So, part of the reason I've been dead for so long is because I've been reading a lot of shit. I was trying to get inspiration, and I found it in A Song of Ice and Fire. So, if you notice a bit of similarity, that's why. I'll try to refrain from adding a hulking oaf who can only say one word.
Lord Stronghammer
It had taken some time, nine years in fact. Carvahall was rebuilt into a walled town, and a small castle was erected on the hill overlooking it. Many war refugees, soldiers, and other displaced souls had found their way to the once-small village. Nearly one thousand souls, all living under the castle.
All living under Roran.
The people still called him Stronghammer, just with a 'Lord' in front of it. He was a mighty warrior, but had never been one for politicking. However, it was not only the Queen, but his own people who forced him into it. They needed a strong leader, and he was said to be one of the strongest men alive. Of course, this legend had a bit of factual support. Nearly two hundred men slain single-handedly in one battle, fifty lashes, and success in wrestling a damned Urgal. Some people would spread that out over a few weeks.
Now, he walked through his town, watching his people as they went about their business. It was a tradition of lords in this province, as the more hardened men of the north, to wear iron in place of silk. So, he donned chainmail under a black, leather doublet. It was not the mightiest of armor, but it would do in a pinch.
His sigil was a white hammer on a black field. The people took this with pride, emblazoning their homes and items with the hammer. It became not only the symbol of Stronghammer, but the symbol of Carvahall.
He was one of the most beloved lords in the history of Palancar Valley. Whether he liked it or not, any of these simple villagers would fight for him. Many would die for him. Horst and his kin, especially. The old blacksmith was a close friend, and the hammer was as much his as Roran's.
As he walked into the market, Stronghammer could not help but think of tomorrow. He had a big job. A dangerous job. One that he could not trust to anyone else. The last time someone took the task, it started a war.
He was to bring two dragon eggs to Carvahall, to see if any of his subjects were destined to join the order. If not, he would hold them for five years, until it was time to send them to the Urgal clans. Then, two years later, they would be sent to the dwarves. Then to the elves. Each race would have a pair at all times, rotating quinquennially. This would allow a new generation to emerge every time a pair returned.
This was exceedingly dangerous. Many independent factions still wanted eggs. Especially what remained of the old loyalists. They would kill and die for even a chance to keep an egg from the Varden.
The Varden had not been dissolved as most believed. They were now a widespread order of guardians, tasked with keeping the peace and rooting out enemies of the Kingdom. They were spies, warriors, and assassins, each able to contribute to the crown in their own way. They were not, however, arbitrary. They required absolute proof and permission from the queen herself before arresting or executing an enemy of the crown. They were kept secret from the general populace out of fear that their purpose would be misinterpreted as an army of killers that answered to no-one but Nasuada.
He would be traveling with a group of nine Varden. Two magicians, one kull, and one dwarf. The rest were regular humans of various professions. Each of them were loyal beyond question, and would fall on their swords to protect the eggs, if need be.
But Roran could not think of such things today. It was getting late, and he had things to do. His effects had been packed earlier, and Katrina would take over for him while he was gone. He had no real work to speak of, and thus could spend time with his family.
Being a lord was no small task. Palancar Valley was a difficult place to live in, with bandits and murderers making their home in the Spine and periodically raiding villages. None of them dared come near Carvahall, but that was but a small part of his domain. On better days, the amount of people who came to court was less than fifty. This was a large number, seeing as the northwest was not a greatly inhabited place.
He also had to oversee trade with the Elves, a new business that had developed after the war. A few always came along with the traveling merchants now that the Broddring Kingdom was no longer persecuting their kind. They seemed young for their kind, full of life and passion. They often put on magical displays and sold exotic items.
Due to their numbers being so few after the war, the Elves required aid. Having rekindled its farming market, Carvahall was a great supplier of food to all corners of Alagaesia, including Du Weldenvarden. Luckily, Roran did not have to handle all of this by himself. A former traveller by the name of Tess had settled down nearby not long ago, and quickly became Roran's master of trade. She handled most of the specifics, coming to him with the most important details and decisions. A good thing, seeing as the closest he had ever come to selling something was farming the product itself.
Ending his musings on the state of things, he entered the castle. It was not particularly large, but was sturdy and had enough room to hold an army. Walking out through a door on the west side, he found Katrina in the garden. She spent a lot of time out here, and it showed. Beautiful foliage grew all around her. She was kneeling, her hands clasped in prayer. After everything that happened during the war, she found solace in religion.
"Who is it that you pray to this time?" he asked, waiting a few moments for her to finish. When she did, she stood, turning to face him.
"Sindri, the dwarven goddess of earth." She walked over, embracing her husband. "When Angela visited last month, she told me that this winter would be a truly terrible one. I pray that our harvest is plentiful, go sustain us." Roran smiled, caressing her face. After all he had seen, the only god he believed in was Angvard, the god of death,
"You can't fear a fortuneteller's warnings," he stated, softly.
"Angela doesn't make mistakes," she responded. "Besides, I do not fear a cold winter. We have survived worse, and rebuilt for the better." She was walking through the garden now, looking at the plants.
"How is Ismira?" asked Roran. Katrina chuckled lightly, brushing her hand against a flower.
"Hot-headed and temperamental. She is possessed by the idea to become a warrior." She sighed. "I should not have allowed her to spend a day with Angela. The woman filled her head with stories that make her even more difficult."
"Hm, Ismira Stronghammer. Now that's a name the bards could sing." He chuckled, grabbing his wife before she could pass him again. She smiled, but it did not seem as joyful as he would have hoped. "Something troubles you. What is it?"
It took some time for Katrina to answer. "The last time someone transported an egg, it started a war. You will be gone for months. Every moment of that, I will fear never being able to see you again."
"Katrina," he whispered, gently holding her chin up to look him in the eye. "I went to hell and back for you. I survived everything from dragons the size of castles to men who could not be killed. Delivering an egg will be a menial task in comparison."
"I know you have been through worse, and I felt like this then, too. But now you have a daughter who knows you. During the war, she had no memories at all. If you leave us now, never to return, she will be devastated." He suddenly understood. She was not afraid for him only, but for their daughter. Ismira was a proud girl, but she loved her father fiercely.
"I will return. I promise you. I will return so you can continue to have me as your husband, and Ismira can continue to have me as her father."
Why bother studying when there were such adventures to be had? She wanted to be like her father, the Stronghammer. She wanted to slay a thousand men in battle, and fight off hordes Urgals with her hands alone. She wanted to live up to her father's legend, but there was something more.
Above all else, she wished to be a Rider. To be like her uncle, Eragon. To fly into battle on the back of a magnificent beast and rain fire upon her foes. She wanted to use magic and wield powerful weapons.
Right now, she was practicing with her wooden sword. Well, it was more a long stick tied to a short stick that functioned as a crossguard, but it would do. She swung it about, imagining evil men and monsters falling to her steel. She would call her sword the Bloodbringer, and it would live up to its name.
"Ah, a true warrior, at ten years old." She turned to find her father standing behind her, smiling. Returning the expression, she ran towards him, jumping into his strong arms.
"Papa!" she exclaimed, laughing as he held her into the air and spun her around. She was a strong girl, heavy from muscle, but he was a much stronger man. He held her with ease. Carrying her to bed, he leapt in beside her. He loved his little warrior like none he had ever known. The only person who could match this love was Katrina, but she was his wife. This was different. He had watched this child grow from a mewling babe into a fiery young lass. She took after her grandfather and uncle, with their brown eyes and hair, but followed them all with her spirit, stubborn as an ox. The only area that she seemed to take after her mother in was her beauty. She was nearly a copy of her mother, and Roran could see that she would make a prize that men from across Alagaesia would attempt to win.
And none would succeed. None would be worthy of his daughter.
"So, what was it this time? Trolls? Kulls?" He smiled as she recounted the enemies she vanquished, rambling on about the mistakes they made and the openings she exploited.
"Is it true that you are going to see the Elves tomorrow?" she asked in her sweet, curious voice.
"And who told you that?" he asked.
"Angela," she answered. "She told me last time she was here, but made me promise not to tell anybody. She said it was a secret."
"It is a secret," he said, growing serious. "You must tell nobody, even after I leave."
"So you ARE going to see the Elves? Oh, can I come? Please?"
"No, Ismira," he responded. "It is a dangerous path we take. You must stay here with your mother." When he noticed her smile turn into a despairing frown, he could not resist. "But one day, when you are older, perhaps I will take you to the Elves."
She brightened up instantly. "Really? You promise?"
"I promise, my sweet. When you are old enough to ride and fight, we will go to Ellesmere and you will meet Queen Arya and her dragon, Fírnen." He knew how interested in dragons she was. The girl could barely contain her excitement at the prospect of seeing one up close. "Now, get some sleep, little warrior. I want you up early to see me off with your mother, tomorrow." He hugged his daughter, before rising from the bed and leaving the room.
The next day, most of the town had no idea what was happening. They went about their daily tasks while only a few people came to see their lord off. Katrina and Ismira were there, obviously, as was Horst. He had prepared Roran's armor, which now covered the Stronghammer's body. It was mostly chainmail, with steel boots, gauntlets, and a cuirass. They would ride hard for Ellesmere, to the east.
However, his plans were cut short by sudden news from Jacob, his steward. He told Roran that a woman was here to see him, and she asked for him to come alone. The boy had not seen her face, but she had a cart full of goods. At first, Roran told him to take the matter to Tess, as this was an obvious trader. However, he was adamant that the mysterious woman had asked for him, and him alone.
And so, he answered her call. Suspicious, he kept his hand on his hammer as he entered the courtyard, where she was. Her wagon was outside, with two strong, white horses. He had ordered that no-one search it until he spoke to its owner. He believed he knew who this was, and that the news that came with her was either great or terrible.
"Roran," said a familiar voice. "It's been far too long." The woman pulled back her hood, revealing a beautiful woman with pointed ears and raven hair. Roran knelt before his visitor.
"Your Grace. We were not expecting you." He had taken some grasp of formalities since his rise to nobility, but it still felt odd to kneel before an old companion. Obviously, she didn't like it either.
"Oh, rise. I cannot stand when people kneel before me. Especially not you, Stronghammer. And do not call me 'your grace' or 'my lady' or any other title." He did as she wished, more relaxed now that he saw that she disliked her position as much as he did his.
"What brings you this far west, Arya? Has something happened in Ellesmere?" For what may have been the first time ever, he saw a smile appear on the elven queen's lips.
"Oh, yes, something has happened. Something wonderful. An egg hatched." Roran was shocked. Everyone had hoped for such a thing to happen, but no one expected it.
"For the Elves, I assume?"
"For the Elves, Dwarves and Urgals. Three eggs have hatched within a month, and this is the last human town to receive them. We believe that there is some sort of correlation between these hatchings, and that the probability of a future rider living in Carvahall is strong." Roran was surprised again. Arya, the queen of the Elves, had come alone and brought the eggs to Carvahall after one had hatched for each of the other races.
"Should I gather the town?" he asked.
"Indeed. It would be best if I do not stay long. Fírnen will be furious if I am out of sight for too long." Mentioning her dragon brought a smile to Arya's lips. He meant the world to her. Roran had seen the same connection between Eragon and Saphira. Riders were truly blessed with such companionship.
Three dragon eggs were placed in three pedestals. Everyone in Carvahall came to touch them, and see if they were destined to ride the creatures within. Even Roran and Katrina did so, but the eggs were like stones.
The children were the last to come. Many filed through, but not one was destined. That is, until one small child came along. She rubbed her hand against the first egg, red and black like molten rock. Then the second, a pure-white one which shone like diamond. Finally, the third, a black egg smaller than the rest. When she touched this egg, it began to move under her hand.
It shook and cracked until a piece broke off, causing the entire crowd to silence. Only hushed whispers could be heard as the egg hatched, revealing a pitch-black hatchling. As is blindly stumbled out of what remained of its egg, the whispers stopped, and all of Carvahall was silent.
Arya went to the child, which Roran had yet to see the face of. She knelt before her, holding her hand and guiding it to the head of the dragon. A bright flash encompassed the crowd, and Roran had to see who the child was. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, closely followed by Katrina. When he saw who it was, his eyes went wide and Katrina gasped loudly, tears coming to her eyes.
The ten-year-old girl before them, with the gedwëy ignasia on her palm, was none other than Ismira Stronghammer.
Oh lordy. That's gonna be sad times for ol' Roran and Katrina.