Eragon - A New Era

To be or not to be

I own none of this. All of this is thanks to Chris for making an awesome story, and this is my tribute: to pick up where he left off. Hope you enjoy!
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Eragon

Roses. Some white, others pink, most red. To humans, the gifting of roses is a gesture of love. To the elves, it's meaning grows. I knelt in a medow, thickets of rose bushes blanketed the damp forest floor. Their intoxicating smell should've changed my sour mood, but no. One scent rose above all others: Pine needles. Pine needles freshly fallen from the surrounding trees, bubbling memories of the days past.

I was in no mood to overstay my welcome in the hostile forrest. I needed a release from the world, from the madness of days recent, from the cruelty of fate. But nothing could. Saphira was the only one I could speak with. My grief was easily overridden by her joy of seeing me, even if she too mourned the loss of Arya.

The roses were humming with life in my hands as we flew back to Domia arund Vandr. The sky's appeared dulled, the sun's warmth did not penetrate the ice within me, and the greens below were muted. The world was cruel, give to it one good deed and it takes away yours. Those were the thoughts in my head when I returned to New Vroenguard. It's why unexpected events always suprise those who aren't looking for them.

An emerald dragon sauntered past me in the passage way to the hospice. Trailing was the blue form of Saphira. Together they ended before the door, and watched as I unlocked the magical door. Beneath the white linen sheets, Arya's body rested. Even in death, she was sculpted.

I placed the roses on her chest, and expanded my conscience to gather the elves, one more goodbye. Before I managed to leave the room, I felt something. It was familiar, like a song unsung in months or years, and you forget the words but somehow remember them at the same time. Saphira's mind was too familiar, I knew it was none of the elves, for I was still in the infirmary.

Curious, I extended a tendril of thought towards it. An iron wall is what I felt, defenses so built I haven't felt similar since the time I attempted to converse with Arya in the Hadaraac desert. Initially, a tear ran the length of my cheek, until my intelligence returned.

"ARYA'S ALIVE!" I screamed. I waited for any movement, yet there was none but those of elves fumbling through the doorway.

"How do you know this Shadeslayer?" Invidia asked, voicing the question leaping from each elven mouth.

"When we were escaping to the Varden, and Arya was drugged by Durza, she slowed her bodily processes to remain living. She only roused when I attempted to speak with her. So maybe if... Join your thoughts with mine, her mental barriers have grown stronger since we were together."

And with the multitude of the elves and the dragons, they swept aside barriers as thick as  dragon scales.

And then, the roses shivered.

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Roran

He knew Murtagh posed no threat to him. He kissed Katrina on both cheeks, a felicitation, and extended his hand to Roran. It still felt odd, even years after the Great War, to be blood with the red dragon rider, who caused much death and destruction throughout the ranks of the Varden. But blood is blood, and you learn to forgive, even if he tried to kill your brother on multiple occasions. Wrapping his thick arms around Murtagh, they embraced.

"You know, I have yet to fight you, even through the many occasions during the Great War," Murtagh said.

"I don't have the speed or strength of dragon riders, but I've defeated an Urgal in hand to hand combat, and slew two hundred soldiers in one raid, so I'd be honored to add another notch on my belt," Roran replied.

"Ohh hohoho those are fighting words if I've ever heard them. Well good brother, no weapons, no armor, and no kill shots. It shall be only sparring."

Roran nodded, calculating his moves. He knew what Murtagh liked and what Murtagh did not, but he knew Murtagh was faster and stronger, even if he were laced with more muscle than the dragon rider.

"Is this truly necessary? We were about to part from our home, must you do this now?" Katrina scolded them from atop Thorn.

I see no issue with it, fair Katrina. Even with this slight delay, we shall arrive at the same time regardless. Thorn's voice, deep as always.

Roran nodded, and took his ready stance, Murtagh mirrored. At this point the spectators had gathered in full, as runners came and went in Carvahall.

Murtagh made the first move. A feint to Rorans left followed by a low kick to Roran's exposed left leg IT band. With a simple and deft movement, Roran lunged away from the kick, and watched his half brother complete a full circle due to the velocity of his kick whiffing.

"Well played brother."

This time, Roran moved. He jabbed into the rigid Murtagh, for he was standing flat footed. It was a ruse, as Murtagh quickly ducked under the punch and landed a blow of his own to Roran's abdomen. Spinning away, Roran knew how Murtagh fought. He was a counter fighter, who relied on watching his opponents moves and feeding upon their eagerness to fight. It was why he was so well equipped to fight the Varden during the war. But Roran would not fall prey now.

Roran put more of his weight on his fore leg, enticing Murtagh to attack it. Noticing the subtle shift in his weight distribution, Murtagh attempted to attack his quad. A foot connected with Roran's chest and pushed him back, and he feinted off balanceness. Murtagh kept forward, aiming for the large muscle on his thigh that supports your weight as you stand.

Roran stepped through the kick, into Murtagh's guard, deeming the kick powerless. Roran then delivered three quick strikes to Murtagh. One shot to the stomach, one to the liver, one to the chin. They weren't full power, for it was enough to knock any normal man out, but they weren't soft, for he needed to tire the dragon rider, even if he knew the quest was impossible.

Murtagh retreated quickly, showing now sign of pain. "There's a reason you are the best in the military, you can read an opponents fighting style. Yet, you haven't fought someone who can fight in multiple ways."

Murtagh switched his stance, placing his right foot forward, and sprinted full on at Roran. Seeing his fighting style change, Roran lowered his body to be better fit for grappling, and placed his hands flat in front of him, elbows bent, ready. Murtagh arrived, and Roran grabbed his armpits, moving to use a takedown. But Murtagh would not be fooled.

He broke Roran's grip at the elbows, got in close to Roran, and landed 3 quick hard left hooks to Roran's liver. Feeling the bile rise in his throat, Roran hunched over slightly, but managed to roll Murtagh into an arm bar, but it had no strength to it. Murtagh rolled out of it, climbed into mount, and raised one fist.

"It wasn't a fair fight, for I am a dragon rider, but you did cause me a great deal of pain. You punch hard, and each blow is swift and hard to follow. You are an outstanding fighter, but I am a rider, and nothing can defeat me," Murtagh said as he pat Roran on his shoulder.

"Except Eragon," Roran said.

"Yes, except Eragon," Murtagh replied wistfully.

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You can love me or hate me, but you know I had to leave a cliff hanger. Were the roses really Arya being alive, or was it a breath from Saphira or Firnen that moved them? We may never know... until the chapter comes out and we find out of course ;)