CHAPTER 1: A NEW AGE

The first clang of sword against sword rang in the air like a bell. Students watched in silence as the two apprentices circled each other with hawk like gazes. To one side stood the elves, expressions intense with focus and calm. On the other side of the hall stood the humans, holding their breaths in anticipation. Between them stood urgals and dwarves, almost acting as a wall between the two races. Master Blödhgarm watched them from nearby, his arms crossed.

"Steady, Thedas-Finiarel," he said, hissing in displeasure. His fangs glinted in the light as the black haired youth made a rash lunge toward the elf's right. "You expose too much of your sides. Keep your focus broad, not narrow."

Thedas nodded, his visor banging against the helm. Several urgals snickered and dwarves laughed. Blödhgarm glared and they fell quiet. Then, with the speed of a diving eagle, the elf woman stabbed at his left. Thedas barely raised his shield up in time to block when she whirled around and whacked him on the leg with the flat of her blade. He grunted in pain and dropped to one knee, fuming. With renewed vigor, he gave a loud cry and began to attack her with heavy blows. But once again, she foiled his plans and caught his blade on the edge of her shield. Issena pushed him back with the shield and, as he stumbled, she wrapped one arm around his neck and pressed the tip of her sword against his chin. A pleased murmur of approval rippled through the crowd of elves. The humans scowled.

"Very good, Issena," purred Blödhgarm. "Very good. Thedas, you had more than one opening that could have helped penetrate her defences. Do not let anger rule you."

Ashamed, the young man looked down. Issena gracefully picked up his shield and handed it to him. He mumbled his thanks to her.

"You must learn to see what you are looking at," rang a voice from the back. Everyone turned towards the source. A tall, half elven man stepped out from the shadows. He was clad in a rich black tunic and grey pants.

"No wonder we couldn't see him," whispered one of the students.

Eragon strode towards them. "Forgive me for the interruption, Blödhgarm," he called out. "I could not resist observing this one."

"Not at all, Master Shadeslayer. We welcome your presence."

Eragon nodded. He turned his gaze to Thedas, who stood nervously. "Do you know Issena well?"

The boy's eyes flicked to the she-elf and then back to the ground, blushing slightly. "I don't know if I know her well…" he began. "But I am familiar with how she is when she spars."

"What about her as a person? Her strengths, failings, wants and needs."

Thedas blinked, as though he could not think why he should know this for sparring. "If you do not, you can only lose time and time again." When the youth's shoulders slumped, Eragon said: "You acquit yourself well, youngling. Refinement is what is needed here." He looked at Issena, who bowed to him. "That was skilfully done, Issena." He deliberated for a while, considering the two students, before saying: "Now I would like you to do me a favour."

The elf cocked her head in question. "Could you please partner with Thedas in every lesson for three months? Then we shall see you two spar again."

If Issena was confused, she did not show it. She simply bowed and said: "As you wish, Ebrithil."

Eragon nodded. "Blödhgarm, you may carry on."

The wolf-like elf bowed to him and began instructing the students to form groups of five among themselves. Eragon turned away from them and walked out of the hall. He continued out through the long corridor and down the stairs. Then his boots stepped onto soft grass that stretched for miles on end. The sun streamed down on trees and other plants, ponds and streams. Colours flashed everywhere, like reflections from mirrors. It was a magnificent place. And yet… the thorn was still buried in his flesh. A scent floated to his face, inviting and intoxicating. The trees around him were a constant reminder. He was still unsure whether they were pines- possibly cousins of them- but the aroma was the same, if not stronger. They drew him near, the scent embracing him like a long lost lover. Eragon placed a hand on one trunk, its warm bark comforting. He drew in the scent deeply.

Wherever you are… be safe, be happy.

And with that, the spell was broken. He put down the barrier between emotion and reason. Eragon returned to his own tree. To the north of the main castle stood a colossal oak tree, with stairs and a wide balcony sung into its bark. He climbed the steps to the topmost level and stood on the balcony, breathing in the fresh air. A dark blue dot moved in the sky. He smiled and reached out to her mind.

Did you catch anything?

What do you mean did I? she demanded indignantly. You should be asking: what did I catch?

Eragon rolled his eyes. Of course. Tell me, O mighty hunter- what did you catch?

Hmph. Well, since you ask me: I caught three boars, seven palotha, and two yellow wings.

He sent her an image of him clapping his hands.

Stop mocking me.

I'm not, he said innocently.

Just you wait, I will return and gobble you up.

Eragon chuckled but did not say anything. Instead, he leaned against the railing and admired the view.

Oris-Vel, land of the Riders. It was a rich and flourishing country, filled with strong, graceful, strange and wonderful creatures. Pine-like trees, oaks, Ristva trees, Nahìel maples and a myriad of others that grew from the earth. The land was a delight for cultivation and was much loved by the elves, who were devoted to singing of its beauty every day. Eragon was immensely proud of it. And yet… in his heart were still the memories of Alagaesia. The Spine, the Beor mountains, Farthen Dur, Ellesmera, Ilirea, Palancar Valley… they all had an importance unmatched by Oris-Vel.

It had been twenty years since his departure. Twenty years. As Saphira had warned him, the first ten had been very busy and difficult, leaving him little room to mourn and dwell on his feelings. There was a city to build, Eldunari to protect, systems and positions to establish and a land to map out. The elves that had followed him were an immense help, reducing the building time to half as they sang the houses and magically set stone, marble and alabaster into the walls/floors of the castle. As a result, the city was a mixture of elvish and human influences.

In regards to education, Blödhgarm was his best support. Ciseron- a silver haired elf- had helped build strong politics and manage everything. After examining their handiwork, Eragon had been extremely satisfied- though the city was still under construction, most of it was complete. Besides, he knew the building would continue as long as people had imagination. The greater part of his efforts had been invested in governing Oris-Vel. The rest of it was given to the land he had left behind. Nasuada, Roran, and Orik had contacted him on several occasions over the first ten years, asking about his progress and filling him in on Alagaesia. They knew he was busy and kept the contact brief. It did a lot for his home-sickness, and now since everything was settled down, they contacted him more often. However, the one person he longed to hear from was Arya. But again, it seemed that her duties were hiding her away from him. It was either that, or... she was avoiding him. He had the unpleasant, painful deja-vu feeling that it was back to where it was twenty years ago, when she did not contact him because of Firnen. Only, now he did not know the reason behind it. Oh, she had scried him a few times, but they were rather formal and polite. There was no hint of what they had on the last day- only friendship.

I'm sure she has a good reason, Saphira had tried to reassure him. Perhaps she wants you to have some time to recover.

Eragon had nodded, tried to accept this. But it was far from a relief. He sighed and stared out at the ocean in the distance. The blue dot grew larger and larger. He was just about to raise a hand to her when a knock sounded at the door. Eragon started.

"Come in," he said.

Ciseron entered, smiling. He bowed. "Ebrithil, Queen Nasuada has contacted you."

Eragon nodded, his frown turning to a smile. "Ah, I see. Thank you."

The elf bowed again and left. For security reasons, anyone who contacted Oris-Vel through scrying was directed to the spellcaster department. Only then were they permitted to view the recipient. Eragon told Saphira of Nasuada's contact, then seated himself before his mirror.

"Draumr Kopa."

Nasuada's bright smile came into view. He grinned.

"Your majesty," he said.

Her smile turned into a grimace. "I told you to call me Nasuada."

"Only jesting. How is everything?"

She gave him a severe look before replying. "Very well, thank you. Just ruling Alagaesia, as always." She chuckled. "Nothing is much different, I can tell you that: trying to keep the lords and earls happy, the people happy. Finding the rebels and dissuading them. Petitions to answer, documents to seal… do you really want to know about this?"

"Of course I do," Eragon said sincerely.

Nasuada raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you insist." And then they talked about the goings- on in Alagaesia, the events in Oris-Vel and other inconsequential things. Saphira landed on the balcony and snaked her head in to meet Nasuada.

Greetings, Nasuada, she said blinking once. Eragon relayed her words. The queen bowed her head, smiling. Then she remarked on how he looked the same as ever.

"You don't look a day older than when you left, and neither does Saphira. Although she does look bigger" she said.

Saphira hummed, pleased.

"Well… I am a Rider. Besides, you still look young and beautiful yourself." And he was being truthful- she did look very young and as striking as ever.

"Really? You flatter me," she said, surprised. Eragon rolled his eyes. "I am sure Murtagh tells you himself."

She blushed.

After the defeat of Galbatorix, the closeness between the two had raised his suspicions- which had been proven correct. However, the events had driven Murtagh away from Nasuada... for some time. It seemed he had been waiting to speak to her again, from what Eragon had gleaned from their previous conversations. This he was glad for, but did wonder when Murtagh was ever going to visit her in person.

"Has he come to Ilirea yet?" he asked.

She deliberately looked at the roof. "Well… once."

He grinned at her. "He did! That sneak…"

Nasuada could not supress a smile. Then it faded. "And what of you?" she asked cautiously. "Has Arya contacted you yet?"

Eragon felt like the wind was knocked out of him.

"….Not very often."

"I see."

An awkward silence ensued.

"Do not think about it overmuch, Eragon. I, too, have not had word from her for most of these past years."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"In fact," she continued slowly. "She is coming to visit Oris-Vel."

At this, his head snapped up. "She's- I mean, what of her duties as queen?"

Nasuada raised both hands and shook her head. "I know not the details, nor the whole story. You will have to ask for yourself. She is leaving Däthedr in charge while she is away. When she informed me of this, Arya mentioned that Firnen was getting too old for Alagaesia and that it was time. Beyond this, I cannot say. It was very brief."

Her words left him stunned. Nasuada gave him a look of empathy. "Unfortunately, I cannot come to see Oris-Vel. My realm is much bigger I'm afraid. But I hope all goes well for you."

He nodded.

"She cares very much for you," she said gently.

Eragon stared at her, slightly uncomfortable that she knew so much of their relationship. "Nasuada, she has contacted me five times in twenty years."

"Eragon," she said as if chiding him. "We women talk about these things."

"She has moved on."

The queen looked troubled. "Don't be too sure of that. But that aside, are you getting enough rest? You look tired."

Eragon was not surprised that she noticed this. "You don't miss anything."

"Would I be queen if I did?"

He sighed. "Just… there is much to do. And then there is elven politics."
Nasuada grimaced, understanding. "Yes, there is that. Well, I can't say I'm sad to be on this throne and not yours."

"This is not a throne."

"You are as much king as I am a queen."

"King of the Riders? That sounds ridiculous. There has never been a king."

"No, you are king of Oris-Vel."

As he opened his mouth, she forestalled him, waving a hand impatiently. "Enough arguing, I'm afraid I must go." She flashed him a grin. "I will hear from you soon?"

Eragon relented. "Alright. Yes, I will contact you."

"Goodbye Eragon. All the best."

"All the best, Nasuada."

Her face disappeared, leaving Eragon staring at himself. Indeed, he looked no older, save for a beard that was growing as the days grew busier.

You look young… but there is new wisdom and age in your eyes.

Eragon snorted. That was very… cliché. But thank you.

I'm telling the truth, said Saphira, irritated. She blew a puff of smoke into his hair. He coughed and waved it away. Eragon looked at her fondly.

Thank you.

He looked out at the oceans. They're coming, Saphira. Arya and Firnen are coming.

I know, little one. I can scarcely believe it myself. Whatever prompted them to leave?

Firnen must be growing restless.

Saphira snorted. Well, I would be too if I were alone in Ellesmera.

Well… we shall see them soon.

Are you… alright? She said, even though she knew.

Yes, he lied.