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It has been a thousand years since you were last moved to war. All around you, people are dying, people are fighting. Blood shimmers in a graceful arc as you wreak havoc, slaughtering those who should never have been your enemy. There are tears in your eyes. The euphoria of battle, the frenzy that once consumed you in days past is non-existent. There is no joy in this battle, no sense of justice, and right and wrong are no longer clear.
Gone are the days when the enemy is the mad one; gone are the days when you are as sure of your enemy as you are of the sun rising from the east. You slay a dragon which crashes down to earth and leap out of the way of a breath of fire which approaches. Your own dragon roars somewhere above you, and you feel his anger and dread at facing another one of his kin. You both know the inevitable will come, and you will face the two you want badly to avoid. The first tear falls as you whirl in a deadly dance perfected long ago, leaving a trail of bodies behind, even as you hear a familiar answering call. This was is all wrong, you think. It is all wrong because you are on the right side with the wrong leader- the wrong brother. Your heart breaks as you kill another Rider, your allies surging forward while you close your eyes to regain your composure. In this mad war, Riders clash against Riders, one faction led by Eragon Shadeslayer-Kingkiller-Firesword, he who could no longer be considered Vinr Alfakyn, as you yourself had ruled, the other, your side, led by Murtagh Morzansson. You do not want to be a part of this war. But you may not shirk your duties; they are all you have left. There will be no winner, only a weeping loser.
You blame yourself for this war as Fírnen lands and lets you climb on before you rocket off again, bringing you to Murtagh's side as the both of you face Eragon. Tear tracks line both your faces as you desperately try to talk to Eragon. He laughs, madly. You had known of his growing insanity from Murtagh, and received Eragon's own letter of request to be slayed if such a thing should eventually happen. You had understood that in the course of his pursuit in magic and ancient beings, he had fallen into the trap of those whom he strove to eradicate. But you had not done anything, and now you pay. Although what you could have done, you do not know, it is more than enough to hurt all of you.
You watch as his face changes when he sees you with his half-brother. You say nothing even as Murtagh pleads. Content to observe him as you have not for half a millennia, you take in how similar, yet different, he looks. Hard lines sharpen his face, even as his eyes glint with madness and power, his mouth taking a cruel downturn. And yet, he is no less attractive than he was so many centuries ago. It is the first time since he has closed off all forms of communication with you that you are seeing him in the flesh and you wish it had been under better circumstances. But he is different, and this is him, but not quite him.
You know what he is going to do before he does it. You know, because somehow you are still familiar with his every movement. You engage him in a mental battle even as Fírnen roars as he charges Saphira, Thorn joining the mess as the three of you are hastily dropped to the ground. But his movements are only delayed, and the end result is still the same, for he has become practiced enough that he no longer has to recover from a hard landing, even with an ongoing battle of wills. You dimly wonder why. You cut off the connection with the partner of your mind, soul and life to spare him as you leap forward, in front of Murtagh.
His sword pierces your armour. Murtagh bellows in rage and rushes forward. A spear is thrust forward. You do not know whose it is, but that matters little in your world, which has narrowed significantly to include just you and the man who you still love. Támerlein springs forward, and buries itself firmly in his chest. You stare into his eyes, and drop all of your mental barriers. The spear juts forward into Murtagh's breast, even as he overpowers Eragon's mind. Above you, the three dragons tussle still. It seems you are not the only one who has severed the connection. It was never their battle, anyway.
You sigh as his consciousness falls apart and hurt, rage, sorrow, guilt, shock and horror seeps into your own mind. All three of you are somehow connected, a blade in each of your chests and mentally, you are combined. You slump, at last, for there is nothing left to do, because just like that, the battle is over for you. You will never have to fight again, and your abilities are finally rendered useless. As you slip into the void, your last lingering thoughts are for your dragon, who bellows and even now hurtles towards you, as well as for the man you finally had the courage to free.
And, relief. For now that you are dead, a new era may begin. An untainted one, where the rule of Alagaësia is not shadowed by broken figures. Where the Lead Rider is not one forced to grow up before his time, the Elven Queen is not one who has fought since she could hold a sword, destined to be lonely and proud, and the King of the humans is not one who should never have seen pain, or bonded with a red dragon.
And so the sun sets on your life in Alagaësia.
You fervently hope your descendants know better.
A/N: So, hi. Please comment and tell me if I've made any mistakes/made the characters completely out of character?
This was kind of a rush job, and I accept that I may have made grievous errors, so do forgive me! ^_^
Thank you for reading.