CHAPTER 1: the End

Hey guys, it's Drit here with my first piece of literature on this site. This was inspired by the Eragon time-travel pieces of fiction as well as the book A Millennial Eternity so make sure to check the author of that piece out! Without further ado, here's my travel fic–make sure to review and follow/fav if you want to see more frequent updates! Rated T for now just in case, might even go into M if something spicy happens later on yk :)

(unedited, if you want to beta feel free to reach out, we can co-author)

...

Loneliness is manageable. After all, most of the time it is temporary, and you have loved ones to help you out of the rough times. Yet, after four hundred years it becomes something different: a burden, a weight. You feel your sense of self, your sense of being slowly wilting under the constant pressure, the melancholy that is imbued into your very being.

Eragon wasn't alone, per se, but when you are split into two halves it isn't about being together anymore, it is about outside presence, others of your kind that you can relate to–love, even if it is just temporary.

Eragon and Saphira, especially Saphira, had none of that. They hadn't touched the shores of Alagaesia in almost a millennia, at first training dragons and their riders on an island across the sea, until they served no purpose once again. The riders stopped coming, instead opting to stay on the mainland, being taught by the students of Eragon, and the students of those students. At least that's what Eragon assumes, as they never really told him of such matters. They just stopped coming, and so the two took it upon themselves to traverse the lands beyond Alagaesia, learning spells long forgotten and methods never spoken of.

To get back onto topic, they were tired. Tired of being lonely, tired of their meaningless existence. Eragon never believed it would come to this point–he didn't lack in power, after all, the riders of ancient times paled in comparison to the amount of raw energy he wielded…but for what?

What was the point of such an existence-burdened with the task of living and amassing such an amount of ability but never able to find strength where it really mattered: in others.

Eragon could still feel, yes. He wasn't numb, but pretty damn close to it. That justified the tears running down his face, and the sobs that racked his body as he watched his heart and soul succumb to the clutches of death.

Everyone has their time, little one. I just hoped that I would be able to spend a little more time on this planet, with you, before it was mine, Saphira breathed out. She was curled up on the ground, her massive five-story body taking up the whole clearing. Her beauty was unmatched–her scales glittering like the ocean itself, but it all made Eragon sob harder.

No! He cried, it is NOT your time, my love. How can I continue on, knowing that you are gone from this world?

Time had caught up to both of them, and without being near someone of her kind for so long, Saphira had finally thought it time to let go. Exhaustion plagued them both, but the type that would be taking Saphira would not spare her Eldunari either.

I move on in peace, little one, knowing you will be safe. Saphira smiled her teeth at him, we will be reunited-keep hope little one. Although these words were spoken to comfort, they only elicited more tears to descend from his old eyes.

What do you mean reunited? I don't want to be reunited in death, I want to stay here, on this planet, with you. He looked into her eyes for what would be the last time in this lifetime, I can't live in a land without you Saphira, you are all I have… he threw his arms around her snout, embracing his other half. He cried, unaware of the pure, wild energy manifesting itself around their bodies until he looked back into her eyes, and gasped.

Saphira's eyes turned a radiating, vibrant blue, and she touched the tip of her snout to Eragon's chest. May we meet again, little one. With those words, her eyes closed, and a wave of pure, wild magic burst forth from her skin, engulfing Eragon.

He saw white, then nothing at all.

Arya

Loneliness is manageable, but like anything else, it can spiral into something more harmful, something that can decay your very being from the inside. Arya was the perfect example; she had been alone for so long, never feeling the touch of another, that she started to forget why she even felt like that in the first place.

Keyword: almost. Arya still remembered brown hair and twinkling brown eyes staring back at her, begging her to smile with him. Eragon, she thought bitterly. (More like Era-gone lmao…I'm not sorry) He had faded into legend by this point, only spoken of in tales of old: the tales of David and Goliath–the farm-boy versus Galbatorix.

For the longest time, she has only known routine; the routine of being the Elven queen stuck in a circle of slow-changing politics and immature elven men vying for her heart. She understood she was known as the ice-queen, barely letting anyone in, but she couldn't help it. She was neck-deep in obligation and duty, trapped within a position so many others long for.

And now, after all this time, she just felt tired. Old. Weary. Firnen had so many others of his kind that he could barely relate to her, only missing his old mate every now and then, but Arya felt the loneliness in every inch of her being.

In her hand, she admired the gilded lily that sat so steadfast, so unchanging even throughout the past millennia. It was a bright day in Ellesmera, and the sun fell upon her skin in soft, golden tones. The past centuries had seen the forest of Du Weldenvarden flourish, with multiple flocks of wild dragons now inhabiting the trees around her. She had seen empires rise and fall, rulers lead and proceed to be forgotten, but she still stayed on the throne, heirless. No, she had not found another mate, another to love-her heart had been long sealed by the man who had never returned.

Eragon the Kingkiller.

Eragon the Shadeslayer.

Eragon the Lost.

Eragon who never came goddamn home.

She barely remembered what she felt for him, as her true name had changed many times throughout the ages. To be honest, she did not know why she dwelled as she did on Eragon today. He was out of sight, out of mind. He left her, and in his absence she became strong, she became queen.

She did not need Eragon, and yet…somewhere, very deep, in her heart, she longed for him.

Arya's fingers started to itch and so she put the gilded lily back where it rested before, on her windowsill. She rose up from her chair, her feet padding quietly against the wooden floor as she made her way up to the second floor, where she could see clearly above the canopy of the trees. The day was, like she said before, beautiful-but looking out across the great expanse of green didn't bring her the same amount of joy as it previously had. She ached to fly across the sky and explore foreign lands, but she was trapped. Ensnared in the same green she looked out across. Trapped even in her own clothes, which suddenly felt uncomfortable against her fair elven complexion.

Arya had taken her eyes off the horizon to run her hand through her dark tresses when a flash of white caught her eye and she quickly looked back over the horizon. She squinted, seeing a wave of white energy rushing towards her at great speeds. Her eyes widened and she quickly tried to erect a protecting spell with her hands, but the wave of pure, wild magic engulfed her and turned her vision to black.

...

Alright so that was the prologue/chapter 1 of the book, please give feedback so I know everything makes sense. Things will start ramping up in the next few chapters.

Most of the story will be from Eragon's POV, so don't expect much Arya POV coming up (although she will be featured at the end of the next couple chapters).

Until the next chapter,

Drit