Hey everyone, next chapter is up! Now I will say it now, it will be a couple of chapters before we make it to WW2. So a few chapters will be going through different time periods leading up to WW2 and there is the matter of WW1 which I won't say much about.
Also I was speaking to Elemental Dragon Slayer and he wanted to know the pairing and I told him, so for anyone else out there that is interested, it is ExA. Yep, an ExA fic. In fact this story is a personal challenge for me, I want to get better at the genre I believe I'm weakest at and try improve my writing all round. So please give me criticism, I would love to know what you think I can do better at.
Anywho, hope you enjoy this chapter.
Eragon P.O.V (325 B.C)
Time is like the sands on a beach, it seems infinite but in reality there is a finite amount. This is how he viewed time, because even though he has the curse of immortality, he will die one day. That day might be millions of years from now but it will come. Time will run out eventually.
He knew he was still quite young, about two hundred years old. He was born first then Saphira. Even though they were the same age, it doesn't stop her from calling him an old fart. The teasing just wouldn't stop, from him or her. His father always told him that their antics and behaviour would get them in trouble.
Speaking of trouble, he was quite literally freaking out at the moment.
'Father will kill me for sure, I suppose it was worth it' He mused mentally.
He had said to his father and sister that he was 'going out to get some air and find something to do'. That was a few years ago and he was now leading an army under his persona, Alexander III of Macedon or otherwise known as Alexander the Great.
His tactics in battle were like no other. He had always been smart and was constantly fighting with Saphira about who was smarter among the two. He smiled lightly as memories of their fights drifted into his mind. It helped to calm down his nerves for the upcoming battle.
In the privacy of his tent, he drew his sword. He quickly went through and practised some techniques that his father taught him. Brom had trained him in the basics of fighting hand to hand but with swords and weapons he made sure to make him a master of.
He knew the reason for not receiving much training in hand to hand combat. It was because Brom hadn't gotten that far in his own training in that area of combat. Also he thought he didn't really need it because of his superior speed and strength, he could defeat his opponents within seconds by using his abilities correctly.
That and his brilliant mind, he would use tactics to help him win against harder opponents, being careful not to engage in hand to hand lest he lose.
'I really should train, might save my life one day' He thought to himself as he stared at the blue blade that he always carried with him.
The sword's name was Brisingr, meaning fire. He named it in his native tongue.
It was gifted to him by a mysterious old lady he found one day while walking through the forges for his army. The woman looked older than what should be possible, not exactly a pleasant sight. Though she was renowned for her skill in the forge. He had admit, there was something strange about her smithing, the blade was most gorgeous thing he had laid his eyes upon and never seemed to break. It would definitely help in his battles and campaign against India.
Just as he was putting the blade down, he felt something cold pressed against his back. He quickly spun around with his inhuman speed and launched a fist at the unknown assassin's face. It was blocked relatively easily which surprised him.
'No one could stand a powerful punch like that unless…' He reached out and the unknown figure's hood was removed to reveal a beautiful woman akin to a goddess. Her blond hair curled and flowed down to her shoulders perfectly. Her sky blue eyes held an intense gaze at him.
"Saphira, I should have known. No one else could withstand that punch." He said smirking. Saphira rolled her eyes.
"Up yourself much? I'm stronger than you and we both know it."
"You are not!"
"Are too!"
"Not!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
"Shut up Eragon, I didn't come here to start having an argument." She said before a dangerous look flashed in her eyes.
He was smirking because he managed to start a banter with her, he rather enjoyed those. But the smirk was wiped from his face when she stared at him with a murderous glare.
'Well I am done for' He thought.
"I think you know why I am here brother." Saphira said with a stern tone. Being the genius that he is, he gave a shrug.
"No I don't think so, care to enlighten me?" He knew instantly that was the wrong thing to say as Saphira advanced towards him.
"ENLIGHTEN YOU?! WHERE YOU HAVE BEEN THE PAST TWENTY YEARS?!" She yelled in a sudden fit of rage. He was quickly backing away while wiping the sweat off of his face.
"Well you see, I, er…"
"YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD EXCUSE OR I SWEAR YOU ARE DEAD!" She had managed to pin him to the ground in a painful headlock. He didn't see it coming and now was forced to answer her.
"I kind of, um… Got bored?" He said sheepishly. His answer awarded him with a punch to his face. Blood poured out of his nose and he stared at her annoyed. His sister's glare removed any look he had on his face and he turned passive. Saphira was truly scary when she got angry.
"Eragon, I know you were restless about doing nothing for the past year but saying you are going to get some fresh air and then becoming a conqueror of the known world isn't a way to relieve boredom. I mean, who on Earth starts an eighteen yearlong series of campaigns out of boredom?!"
"I do." He said bluntly.
She sighed and slapped him in the face. He knew that he deserved that. He looked back at his sister who had yet to let him off the ground. She had a look of interest in her eyes.
"I must ask though, how did you manage to become the leader of the Macedonians?" She asked. He gave a small grin.
"Well I am glad you asked fair sister of mine. It took me two years to fully cast the spell over the Macedonians to make them believe I was always there in their lives. I wanted to help them against the Persians and when Philip was assassinated, they made me their ruler believing I was his son. And so began our conquest. With my brilliant mind in the field of tactics and strategy, I managed to overthrow the Persian's even though they outnumbered us. And I helped to conquer and make their empire what it is right now." He finished. Saphira had a look of surprise etched on her face.
"You made all of Macedonia to believe you were Philip's son. How? The magic we wield only helps do small things?" She asked. He rolled his eyes, obviously she wasn't listening which was a rare occurrence.
She was right that magic only served to help with small things. That reason being that it drained on your strength rapidly and so magic had to be used sparingly. Magic would kill the user very quickly if not careful, the gods made sure that magic could not be abused among the mortals.
The most he had done with magic was using it to lift a boulder and launched it through the air into a horde of enemies. It was quite a feat.
"There was a reason it took two years, it took me that long to cast the spell enough times so that everyone believed who I was. Honestly sis, I thought I was bad at listening." He mumbled the last part but she heard him anyway and smacked him in the face.
"Don't insult or make fun of me. You are in no position to do such a thing and I am still mad that you just left for twenty years to do something as stupid as starting a war."
"Helped actually. I didn't start it."
"Whatever." She finally got off him and he slowly got up off the ground, groaning as he did so. She had quite a grip on him and it had hurt.
"Shut up. Now that you have had your fun. You will stop this conquest and come home." She said flatly.
"But, I am just about to…" he was cut off when she gave him a glare.
"I don't care what you are about to do. You have been waging war for the past eighteen years, father is going to kill you for that by the way. Plus your men don't want to keep fighting." She said. He paled considerably at the thought of his father, he was going to receive the worst punishment imaginable.
"I suppose I could pull back and then fake my death." He said and Saphira gave him a nod.
"Good boy! Now hurry it along will you, I want to play that game you made up. Chess was it?" He responded with a nod.
"You won't win against me sister, I am a god of strategy. I invented chess with the clear intent of a pure strategy game in mind. We both know how you are with tactics." He smirked and was given a glare.
Saphira left as mysteriously as she had come. He sighed to himself before groaning, life was going to be hell when he got back. He called for his generals and announced they would be returning home and discontinuing the campaign to invade India. They seemed a little relieved and left quickly to spread the word among the soldiers.
Nightfall had come quickly, everyone was sitting around fires keeping warm and enjoying each other's company. In the morning the journey back to Babylon would begin and so his troops were celebrating the end of a long but successful campaign. They ate and drank and the happiness filled the atmosphere, it was almost impossible not to feel happy but he felt depressed.
He didn't enjoy war, it did give him the thrill of putting his tactical mind to the test but in the end, bloodshed made him feel uneasy. The main reason he wanted to continue in his campaign was to see the world and experience what it had to offer.
He gazed at the stars, silently wondering what was out there, above the night sky. He thought of different worlds to the one he lived on, ones of beauty, ones ravaged by war and everything in between.
He suddenly felt lonely just sitting at the edge of the camp just gazing at the stars. It was a loneliness that couldn't be described but only felt, like something was missing from his life.
He had his family and very few mortal friends over the years of his life but he just felt incomplete. This feeling would stir whenever he saw men happily spend time with their wives and kids. He wanted that, a chance to feel that special kind of love and affection that you only ever feel once in your life.
Being around two hundred, he had seen many beautiful woman in his time but he never felt anything for them. They tried to woo him but he ignored them with an impassive face and voice. He never opened up to them like he would Saphira and Brom.
He was a pretty emotional guy that didn't usually hide his feelings but being around those kinds of woman that wanted him only for his body and good looks would never see him the way he normally was.
"What brought on those thoughts?" He pondered silently.
The loneliness would come to him often, the feeling that he desperately wanted to get rid of. As he grew older, it only increased which wasn't helpful. Only three things helped keep his mind of it: His sister, his father and learning.
Learning was something he was natural at. He learned how to swing a sword with the precision of a master within a year, this surprised his father but made him immensely proud.
He was also fluent in most languages spoken along with the Atlantian language, also known by other nations as the lost and fabled 'Ancient Language'. He quickly learned that as an extra punishment from the gods, they made it so mortals thought Atlantis and her people were only a myth, a legend.
It made him angry but he knew it could not be helped for his ancestors' committed horrible deeds for their destruction to be caused by divine powers.
He was working on a way to protect what survived of Atlantis's demise. Currently he was working on a book that held many of the words of his native tongue as it possible could. It had taken him several years but the book was nearing completion.
He had also written a Greek translation so people could figure out how to learn it and speak the Ancient Language. He had always planned to fake his death and this would be his parting gift to the Macedonians. Now he had to finish it a little quicker than he would have liked but it was necessary.
Footsteps brought him out of his thoughts and he turned to find one his bodyguard and generals, Perdiccas, heading straight towards him.
"My lord Alexander! You must rest before we begin our journey tomorrow. Your strength will be needed." Perdiccas said. The man was tall and held himself with pride. His brown eyes searched Perdiccas's blue eyes and found them filled with slight worry.
"Fear not Perdiccas, my strength will not falter me for years to come." He mentally gave a sigh and chuckled at how wrong that statement was. He was going to plan his own 'death' and here he was saying something like that.
"As you say my lord." And with that Perdiccas took a bow and turned to leave. An idea suddenly formed in his head that made him smile.
'Yes, it might work if not for a little while.' He thought to himself. He silently got up and headed for his tent.
He fell on his bed and let sleep take hold of him. He hadn't rested properly in two weeks and now was his chance to catch up on sleep before the army moved back to Babylon.
Time skip- 2 years
"GET HELP IN HERE NOW!" Perdiccas roared as he held him. Today was the day that Alexander perished.
He had made it seem like he was coming down with a terrible illness thanks to a small magical spell.
It was time for Alexander to die and for Eragon to live on. He planned this so that Perdiccas was with him when he started to 'die'. It was time to go home but not before passing on his legacy.
"Perdiccas, my old friend. You see that book over there by my bed? Please bring it to me." He said while coughing and choking out the words. His general placed him so he was gently leaning against a wall with a stone pillar for support. Perdiccas quickly rose and went to grab the book.
He looked around his room and the last room Alexander would see. It was lavish with a comfortable bed in a golden frame. The walls were lined with paintings of previous battles and the history of Babylon. It was quite a sight to take in, all the history that lined the walls. The paintings were done with excellent detail, nothing seemed wrong or out of place.
'Whoever did that, I should give them my riches for such good work.' He thought as he stared at the walls.
His general was kneeling at his side once more with the book in hand. He gestured for him to open it. When he did, his face was one of confusion as he stared at the words.
"I don't understand? What is this mi 'lord?" Perdiccas asked.
"That is the language of the lost." He said wheezing out every breath. The general's eyes widened.
"You mean… This is?"
"The language of Atlantis, the Ancient Language."
"How did you get such a thing? No one knew the language they spoke." His general asked, still confused but in awe of the item he held.
"Where I learned it is something I cannot reveal. But I can pass it on to make sure the language isn't lost forever." He said and then went into a coughing fit. Not acting this time, some dust made it into his throat and it set him off. He cursed mentally but also smirked slightly at the thought of proper coughing helping the believability of his impending death.
"A most treasured gift you could bestow my king." Perdiccas looked truly grateful that such a gift would be given, especially one as valuable as the language of Atlantis.
Eragon began to drop his eyelids down for effect and breathed heavily.
"I am dying Perdiccas, there is no time left for me."
"No don't say that!"
He started to relax on the wall while showing a little pain, implying death was but a minute away.
"Who should rule the kingdom?! You don't have an heir!" Perdiccas said frantically. He slowly slipped off his signet ring and gave it to Perdiccas.
"tôi kratistôi- To the strongest." He breathed and went fully limp, pretending he was now dead.
Perdiccas looked at the ring with wide eyes and held the book in his hand before standing up and walking to leave but not before turning around and giving one last glance at his body.
"I understand. I won't fail you." Perdiccas said and left the room.
'Man playing dead is a pain in the ass. Got a cramp in right leg' He mentally complained and groaned when he moved his leg.
It had been three days since his 'death' and now was on the outskirts of the city. It took him a lot of effort to make it out of Babylon without getting caught or seen. If he had been, that would have spelled disaster or possibly good news, he wasn't too sure which one.
Either way, he limped out of the city and trained his sights towards where he knew Mount Olympus would be. His family lived on the great mountain because no one would find them there and people wouldn't dare try reach the summit for fear of being destroyed by the gods.
He chuckled slightly at that, their home was rather beautiful and whenever the odd man or two did climb, they were met with their breath taking home and introduced to the 'gods'. He had taken on the persona of Apollo and Saphira would be Athena. His father would of course be the one and only Zeus. It was the funniest thing to watch the men cower and grovel in front of them. Saphira wanted to fry one that tried to win her 'favour'.
But of course there were others that escaped Atlantis and took on personas of various mortals and gods. Morzan took on the form of Hades and terrorized everyone he came across. His father worked tirelessly to find and track down Morzan whenever he appeared but he always seemed to escape Brom's grasp.
He knew one day that Morzan wouldn't be able to run any longer and had to face his father in a fight to the death, he just hoped that he was there to help. Morzan was not someone to be taken lightly and if he ever encountered him, he was to run.
Not because he was a coward but because he knew that the fight would be short lived and he would be dead in minutes. Morzan was feared throughout Atlantis for his skill in battle and they would have only gotten better after two centuries of being able to hone his skill.
He didn't bother to look back at the city he had taken, that part of his life was over and he didn't need to drift back into the memories of war.
He couldn't deny the thrill he felt in the heat of the moment but when the battles' ferocity subsided, he couldn't but feel terrible for the things he did. The faces of men he had killed where forever etched into his mind. He thought he was ready, that he could handle it but he was wrong.
The very first man he had killed was a bandit that tried to ambush him along a trade route. He still remembered it to this day.
The birds chirped and the wind brushed past the trees. The sun bright and blaring down at him in a cloudless sky. He grinned as he walked along, revelling in the wind's cold but comforting touch. He was along on the forest road.
'Can't believe father trusts me with this task' He mused to himself. Brom wanted him to take five hundred gold coins to a man who had information on the location of someone named Morzan. He didn't really know who this guy was himself but he knew that he was dangerous and father wanted him dead.
He slowed down in his walk until he came to a standstill, the noise had disappeared. The birds couldn't be heard, the wind had settled. It was just silence and it was uncomfortable. He slowly drew his bronze blade and readied himself, something wasn't right.
With his enhanced hearing, he heard a twig snap in the background. Turning quickly only to come face to face with a massive man charging at him with a giant club.
The bandit swung as fast as he possible could but he dodged it with a roll to the side.
Instinct kicked in and he plunged his sword into the bandit's leg and gave a sharp kick in the ribs. The bandit howled in pain and fell to the ground from the force of the kick.
He quickly drove his sword in the man's right shoulder, making him scream in agony. He remained near motionless on the ground, it was clear he had no training in combat and relied on sheer strength and stealth to take out opponents.
Pulling his sword out and holding it at his throat, he noticed all the blood pouring from the bandit's body and it made him feel sick. The man's face was one of fear and terror, a face that could never be forgotten.
"Why did you attack me?" He asked.
"I had to, I needed that money to survive. I wasn't going to kill you." The bandit whimpered.
His face softened as he stared at the man bleeding out. He was only trying to live and he would do it by any means necessary. On closer inspection of the wounds, he knew that it was fatal, the leg wound was high up on his thigh and the shoulder wound was lower than expected.
"I'm sorry." He said, he conveyed multiple messages in that one statement. 'You won't make it' 'I'm going to put you out of your misery and pain'.
The bandit's eyes widened and he tried frantically to crawl away, desperate to cling onto the small amount of life he had left. He screamed and terror still evident on his face.
Eragon moved forward and quickly brought his sword through the bandit's skull. His body went limp instantly.
He suddenly felt sick as he killed him. The face appearing on the forefront of his thoughts whenever he looked elsewhere.
Dropping to his hands and knees, he let a tear fall and run down his cheek. The man was innocent, trying to survive in the harsh world and only to be cut down when he saw a way to live. His hear clenched and his knuckles turned white from gripping the sword so hard. He stared at the body one last time and let another tear fall.
"I'm sorry." He whispered. From that moment on, he knew that he was changed forever.
The memory made him shudder and his blood run cold. He was only eighteen years of age and killed a man that was trying to survive. He pushed all thoughts away and headed to the one placed he yearned to be at for the past twenty years, home.
No matter how much he missed home, he couldn't deny, he didn't miss his father's lectures. He had just received a massive five hour lecture about responsibilities. He knew he deserved it though.
"Do I make myself clear?" Brom finished with a stern look.
"Yes father, I'm sorry." He mumbled. His father brought him into a hug.
"Twenty years Eragon, you have no idea how worried I was about you." He whispered. They stood like that for a few moments before his father pulled away and looked at him with an all too familiar glint in his eyes.
'Oh no…' He mentally complained.
"Now for your punishment."
"Come on!"
"None of this 'come on!' alright. Out in the world, you may be the great Alexander, a grown adult but here, you are my son Eragon and you will be punished." Brom said firmly. He groaned and saw Saphira smirking at him from her bedroom while mouthing 'You're in for it now'.
"What is my punishment?" He hesitantly asked and started to sweat when he saw his father grin.
"I have something fitting in mind, yes very fitting for the mighty Alexander." He said grinning even more.
'Someone help me' He mentally cried out, waiting to receive his punishment and he almost passed out when he heard what it was. His sister was written all over the punishment, worst of all, she would never let it down.
'Curse you Saphira!'
There we go. Eragon took the persona of Alexander the Great and invented chess. Also if your wondering 'tôi kratistôi' was Alexander's last words I believe from what I researched. Most things you see Eragon/Alexander do in this chapter is stuff that that the real Alexander did or supposedly did (eg. Giving Perdiccas his signet ring).
Now regarding magic, I realized that Eragon and other characters would be so over powered if they could use magic like in the books. So in this story, magic is a lot more dangerous to use and can't do massive feats.
See ya all at the next chapter!