Warnings: deathfic, sad.
Epitaph for Eragon
Six hundred years had passed since the last time the dark-haired elf had visited this grove. It was a forgotten place, now; the few dragons that remained had spread to the farthest reaches of the globe with their Riders, leaving behind a world that wished for their nonexistence. And yet even in the hustle and bustle of the world as it was now, this glade remained peaceful, unsullied by the factories and buildings that the newer men rejoiced to erect.
The elf approached the side of the hill. It was more weathered and the years had caused dirt to cover the face of the rock she sought, but with an unspoken command and a wave of her hand, a shower of dust and fell away from the headstone of this hill, this cairn.
Light fingers traced the runes that she herself had once carved. Few now could read them; her race was almost extinct. The peace of Alagaësia had lasted for more than two millennia, but all things end. And now, as Fírnen curled himself around the hill where the bones of his ancient mate were interred, Arya wished that she, too, could have made Saphira's choice, and followed the man they loved into eternal rest.
Here lies Eragon,
First of the new dragon Riders
Who walked in the ways of his father, Brom,
Even when he knew him not:
Who inherited his desire for justice;
Did not shirk a task, though it seemed impossible;
And was rewarded with the pain
Of losing all he loved.
And yet at the end,
He became the teacher-
And passed on that knowledge
He never expected to be able to share.
Here lies Eragon,
Whose greatest strength was
Conscience;
Whose greatest pain was
Love;
Whose greatest weapon was
Understanding.
Here lies Eragon,
May the star of his life
Light a spark in your heart.
As it did in mine, finished Arya mentally.
She pressed a hand to her chest, the physical ache secondary to the pain in her heart, her soul. It seemed that the pain had only increased since the day she had carved the words; it had sharpened, rather than fading. Now she knew; now she understood, what Eragon had meant when he said he did not wish for life eternal. Endurance of endless pain, endless loss, was far worse than death could ever be.
'Shall we?' she asked her companion telepathically.
'It is time,' came the reply.
So, placing her hand upon the verdant scales, she joined their abilities for one last time and lifted the blanket of earth from Saphira and Eragon's grave. Then, settling herself in Fírnen's foreclaws, Arya directed the earth to cover them once again, and the two curled up and lost themselves to dreams of the ones they had loved.
It would not be long, now, before they rejoined them.