Long Have I Wandered; But No More

An Inheritance Cycle Story by

Noel Guscott

Synopsis: During/Post-Brisingr. Tikara Mela is not known to many, but to those who have heard of him he is simply known as 'The Wanderer'. This wanderer has a past not many would guess of a man like him, but new hope emerges once he catches a glimpse of Saphira Brightscales and Eragon Shadeslayer flying over the edge of the Hadarac Desert.

Hope. Hope was a trivial thing in Tikara's eyes. One that he had long since given up on, for many good reasons… It never should have been this way! Why does it have to be this way? Oh, I am so alone… alone!

Tikara usually wandered the western shores without pause, but since the outbreak of the Great War, has named it, the west was no safe anymore. He had decided to stay away from battle and from those whose curiosity got the better of them, for surely a man garbed all in black and dark greens, trying to stay away from prying eyes, would draw eyes upon themselves? If someone could catch a glimpse of him, that is what would happen.

Since this outbreak of war, Tikara wandered the desert for the second time in his life. He had not always been known as 'The Desert Wanderer', or the 'Traveller of the Shores'. No, once he had been a different man, a better man. A man – an elf with a life! With a mate, with hopes and dreams, with likes a dislikes; without revenge or despair. But damn Galbatorix for it all! The world would be so much different today if he had not ever been…oh, my love how I miss thee. Oh Ilian.

Tikara was many hundreds of years old. But because he was drowned in his own sorrows, he can barely remember over eight hundred years ago, when he was first made a Rider. It had been a glorious day, when his egg first hatched and he named his Dragon. She had been beautiful and graceful and purely magnificent, even at birth! Ilian, which meant happiness, had been a purple dragon. And she was the heart of his life.

But no more! He now wandered the Earth, even after the fall, without Galbatorix knowing, hunting down anyone who had any connection with the Empire and his death. Revenge was what drove him, always and forevermore, since Ilian had died.

"All this is making me weary. I must rest," he said out loud to himself. As the sun began to kiss the horizon, Tikara gathered what wood he could at the edge of the desert and found shelter in a large oak with a hole at it's base, large enough for Tikara to sleep in, and he created a fire. He then found what fruit he could, and taking some bread from his bags he ate until he could eat no more, and then drifted off into a waking sleep of which all elves had. But his were filled with only the worst things of his life, but he slept on, enduring that of which he had endured since the Fall.

***

Morning came quickly, and Tikara awoke to the sound of the wind blowing on the outskirts of the damned desert.

That morning, Tikara had had enough of the desert for over a decade, he decided. He knew he was in the north part of the Hadarac, and he decided now he wanted to make his way back to the Western shore, to wander the remainder of his days; if they ever would end, anyway.

Gathering his things, Tikara began his trek westward, to the shores awaiting him beyond.

As he exited the wasteland a few hours later, Tikara thought he heard something – a familiar, deafening and exciting sound, but it quickly faded and was no more, and he thought nothing more of it as he continued his seemingly long journey from the desert to the Western Coast.

***

Two days later, Tikara found himself around 10 miles, if not even, away from Gil'ead. Even before he had come this close he had heard the cries of battle, and he could not turn away from at least catching a glimpse of the battle.

With the grace that was bestowed to him as an elf at birth, and thus even more so as a Rider, he quickly climbed up a steep peak until he got a slight aerial view of the once great city. What he saw shocked him.

What first drew his attention was all the soldiers on the ground. He could tell, not only by the armour and the way the soldiers were assembled, that it had to be the elves that were doing this. But surely his people had not finally marched out of Du Weldenvarden to war? But, as it seemed, they had. The second thing that drew his attention was the battle raging in the sky above. A golden dragon, the one he knew to be Glaedr, and his Rider, the Mourning Sage, or Oromis-elda to Tikara, were doing battle with a Red dragon and it's Rider. Surely it was not Morzan? He had been dispatched years ago. Then Tikara though of Morzan's family, and suddenly it occurred to him: could it be his son? He thought in alarm.

He wanted to help, but he knew from this distance he would be no more than a mere nuisance or thorn in the Red Dragon's back. Then suddenly, he need not help anymore.

The voice of the evil King, Galbatorix, suddenly eminated from the voice of the Red Rider just as Glaedr was about to destroy the Red Dragon and his Rider after a long and fierce battle. Tikara listened, and tears welled in his eyes as he knew Oromis and Glaedr were soon going to meet their own end. The last of the Elders – last of the Great Dragon Riders, gone! He saw Glaedr and Oromis plunge to their deaths minutes later, as Red Dragon and Rider began to retreat toward Ilirea – that was the only name Tikara would call it by, or the Citadel of Galbatorix. As the Red Dragon and his Rider flew overhead, Tikara mustered his strength, and with all his might he said one simple word, and he threw the spell toward the Red Rider screaming, "BRISINGR!"

The Red Dragon nor his Rider saw what had been coming. They suddenly were engulfed in flames, a purple flame which burned the Rider and Dragon for over 10 seconds before finally the Rider put it out and the Dragon began to struggle to fly back in the direction of Ilirea.

Satisifed with what he had done, Tikara lay there basking in the pleasure that he had just done one of the forces of Good's enemies a VERY serious blow.

Imagine what I could do with the elves once more? I could help them greatly, and help our new Rider… but I am alone! Oh, Ilian…

Sorrow overcame Tikara once again, and he bade farewell to his people and Gil'ead as he began his journey to the southern coast, now, fearing that the elves would discover him if he ventured west any longer.

***

Another two days had gone by since Tikara had wounded Red-scales and his Rider, and he had made it about three quarters to the way of the southern-most coast. Knowing that he had to avoid Empire territory from now on, as he had been hearing things from the trees that there were hostilities in these areas, he began his trek to the south west, now, managing a path just north and in sight of Dras-Leona.

As he traversed the hidden paths north of the town, he pondered deeply about everything: himself, his past, his future, and why he lived.

Ilian, you were my life, my heart of hearts. I have been without you for too long, my sweet. I have not done enough to avenge your death. I am the last of our kind, now – the last Free Rider. But yet a Rider without a dragon am I. What do I have to live for, now? What does my future hold for me? Will I eventually die, or will I have to live on well into the eons to come…what can I do?

Suddenly, Tikara was pulled out of his thoughts and to the present. Something caught his senses – he had heard something call out in the distance. He knew naught what it was, so it must still be far off, since his hearing was elven, after all. Then he heard it again, and this time he could distinguish what all of it was. First the sound of war drums, then the clatter of armor as horses and men alike marched toward the town of Dras-Leona. And then, a roar like no roar he had heard in a long, long time. The roar of a proud, strong dragon; a dragon who was free!

Suddenly, what seemed to be a blue ball shot into the air and flashed in the sun. It was a dragon and a Rider all right, but not Red-scales and his evil Rider, or no. This one was blue, a brilliant blue like he had seen in the wild dragons of old! Her scales, he derived from its underbelly, glistened like a million sapphires under the glow of the sun. Beautiful was she, and proud and strong and healthy she was.

With her Rider leading the charge, the army descended upon Dras-Leona like a wave and did not stop for anything. The blue dragon attacked the city walls and began to maim the outer defenses as the Rider wrought his own line of destruction as he also managed to protect some of the men of which he fought with.

As Tikara looked down at the glorious yet chaotic sight, tears were brought to his eyes. He knew that was once he and Ilian. And he knew that he still had the strength to fight in such battles as these.

Looking down at his purple bladed sword, celöbra, he contemplated whether or not he should fight once again. Should I do what is right, or should I do what is moral? Should I kill for the good of all, or should I stay away for the good of no one but myself?

Long had he been the Wanderer, he decided then. He pulled out his sword, lifted it into the air and screamed such a battle-cry that even when Blue-Scales roared, all those below could hear his mighty signal that he was going to fight. And with tears streaming down his eyes for joy that there is a free Rider, and sorrow that he had to kill in the name of good once again, he charged toward the city.

Battle and chaos was waiting. Could he best it? The decision was made: he had too.