Hello to all people reading this. I (thankfully) have been granted permission to use some of the concepts seen in Rainxoxo's Reversed Life story. Special thank you to Rainxoxo who made so many wonderful/unseen twists and turns possible.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters (all C.P.'s) and Rainxoxo owns some of the plot. The concept of Eragon dying and coming back may have inadvertently come from Unreal Tech, Chair, and Epic Games' Infinity Blade Series, but I don't think so. I'm going to give myself credit for that peace, but other than that, I own nothing.
This was an extremely difficult chapter to write, given I needed to figure out where to start my story. This is definitely not one of my better chapters, but it needed to be done. It was a slow chapter, and I don't know why but I tried to stretch the minuscule amount of information into as long a chapter as humanly possible. I meant to update this chapter earlier but I was experiencing login difficulty. Sorry people.
Also, italics will be used to show mental conversation between any characters.
Eragon
Eragon slowly awoke on a wet, cold ground. The first thing the rider was aware of was the stone ground. He could feel the unevenness of the stone as he laid there. It was uncomfortable to say the least. Small stones dug into his stomach, legs, and arms.
The ground smelled of mold and rat droppings. It made Eragon's nose wrinkle slightly in disgust. The rider tried to move to a sitting position, to get his face as far away from the stone, but his body didn't want to respond to his wishes. Eragon cold feel his right leg growing colder. It was resting in a puddle of murky water. A sheen of scum and dirt rested on the surface of the puddle.
Eragon steadied himself mentally and managed to shift his body to a slightly more comfortable position. The small movement sent waves of pain through the rider's body. The pain caused Eragon's eyes to fly open and a small gasp to escape from his mouth.
Eragon closed his eyes again, an action that seemed to take a lot of energy from him. Concentrate. Breathe. In and out. Even the action of breathing hurt. In and out. In and... a violent cough erupted from the rider. Another spasm of pain followed. Eragon continued to concentrate on his breathing, absorbing the pulses of pain coming from every inch of his body.
As his body adjusted, Eragon noticed a gaping hole in his mind. Saphira. The impact of his loss hit him again, causing his breathing to hitch. His world was empty. He was left in nothingness without the presence of his dragon and the companionship of his friends.
Eragon heard the several footsteps approaching. A person leaned in close to his face; the faint smell of carrot lingered on their breath. A cloud of sweat and dried blood, marking them as someone returning from the chaos of battle, hung thickly around them.
A dark aura emanated from the figure. The person exuded an air of power and confidence. The figure placed a clammy hand on his back. A strange tingling feeling washed over him, and the pain ceased. Eragon almost sighed in relief, but a wave of tiredness washed over him. This man must use the strength of the wounded to heal themselves and others.
As Eragon's mind slowly brushed off the sheen of sluggishness, the first thought that sprung into his mind was, The war! Eragon berated himself. The young rider mentally spewed off a jumbled line of curses and urgent words. Get a grip. Eragon commanded to himself. Breathe. Assess your surroundings.
Eragon cautiously extended his mind. As he met no opposition, he his senses expand to cover the room he was currently in. He could feel the presence of a handful of weak minds, probably soldiers. A certain unease ran through these minds. Within the small puddle of consciences, Eragon picked out two very guarded minds.
The two beings seemed to feed off the energies of the solders and two immensely powerful stones that had minds of their own.
Eragon could feel himself being healed by strange means. Every part of his being wanted to shrink away from the magic, yet it was oddly soothing: unlike the itching feeling he got when healing himself. As muscle, skin, and bone knitted together, the whiteness blinding him instantly turned to black.
Dark magic, Eragon thought with a pang of guilt. Ironic, thought Eragon. The thing I fight is now helping me. The dark magic emanated from the magicians, shrouding his mind in a thick fog to separate his mind from the pains of his body. It was if a cloak had been thrown around him as to keep him alive through a raging winter storm. He was surrounded by darkness, hiding everyone around him.
Eragon couldn't comprehend what was going on around him; his mind was the equivalent of a mental whirlwind, and he was stuck in the middle. He could see the final moments of his pitiful existence as clearly as if they had been cast in stone. He and Galbatorix were fighting, talking. Where was the warm feeling of soaking in the sea of his own blood? What happened to the laughing and jeering soldiers? What happened to the Varden? Most importantly, what happened to Saphira?
Eragon struggled to maintain control of his thoughts. The dark magic clouded his mind and he slowly lost his grip of reality. Eragon's ears rang and his whole body felt numb. Wisps of something brushing his mind, but Eragon was powerless to do anything as the magic permeated his mind.
A mental dagger was driven into his mind, causing the rider to wince. The dagger was twisted and turned in his mind. Each turn shot pain throughout Eragon's head.
Eragon, hissed the attacker. The malicious voice was harsh and abrasive on his hind.
Eragon tried to fend of the attack, but the two minds worked together and forced Eragon into submission. A second icy dagger plunged into the recesses of Eragon's mind.
The forces at work skimmed through his thoughts, threatening to tear through the thin fabrics of his memories, exerting seemingly indispensable resources coming from their twin stones of power. They were locking away his memories, collecting them for later use.
Then the two minds came across the greatest secrets of the riders; secrets unknown to a non-rider since the birth of Eragon the first himself.
A terrible feeling swept through Eragon's being. For a second time he had failed. Not only did he fail the Varden, but now he had failed the very foundations of the riders. He had become so weak as to be the first rider unable to protect even his own thoughts.
And know the twins knew.
They knew the of Du Weldenvarden. They knew of his memories of Oromis. They the prophecy of the vault of souls. They now knew the secret weapon of immense power under the Menoa tree They knew the two words for killing unknown to the world except for the dragon riders.
And they knew more than Eragon wanted to remember.
They knew everything.
Suddenly, an incredible urge to laugh fell over the young rider. How foolish I was! Hoping to run in and single-handily win a war that had been going on for centuries. Acting like a great hero from the legends when all I was was a failure.
A bitter rage followed the brief period of mad mirth. His dragon was dead. His friends: dead. What have I become? Even though leading his friends to their demise left an unsealable hole in his heart, his emotionless façade never wavered.
Eragon loved Arya with all of his heart, yet when he heard about her death, Eragon only let a single tear drop before vowing to avenge her to the best of his ability. Make no mistake, his very soul was shredded to pieces that day, only to be hastily stuck back together when duty called.
His dragon. His ruler of the sky. The only princess he could call his own. That now familiar feeling of loss continued to grow and blossom in his gut. He had let her fall from the sky when the only thing she had done was to be faithful to him. All his friends had been given the choice to leave his rebellion, but Saphira was the one who was bonded to him. Through their sacred connection, they shared everything with each other. Because of Eragon's lack of strength, Saphira, his beautiful dragoness, had paid the ultimate price. Saphira had passed into the void, leaving her rider behind, just as the Saphira before her was made to leave Eragon's father's side. Eragon was responsible for all the casualties in the final battle, the deaths of all his friends, but most importantly the death of his dragon who never had the choice to leave his side and continue her race.
It hit Eragon that he had been the one to doom the race of the Dragons to extinction. Out of all the riders, even the most corrupt, he had been the only one to fail at completing his Wyrda. He reasoned it was his Wyrda which sent him back, alone, helpless, to finish the daunting which he was destined to complete. Unlike others in history, he had, by some miracle, been thrust back into the world and given a second chance. He had no idea how to complete his task without the help of his friends, but he was sure he would find a way to complete his destiny and one day see his dragon and his princess again.
Eragon continued to shrink away from the two probing shadows in his mind. Eragon started to every decision that brought him to this point as the twins forcefully removed each memory. The rider noticed how rash each choice he had taken was. Maybe if he had taken the time to ponder about Oromis' lessons, he might have traveled to Du Weldenvarden and trained more. Instead, Eragon had rushed foolishly into an impossible fight, forsaking all his duties and mindlessly sacrificing himself so he could rest in peace unlike the other millions of people in Alagaësia.
Suddenly, Eragon could feel his mind slipping. Eragon struggled to remember what had happened to get him here. Eragon was drawn from his thoughts as he realized the twins had done their job a little too well. With a huge pulse of energy, Eragon felt two miniature pillars of flame surround each magician. The twins were instantaneously burnt to a crisp from the inside out, the ashes gently sprinkling down upon Eragon as he drifted into a dreamless slumber. Nothing was left besides a shadow of his old consciousness and his name… Eragon, son of none, rider of Saphira, Queen of the Skies, and the last free Dragon Rider of Alagaësia.
It was a strange feeling to know absolutely nothing. The first thought which consumed the mighty Dragon Rider's newly built consciousness was a single word, Revenge; and with that, Eragon the second was reborn.
For clarification the stones of power were Eldunarí. Everything about Eragon's rebirth will be explained in later chapters. Also, "his princess" was referencing Arya and how Eragon hopes she will become his princess sometime (I pictured the void to be another place where everything was happy, much like the elven forest before the war. To clarify, I pictured it as an actual place, not just a mental void bathed in white light).
