note: inheritance
was
the best book
ever.
my deepest apologies to love-serenades, for "borrowing" an idea.
listen to coldplay's paradise or the scientist while reading this.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Eragon sat on the stump of a fallen tree. It was his favorite stump at that. He breathed in and out, in the middle of his meditation.
It had been nearly one hundred years.
100 years.
The only time he had returned to Alagaësia was to mourn the loss of his cousin, Roran, and his wife Katrina, and to crown the new ruler of Ilirea. Of those two visits, he had only seen Arya once. It was a mere glimpse, and Arya's eyes seemed just a bit happier when they looked at each other.
Without knowing it, he let go of his mental barriers. All of them. With that, a sort of gentle energy seemed to flow out of him, and the flowers around him bloomed, and the trees flourished, as the color of the leaves turned into a richer green.
Eragon gently uprooted a flower, and while he fed a constant supply of energy to it to keep it alive, he sang to it in the ancient language, and it began to gild itself, and when it was fully gilded, he tossed it into the air and said, "Flauga."
It flew away into the forest, and beyond that, the vast seas that would eventually lead back to Alagaësia, to the elves, dwarves, Urgals, and humans.
Saphira landed near him, along with a few other dragons, and Eragon heard her say, through their mental link, I believe that all of you, especially you, Fánier, flew well today. Now go back to your individual Riders. Class is dismissed.
Immediately, they all dispersed, off into the skies.
Are you all right? asked Saphira, her large sapphire eyes boring into Eragon's brown ones.
I'm fine.
Saphira snorted, and a large jet of flames flew out of her nose.
You are lying. I know what today is, Eragon.
Eragon remained silent, silently mourning the days of peace, of which he could spar with Arya, tell jokes with Roran, drink with Orik. He closed his eyes.
Remember, little one. Find peace in your decisions. Because even though we make them, they will make us.
By then, the dragon had flew off, and Eragon stared into the sky, where the gilded flower had flown. Eventually, he sensed one of his students coming. "Kate. Have you come to join me in my meditation?" he said, working up a smile.
Kate was so young. She was only nine by now. She nodded, her light brown hair floating in front of her blue eyes. "Why do we have to train for so long, Master Eragon?" she asked, staring at Eragon. "Did you ever hear the term, practice makes perfect?"
She nodded, and said, "But why for so long?"
"Let me see your palm, Kate. The one with the gedwey ignasia." She complied, and held her right hand out. "You see this, young Kate?" He pointed at the small blisters on her hand. "That is proof that the training is helping you. You are growing tougher and tougher, so that no one can hurt you or your loved ones. That is what training does."
Kate frowned. "Thank you, Master. I understand now." Eragon smiled. She then ran off. Then something struck his mind. From the flowers, to the seas, all the way back to Alagaësia, he understood.
Life goes on.
And with this, he began to laugh. He laughed for so long, that he began to cry, and tears of sadness and happiness streamed out of his eyelids.
Life.
No one said it would be easy.
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