A/N: The chance of a somewhat brotherly/somewhat fatherly relationship between Eragon and Jarsha has always intrigued me. I decided to play with it, flesh it out, and see what happened. I originally planned for it to be a one-shot, but it just kept rolling and rolling.

Severely AU

Elements of modern world

Customs

History

Speech

Nature

Premise

After Murtagh's supposed death after the Battle under Farthen Dûr, Jarsha and Eragon became closer. They developed a bond that was part brotherly and part fatherly. The ripples it sent through the war were unbelievable.

Relationships Acknowledged:

Eragon/Arya

Saphira/Shruiken

Murtagh/Trianna

Nasuada/Orrin

Katrina/Roran

Orik/Hvedra

Former Relationships

Arya/Faolin

Galbatorix/Angela

Brom/Selena

Islander/Oromis

Morzan/Selena

Main Characters

Eragon

Jarsha

Arya

Galbatorix

Islanzadi

Minor Characters

Murtagh

Nasuada

Thorn

Angela

Shruiken

Saphira

"Familial" Relationships

Eragon/Jarsha: Father/Son plus Brotherly

Galbatorix/Eragon: Father/Son

Islanzadi/Arya: Mother/Daughter

Islanzadi/Eragon: Mother/Son

Shruiken/Thorn: Father/Son

Thorn/Saphira: Brother/Sister, slight Son/Mother

Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, nor do I intend to gain in a monetary manner from my writings.

***Prologue***

It was general consensus among the populace of the Varden that the Rider had changed greatly since the death of his dark-haired companion. Whether this change was for the better or the worse had yet to be determined. He had become quiet. Taken to secluding himself, whenever he did leave the dragon roost, he was seen only in the company of the elf maiden, Arya, or the dwarven prince, Orik. Occasionally, he would spend time with Angela the witch and her werecat partner, Solembum, in their quarters. He would also attend the council meetings that took place two or three times a day to stand at Nasuada's side, but his old habit of walking publicly among the civilians of the Varden had disappeared.

His attire had changed, as well. Black clothing had become his standard fare. Custom tailored by the finest weavers of the dwarves, Eragon struck quite a figure among the high and mighty of the Varden. Much like the elf constantly at his side, he wore all black. The symbol of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum was sewn on the left breast of every shirt in white-gold thread. Multiple wards and defenses were spelled into the symbol. He was now magically protected from every poison Angela could think of; Arya had helped design a ward that absorbed every offensive spell short of the twelve words of death. Orik had approached the dwarven priests, and they had wrought him a warded pendant that rendered him invisible to those who would scry him. Eragon himself had spelled a ward that deflected all physical blows, be they from weaponry or a bodily attack. And unknown to his fellows, he had expanded upon the spells they had set. They now encompassed anyone who came within a five foot radius of his body.

It had taken Eragon three nights to research different ways to energize each spell and its extension. He had finally discovered he could reroute the power drain to Aren, Brom's old ring. Arya and Saphira had been flabbergasted upon finding the amount of power stored in the sapphire. Eragon had merely smiled wistfully and mumbled something about a "wily, old coot" and "playing things to close to the chest." Every night before he resigned himself to a nightmare-riddled sleep, he would pour every ounce of power he held within himself into Aren. This served two purposes: 1) Aren's stores grew even more, and 2) Eragon's own limits kept expanding to become greater and greater.