This is an alternative course to Inheritance, which hopefully will fit into the actual plot practically perfectly, just with an extra month or so in the middle, in fact, probably two months, or three, or four... It'll be a while, put it that way. Starts after Dras-Leona. Ends... Before they go to Vroengard. In fact, it might develop into something which changes the course of the whole book, meaning an entire rewrite of the second half. I'll have to see where it goes...
Summary: Murtagh goes after much more important targets than Nasuada after the battle of Dras-Leona, creating a huge upheval for Eragon, Arya, and Saphira. What will they do? Eragon's morals will be massively questioned. Rated T for extremely violent scenes and themes, but I won't be too explicit with it.
Now: Just after chapter: By the Banks of Lake Leona, when Eragon and Arya have just got drunk, then heard Thorn's roar. The first few parts of this chapter will be CP's.
The Loss of a Rider.
Eragon grabbed Brisingr, and then he and Arya dashed from the tent.
Outside, Eragon staggered and fell to one knee as the ground seemed to pitch beneath him. He clutched at a tuft of grass, using it as an anchor while he waited for the dizziness to fade.
When he dared look up, he squinted. The light from the torches was painfully bright; the flames swam before him like fish, as if detatched from the oil-soaked rags that fed them.
Balance is gone, thought Eragon. Can't trust my vision. Have to clear my mind. Have to-
A patch of motion caught his eye, and he ducked. (AN: This is where it changes.) But his judgement of depth was off; the movement was well above his head, amongst the clouds, but getting closer.
With a sound like a mighty wind of fate, from out of the blackness of the sky had emerged Thorn, red as blood and glittering like a million shifting stars. (AN: That last bit was CP's, but from here on in it's mine. How Eragon has time for all these similies at a time like this is beyond me. I much prefer smilies, actually. Quicker. ;) ) Saphira, not at her best because of Eragon's intoxication, reared up and sent an inferno up to greet the diving dragon, but her aim was off, and she came closer to scorching Blodhgarm, who was running up to the three outside Eragon's tent, followed by the rest of the elves. He jerked away from the fire, which was quickly redirected upwards, and took a position at Saphira's flank. The rest of the elves got into similar defensive positions, casting concerned glances towards the Rider and the Princess.
Eragon was now leaning on Arya's shoulder, and she on his. ;) (See what I mean?) Saphira stood protectively over them, baring her fangs at the dragon that had dodged the fireball and spun around for more, but the blue dragon stumbled as she lashed out at him, allowing to scratch her on the side with his claws, but not to land.
Pain erupted across Eragon's ribcage, the shock causing him to fall, and Arya with him. When he hit the ground, and she hit him, he heard her mutter some incoherant words and the influence of the drink vanished. After helping each other to their feet, still off-balance, he nodded to her, and she to him; they drew their swords in unison and looked to the skies.
Thorn was hovering, out of the range of his opponent's fire. Eragon made as if to jump onto Saphira, but he had not told her of his plan, and she had cut their connection, so as to ward off the influence the drink had had on him.
The beautiful blue dragon took off powerfully, rising speedily and swiping at his head. He dodged, spinning underneath her, and Eragon soon saw why as a figure dropped from the saddle.
The dark shape from Thorn's back landed easily, falling into a crouch as he hit the ground. A hand went to a hilt; a face turned upwards; and Murtagh Morzansson drew Zar'roc swiftly, rising into a defensive stance.
Eragon, Arya, and the elves advanced towards him cautiously, then faster, and Murtagh only grinned at the sight of thirteen highly skilled swordspeople, swords all out, rushing towards him in attack. When Eragon assaulted his mind, sensing others likewise doing so, he found that it was well guarded, as if by many. The Eldunari, he realised.
Then, Murtagh spoke a word. "Stenr!" The ground shifted beneath Eragon's feet, and suddenly he was in the air, soaring backwards, another figure doing the same beside him, and he had to hit the ground soon, and-
He did.
But the other person didn't hit the ground; they hit him. And for the second time that night, Arya landed on him.
It winded him more than the initial impact, probably because that had yet to fully register when her full weight came down on him, though that was not an incredibly large amount. He could have sworn he heard a rib crack, and Saphira roared overhead. He struggled into a sitting position once Arya had stood up, but halted, holding his torso.
She cast a concerned glance over at the other elves, then him, before coming to a decision and leaning over him quietly, speaking hurried words of healing, and the rib moved back into place quickly. He grunted his thanks, and she pulled him to his feet, muttering an apology.
The elves were assembled in a rough circle around Murtagh, who stood, watching them, with great confidence on his face. Arya and Eragon, who had been thrown eighty feet away from the nearest elf, began to run at their fastest speed towards the circle. Murtagh, however, had other plans. He cried, one after the other, "Ganga aptr!" and then "Ganga fram!"
His targets for the first spell were Blodhgarm and the remaining ten elves. The magic overwhelmed their wards, throwing them back and holding them down at a cry of "Letta!" Though Eragon could see that many were striving to break the enchantments, they were unsuccessful in their efforts.
An ominous sign, that; Murtagh could hold off eleven of Islanzadi's best spellweavers without pause.
Slightly more ominous was the fact that the second spell was directed at him and Arya.
They hurtled through the air again, crossing the distance between them and Murtagh quickly; Eragon fell flat on his front, tearing his shirt and scraping his skin; Arya met the ground with her hands, cushioning the blow whilst balancing on them, then propelled herself into the air, sword still in her grip, spinning tightly and striking a barely blocked blow at Murtagh's head before landing on her feet and immediately forcing him backwards with a series of powerful strikes.
The feat left him more breathless than the fall had.
Quickly getting to his feet as Murtagh lost yet more ground to the elven princess, even as he had in their sparring sessions, Eragon charged at his half-brother, Brisingr in his hand. The blue sword was met by the red, which Murtagh was then forced to throw upwards and catch a second later to avoid losing his arm to the thin blade of the elven princess. But then Murtagh raised his hand, spoke a quick word of restriction, and Eragon was frozen in place. He attempted to use magic without the ancient language to break the bonds, but they held firm, and he sagged as best he could from the energy loss. Arya had a similar reaction beside him, from what he could see.
His eyes glancing around, Eragon noticed a crowd forming around the scene, restricted, it seemed, from coming or hearing beyond a certain distance. Eragon could make out the faces of several from Carvahall-Horst, his sons, even Morn the tavern keeper-but he was glad that Roran wasn't there to see.
But Saphira was yet free; she hurtled down towards Murtagh like a sapphire star falling in a blaze of fire, said element spewing out of her mouth, a writhing, burning embodiment of the fury he could feel within her-
But Murtagh raised a hand, smirked, spoke a word, and she slowed, and Thorn slammed into her back, taking her down to the ground. And Thorn breathed his bright red fire straight into the sky; a signal, surely, and Eragon was right, for horns were heard from the east, and cries of war.
And the soldiers of the Varden left; they had to. Their commanders shouted to them to leave; common sense told them to defend their camp; but it was with obviously heavy and fell hearts that they left the fall of their hero, their ambassador, and the guards of the two, not to mention their only dragon. And so the space around them emptied, and the disheartened men went to fight a battle that was no use anymore, only a few staying; those closest to Eragon, Nasuada having now turned up too-and Thorn picked up Arya and Eragon in his claws, helpless, defenseless but for their minds, and Murtagh mounted Saphira now, placing his sword against her neck all the while, ready to plunge it into her vertebrae-a weaker point for any animal-and commanded her to follow Thorn. And Arya and Eragon watched from above as well as they could, seeing the Varden's forces falling back, their commanders' orders useless in the face of terrible morale.
The loss of the Rider had greatly cost them already.
Okay! Quite a short one, for me, but right now it's all that's needed.
As I've already finished what CP started-and finished it right-with my fanfic Ebrithilar, my book 5, I now intend to show just how he could have finished it with what he had in his book 4. Yep, this is me, fixing Inheritance. Most of the key points there will remain, e.g. the Vault and the Rock, and the final battle, and some of the aftermath; five hundred odd pages, all in all. I intend to rewrite all but any Roran ones (he isn't important) and entirely disregard anything Nasuada (obviously, or she'd be captured too,) not to mention add in several chapters as well. All in all, this may turn out to be equal to or greater than the last 500 pages of Inheritance, in volume. Quality will of course be chosen by you!
This is being written partly because I seriously want to write something big on here that I haven't posted somewhere before, partly because I see no real reason for Murtagh to go after Nasuada rather than Eragon or Arya, so I wrote it when he did go after them, and partly for a spoiler reason that I won't tell you.
Goodbye!
