the elves had come running at the sound of her roaring at the overly large and satisfied dragons before her. The wild dragons had quickly fled, and when they multiplied, they raised their young reminding them of the pride in hunting. Saphira was not a dragonness to unduly anger.
She and Eragon had seen the wild ones from time to time, as the heroes flew or walked over the entirety of the island, mapping each of its parts with great attention to detail.
The completed map of the island was etched into the floor of the great hall of the complex, where the riders and their mentors trained and learnt the secrets of the races.
The great stone blocks of the hall's foundation had taken weeks to move from the plains to the castle. Even with energy from the Eldunari, the elves and Eragon, Saphira had been unable to lift them in any meaningful way. She simply was not strong enough, which frustrated her to no end.
One morning, the sun had flashed off one of her brilliant blue scales as her muscles flexed around the unyielding boulder and Eragon was reminded of a time long ago, a time before he knew of magic, before a brilliant blue flash had changed his life.
From then on, they had transported the blocks up the mountain with magic, just as Arya had moved Saphira's egg to an unsuspecting farm boy. The energy toll to move the blocks was enormous, and exhausted the reserves of power in many of the eldunari. However, with time, preparation, and rest they were able to build a citadel to rival that in Ilirea. When finished, the great hall was immense, large enough to contain a thunder of dragons with ease. A cave in the mountain had been expanded and diverted to the hall, allowing Dragon access from the top. Nonetheless the gates were sufficiently large to fit all and any dragon. The quarters of the riders were higher up, laced across the mountainside, designed so that all may have a view of the ocean; all the accomodation containing balconies for the Dragons.
Each corridor was unique in its decoration. As members of each race had arrived, the corridors had been decorated with references to each culture and civilisation. No race's culture was preferred over another, save that of the Dragons, the fiercest, proudest and oldest of all.
No sparring ground was to be seen, however pockets of the island showed signs of small battles. Limbs broken off trees, massive gouges in the ground, all marked the places of sparring, whether by tooth, sword or mind. Eragon wished that his students become accustomed to fighting in unfamiliar and different environments, and taught them as such.
It had been a long seven years before Eragon was content with the construction and layout of the island. He had laboured over the new home for the riders, ensuring all were represented equally. He himself did not have a bigger room than others, in fact, in no way was he represented above the others. They were all riders, and would be treated as such, barring the extra respect shown in classes to Blodhgarm, Eragon and the elves, the young riders mentors.
Finally, Eragon had named the island Evarinya Mor'ranr, meaning simply, "Star of Peace". For the dragons shone like a star, and there would be peace for all to flourish under the riders.
