A/N:

(TL:DR: there is a chapter after this don't worry, I'm just thanking you for reading since fucking 2012? Like seriously. You have no idea how much that means to me.)

Hey guys. I hope this doesn't sound pretentious or anything but I figured I'd leave an author's note.

I just wanted to thank everyone for the response that this has gotten. It sounds silly but I was continually getting emails that people were following this or that they they had favorited it.

I was getting pms from people asking when I was going to finish. And I'm not trying to make it sound like it's hundreds or thousands.

Literally maybe 7 pms between idk 2012 till now.

I had kinda farted out chapters here and there, but I had somewhat lost my commitment to writing.

Now that I'm starting to write professionally, I figured I owed it to myself finish this story for real.

I had never truly reread this. I had planned things out obviously, but after writing a chapter I wouldn't edit it or anything.

Write it, done. Post. On to the next.

So I found myself rereading this last night, and I was honestly blown away by how much fun it was to read. And it made me want to come back to this and end the story.

Obviously I started this when I was quite young. One of the worst things during my reread was going through those fucking authors notes they were TERRIBLE! Like holy shit lmao. But I was a kid and I was super enchanted that people were so interested in the world I created.

I remember staying up at night rereading reviews and being able to see that people enjoyed something that I did? Me? That was so special to me.

Seeing people speculate on the plot or say that Orrin was an asshole and that Galbatorix was objectively pretty cool and Brom/Caomhim was this beautiful sexy warrior drifter dude lmao it was just so cool to me that these crazy characters I just, took and thrust my imagination into generated the response it has.

There's this one review with this guy talking about how he was older but totally digged the construction of dwarf society and their mercantile and everything and that was so cool because.. I remember thinking all those years ago as a kid wondering

"how can I make dwarves cool? How can I make them different but not super outlandish they wouldn't fit into a classical saga?"

And then we get these crazy fucking seafaring, mind erasing, cutthroat but classy dwarf society modeled more after the Roman Empire than underground miner guys.

I'm sorry that this has has gone on for so long and if you've read this far, bless you lol. Ultimately I came back to this for you- legitimately. I wouldn't have started writing again if I thought nobody cared.

Again, I started this SO long ago when I was such a kid compared to who I am now. I truly hope I can give this story the mature and mythological epic ending it deserves. In a way I'm glad it's taken this long to get here. Maybe it's better we saved the end for when I could actually understand what it would mean to you all.

So, I hope it was worth the wait.

-BRISINGR-

ERAGON flexed scarred hands. He sat atop a high hill in the northernmost corners of what was left of the formerly great city of Gillendel.

It's really come to this.

The Dragon Rider opened his palm, tracing tired lines with his eyes, now narrow slits in adaption to the dark.

Ahead, the faraway flames burned, devouring manicured trees greedily in the recess of night.

They were going to save Oromis.

Eragon remembered the conversation well.

"His detachment was separated from Islanzadi. And now, she's nowhere to be found."

Arya had bore a cynical, sarcastic grin then. He smiled warmly at the thought, her exotic and stoic face suddenly melting into humor would never cease to enthrall him.

"So you want me to help you find Oromis."

Eragon circled within Arya's war tent. Saphira was outside, but mentally linked with the two.

Arya's voice seemed a bit louder than usual.

"No, I want you to go with Morzan."

Morzan? Eragon and Saphira said in unison.

"We can't commit more than two for Oromis. We need to hold Gillendel. With Islanzadi gone, I am the current Regent."

Arya crossed her arms, and then bowed.

Eragon's mouth dropped.

Is she? Saphira began.

She's bowing.. Eragon's thought to Saphira trailed off as Arya took his hand.

"Eragon. I need you to trust me. I promise you, I have our best intentions at heart. This Morzan... he is a killer, but at the moment he is a power that we cannot waste."

Arya did not speak with desperation, nor did she emote with a pleading tone. Her voice was a subtle strength, a confident melody that resounded between his ears.

The Rider met green eyes as he lifted Arya to her feet.

"I know what's expected of me. And I know what's at stake." Eragon said with a smile.

If Eragon didn't know Arya, he would've thought she wasn't surprised. But he did know Arya, and she might as well have been screaming.

"I know that you've felt strange, Arya."

"About what happened." She said.

Eragon winced as the soothing sound of her accent tickled his ear.

He looked at her then. A beautiful woman- the scars she bore from Durza had healed almost handsomely, and battle had strengthened her arms.

There was a bit more silver in her ebony locks, which flowed downwards into her sable tunic. Sturdy boots, of elven design, curved stance upwards, making her a tall and imposing figure.

Eragon truly did love her.

"I'm not stupid, Arya. I know you're thinking about me."

Arya frowned as she averted her gaze.

"Eragon.."

"No, that.. came out wrong. You're a sensitive person." Eragon offered.

The Elf Queen had gifted him an incredulous smile then, something Eragon's knew he would cherish forever.

"Despite your.. well, how you present yourself to people, you care. You cared about the humans when not many of the Laen nobility did. You suffered so much at the hands of a cause you didn't have to partake."

Arya scoffed, a habit Eragon knew she would never shake for as long as she lived.

"Evander's daughter, is what mother would say."

Eragon remembered Arya's voice taking a softer turn, nearly catching him off guard.

He had offered her a smile as he edged to the edge of her tent.

"I'm telling you that I know you feel like you need to answer for what happened with us. I know you feel that you made a mistake . . . I feel that way too, in a sense."

Arya crossed her arms, turning away from Eragon as the moon kissed his back.

"We were scared."

Eragon recalled lingering for a second longer, before exiting her tent in the darkness of night. He had decided to meet up with Morzan safely, away from camp.

It would be for the best, for the sake of the elves.

Arya had dictated that Roran stay behind as well. Eragon's brother quickly recovered, but it was obvious why. Arya explained that his magic-negation abilities would be crucial in a strategic battle. Saphira was instructed to stay too, as there was no need to bring three dragons.

To this Eragon had protested, but Eragon remembered Saphira being the one to calm him.

Eragon, you are my sta-

Don't start it.

But you do understand, don't you? With Morzan and your brother-

Murtagh, Eragon corrected.

Yes, Murtagh. If we both go, and something happens..

Then all is lost.

Saphira smiled from within Eragon's heart.

Exactly.

Fine then, Eragon relented.

Just this once.

Eragon felt the presence of the Dark Wizard as Saphira's parting words echoed within his mind.

Arya had told me something. From what she knew of Morzan he was a monster. And from what she has seen of his designs, she has no reason to think differently.

But she knows Oromis well, and while the Elf Lord disowned Morzan, Arya said that Oromis still had love in his voice when saying the forsworn's name.

Why are you telling me this, Saphira?

Because Morzan may be an evil man, but he is also something created out of the horrors of this world. The fact that he is here means that in some way, he is trying to right the wrongs he inflicted on you and to the elfkin. You don't have to love him.

"Just trust him," Eragon mouthed silently, parroting Saphira as a shadowy figure finally morphed into view.

The man was pale, much paler than Eragon, with a silent yet regal coldness that ebbed from him in waves. He was slightly taller than Eragon, bearing midnight black hair that framed his high cheek bones and tired eyes.

Yet, looking at him, Eragon could see that black sorcerer was his father.

Morzan offered no words as he stood at the edge of Eragon's peripheral vision. It was Eragon who spoke first, raising his hand as a gust of wind blew long dark brown locks across his face.

"Morzan Cirrican. That's your name, isn't it?" Eragon leveled his gaze with the aforementioned.

The Wizard nodded with deliberately slow curtness.

"Then I guess that makes me Eragon 'Cirrican.'"

Morzan walked forward and past his seated son.

"Cirrican. I haven't heard that name in a long time."

Eragon frowned.

"Why?"

Morzan's shoulders tensed, but his tone didn't lose its cordial softness.

"I hated that name. It was my Father's."

Eragon looked back over the fires across wavering plains. Oromis and Glaedr were somewhere, and they were in danger. They had no idea what the situation was outside of the capital. He wanted to ask Morzan as many questions as there were stars above, but he held his tongue.

This was not the time. And if that time did not occur before his own death in the next few days or even hours, so be it.

They set off shortly after Morzan arrived. Slinking across sparkling Luschelien flowers that beautifully glowed to the touch, Son and Father marched around the far west of Gillendel, circumventing the flames and the Sealed advance.

They did pass hasitly made camps taking up home in patches of forest too resilient to burn. Eragon remembered trying not to look at the cultish hell-kin as they performed their rituals.

The Sealed had captured multiple members of the Varden and many more elves. Eragon's stomach had twisted when, in the mute of night, he heard only the screams of a human boy, no older than fifteen, as he was disemboweled alive and burned over a turning stake.

He had kept going, but he remembered Morzan's eyes watching his back. He wondered, bleakly, if the Dark Lord Morzan had thought he would need to restrain his son.

But Eragon knew what was at stake.

And so they continued in mutual silence until the wisp of a cruel morning.

The sun was curled on the far vestiges of the earth as the night pitifully claimed to its last few hours of rule.

They had found themselves marching between trees untouched by the Laen Elf industry, allowed to prosper and grow in height. They towered between the two Riders, standing vigil over the crusade to find a lost member of their creed.

"We're approaching camp." Morzan blurted simply.

Raising a gloved hand, he passed his palm over an empty section of wood, wiping away to reveal a fire reduced to embers.

Beside the vanquished flames, three men circled. Two of them bore darker than black hair, though one was clearly older than the rest.

The dark haired youth had a face instantly recognizable to Eragon, and he was flanked by a red manned boy who appeared to be the same age. It was the red one who turned.

"Speak of Evil and it arrives all the same," the young man spoke with a casual, almost easy framing. There was something different about him though- he appeared human, but there was a certain sharpness to his features- a slant of his nose and a cut of his canines..

As he approached with Morzan, Eragon noticed the similarity between the ginger haired boy and the other ebony haired man, who towered over all of them by several inches.

But the one Eragon's attention was constantly drawn to was Murtagh. The boy looked like Eragon, even more than Roran, but with a darker coloring and a slightly more severe demeanor. Eragon had heard about the incident of 'Morzan' returning within the Dhwarib capital of Tronjheim, and Eragon was more surprised that they hadn't suspected him, now that he's seen both Morzan and..

"Murtagh," the dark haired boy gestured towards Eragon. His cool eyes took in Eragon with a silent criticism. He was about two or three years older than Eragon, taller with a more powerful gait.

But despite this, there was power within him, that much was sure. Eragon felt not only physical strength, but magic.

It was a wellspring within Murtagh, almost more pronounced and edged than Eragon's own. It bore a certain wildness, however, a questionable symphony that uneased the Rider's subconscious.

"You're a rider." Eragon said quickly. Murtagh painted a facsimile of a smile on his face.

"And you're perceptive." He answered. He stepped backwards, bowing his head to his right as midnight hair swam across a wide forehead.

"This is Thorn. And the tall one is Murtgahen."

Thorn lazily lifted two fingers at Eragon whilst Murtaghen simply nodded.

"And they're both Dragons." Morzan said as he walked through the camp.

Eragon's mouth dropped as the group moved to follow the Dark Wizard.

"What? How? I had- I had sensed something-" Eragon said excitedly as he pranced to catch up with them. Murtagh turned, giving him an annoyed sideways glance.

"How doesn't matter, and quite frankly I don't feel like listening to someone explain it to you." Murtagh shrugged forward.

Eragon wanted to retort, but he swallowed his tongue. Growing up in a village, Eragon had been around people his entire life.

He had grown to read them and their expressions. He was always compassionate, and he found that it was that very same compassion that helped him understand others.

Murtagh was being standoffish, but Eragon knew a nervous person when he saw one. He reslized Murtagh may very well have grown up alone. He probably didnt know how to act around most people, let alone a newly discovered brother.

Eragon knew that despite his own grief, Murtagh no doubt bore pain he could never understand.

So he tried a different approach.

"How old are you Thorn?" He said as Morzan and Murtaghen quietly led the party.

Thorn's wavy red locks parted as he turned to face Eragon, long ears poking free of the strands of hair.

"A few months? A year? I'm not sure."

Eragon was surprised. Even though he knew that Saphira matured intellectually quickly, Thorn seemed wiser beyond one year.

Eragon grinned inside himself. Thorn gave off a unceremonious air, but the dragon was smart. He was reading Eragon, measuring his strength compared to the others.

They're looking down on me.

It made sense. From all accounts, Morzan, right now, was an unreadable power, massive with an almost mythological grace. Murtagh no doubt at least gleaned something from him, and was probably tutored by Galbatorix besides.

Thorn already seems stronger than average by all accounts, and Eragon knew that Riders who possessed powerful magical energy matured dragons faster.

Eragon gritted his teeth. He wouldn't be left behind. Not now.

Morzan suddenly stopped in the wood. They were reaching the furthest corner Augen plains, an ancient Laen Elf burial ground where Oromis and Glaedr lead their legions.

The slight smell of blood lingered in the air, and Eragon could tell it came from a great distance away.

Still, the stench unnerved him.

For the bloodshed to be felt from this distance..

"We're getting close." Thorn flatly announced with a smudge of sardonic wit.

"This isn't good." Murtagh placed a hand on his sword. Eragon gasped as he was now able to see it in the light. It was definitely a Rider's blade. It thrummed with ancient power, but it also screamed out in pain almost-

Almost as if it didn't want to be wielded by Murtagh.

Morzan advanced a few paces, and opened his palm. Eragon's evolving ears, slowly growing more pointed, twitched upwards as they heard droplets of rain fall from leaves that wore them the night before.

A small stream swirled from above in a beautiful and magnificent dance as the morning sun beamed through; floating crystal rivers that pooled into Morzan's hand.

Eragon watched, quizzically until he felt the familiar spell chemistry touch the edges of his senses.

He's scrying!

Morzan was soft spoken, but he was definitely powerful. Eragon amazed at the man- he scried while concealing his magical ebb, only making it detectable to those around him.

And to be honest with himself, Eragon knew that if he hadn't been paying attention, he would've have even noticed what was happening.

So this is the kind of man Morzan is.

Eragon edged closer to Murtagh and Thorn and his father spoke.

"I see them. Oromis and Glaedr are both alive. But they're engaged with two Sealed Archemages. And the Ra'zac." Morzan opened his palm to the group, and Eragon could see a cinema of battle. Oromis, bloodied in golden armor, danced between a dark creature as their weapons flashed between scorched earth.

Bodies of Varden, Laen, and Sealed stretched between white gravestones, simple protrusions from the green earth, formerly blissful and white in burial- now bloodied.

Two Letherbalka dove at Glaedr; who curled around Oromis and the vanguard of their remaining troops.

The demons were screaming ancient curses of dark magic that sloughed off Glaedr's scales, which fell to the ground in clumps of black ash. Glaedr's body was riddled with wounds, and his snout was snarled in pain.

And yet,

he fought.

"All you must do is touch my palm and you will be within that which you see. There's no coming back from this point." Morzan said, his eyes leveling on Eragon.

Eragon returned his father's gaze, gripping his borrowed sword like it was his own.

"You're just a boy. There's no shame in staying back." Murtaghen said, no doubt voicing the thoughts Morzan himself didn't want to enunciate.

Eragon smiled, looking past Morzan but speaking directly to him.

"Arya thought that I would be of use to help save Oromis. And she wanted me to trust her lead. So now I'm asking you to trust me." Eragon nodded towards the elder dragon, who returned the motion in respect.

Suddenly, Eragon poked the pool and vanished.

"Thorn!" Murtagh hissed as he followed. Thorn dipped in afterwords, as Murtaghen came up behind Morzan.

"He's nothing like you." Murtaghen said, voice almost as youthful as it had been over a hundred years ago when he hatched.

As the dragon tapped Morzan's palm, the sorcerer laughed with a quiet abashedness.

Alone for a few moments before transporting himself, he chuckled again.

Murtaghen was right. And it was for the best.

I'll keep them alive.

Morzan's nose flared as they were met with the familiar smell of blood. He pulled Za'roc free from its cursed scabbard, allowing his hungry blade to take in the smell of its awaiting feast.

Gripping an unholy sword high, The Dark Sorcerer begun.

NEXT CHAPTER:

ERAGON'S SHADE

A/N: I've decided to do short after chapter writings. They're related to the current plot, but to small of a scene to fit in the overall narrative of the chapter. So think of these tiny interludes as small concurrent scenes of the story.

OSORION stared, dumbfounded.

The creature before him rose to its feet, tail tipping about. It still remained silent, but now that Osorion could look at its face, it bore a resemblance to Alauinel.

It was slim, but still had a feminine shape. And despite the darkness of the hair and paleness of the skin, Alauinel's countenance was still the same.

And he himself still felt the same, so what happened?

The demon turned, looking up at the cavern from which it was birthed. The blood streams below had calmed to a steady sloshing, and that was the only noise that gradually echoed towards Osorion's ears.

It was then he noticed something else.

My magic isn't draining anymore.

It wasn't that his magic wasn't dwindling- it felt boundless. Even though he was in his human form, he felt as if he could stretch out his arms and fly without wings. Strength, usually elusive for a dragon his size, tingled within his fingertips.

"Alauinel," Osorion tried again. Something must've worked. His connection with Alauinel must be what was fueling his strength now, and yet-

I feel nothing from her.

It was then that the demon turned to him. It opened its mouth, and Osorion swore that he heard no voice, no utterance.

All he felt was a request that reached him beyond any sound, something that played at the strings of his very being. His eyes immediately widened, as if he had been beckoned by Alauinel when first hatched.

Come, the demon said. An ocean of black hair wavered behind pale back as thin arms effortlessly melted into the ruined stone path. Osorion approached, still numb, as the demon's arm lifted away, revealing a flickering and silver mirror.

His tongue flicked out at the magic in the air, and he could sense transportation spellcraft at work.

Come,

The demon uttered with something other than voice or magic.

Osorion dutifully followed.