Full Summary: 1,000 years after the Death of King Galbatorix and the leaving of Eragon Shadeslayer and his dragon Saphira, the Dragon riders are now a myth and legend. Trouble is now rising once more in Alagaesia. And to top it off, a mystery cloaked figure has arrived in the woods near the city of Teirm and a young girl is dragged on an adventure she'll never forget.

Diary Excerpt:

1,000 years have passed since the defeat of King Galbatorix. 1,000 years since the Dragon Rider Eragon Shadeslayer, and his dragon Saphira Bjartskular, left our land and made for a new place to bring back the order of Dragon Riders. 1,000 years since my ancestor, Roran Stronghammer, was awarded an Earldom by Queen Nasuada, for services to the Varden and went on to live in a castle in his childhood home, Palancar Valley. But more on that later.

Today, however, is the beginning of the week-long festival to celebrate the one-thousandth year of the Varden's victory over the King Galbatorix. The Dragons and their Riders have all but been forgotten, and as a result descended into myth and legend. My family, though based in the Valley, were driving to Teirm to help organize the festival. This year's theme? The remembrance of all those lost during the skirmish between the Varden and Empire and the Dragon Riders that were killed when, according to legend, Galbatorix went on mad after losing his dragon, whose name has been lost in legend as with the truth of what happened. No one really knows what happened as the truth has been twisted and warped with the ages and there I was, on my way to the biggest city in our land, listening to my grandmother tell me how her great great great etc. grandfather fought in the war along with the Dragon Rider Eragon Shadeslayer in the Battle of the Burning Plains and how together they rescued my great etc. grandmother, Katrina Irinasdaughter, from the clutches of the Ra'zac in their stronghold, Helgrind.

I sometimes wish that the Dragon Riders were still here, but unfortunately, all good things can never be. And all because, the army decided that they were too old-fashioned and peaceful. Grandmother says the Riders kept the peace and they were a key link to our past as they, and they alone, knew where their secret island lay and what lies upon it. Oh, how I wish to see one, maybe even Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira. But it can never be. The Riders are now legend to my generation and that's all they can ever be.

Harriet 'Harry' Stronghammer looked up from her diary as her mother glared in her direction and put her pen down in the margin of her book. Looking out over the countryside, she felt the same thrill that she felt whenever the family traveled away from Palancar Valley and into the wilderness. Her family had strong ties to the monarchy and they could say that their ancestor was the cousin of the legendary Dragon Rider's leader, Eragon Shadeslayer/Bromsson. Of course, this resulted in ridicule whenever the family set foot out of their castle, a castle, legend said, that Earl Roran Stronghammer built himself after the skirmish between the Kingdom, then known as The Empire or Alageasia, and the rebels known as The Varden. According to the legend, that very fight was centered around two individuals, a young boy known as Eragon and a dragon he had named Saphira.

Eragon and Saphira had become part of an extinct order known as the Dragon Riders when Eragon had found a bright blue stone in the woods everyone called the Spine, while hunting for food for his family. Thinking that he could possibly buy meat for his family, Eragon had picked up the stone and taken it back to his farm, where the stone had later revealed itself to be an egg. And not just any egg either, a dragon's egg. Touching the hatchling, he had received a mark upon his palm, known as the Gedwey Ignasia, and had become one of the legendary Dragon Riders, an order killed by the then King Galbatorix, another Rider who had turned traitor upon his own order and slaughtered every last one of those who didn't join him. The ones that did join him became forever known as the Forsworn or the Thirteen Traitors. The Riders that managed to survive Galbatorix fled and went into hiding, along with the Elves and Dwarves, where they waited and hoped that one day, somewhere in the land, a new Rider would come forth and help defeat the King. It was into this fight that Eragon was said to be thrust. Fleeing his farm after his uncle was killed, Eragon, with the help of the village storyteller Brom, would train in Swordplay and Magic, and eventually meet the elven princess, Arya, who would go on to become more than a friend, an Ally in the fight for freedom of Alageasia. Luckily, his cousin had left the village four months earlier and was safe.

With Elves in hiding and no one knowing where the Dwarves were, the land had quickly descended into chaos and disarray. A small group of men had formed the rebel alliance that would be known as the Varden which, in the language of the Elves known as the ancient language, meant 'Wardens'. No one had known who had persuaded the Varden to form, the group had formed and grown that fast. No one. Except for the Rider Eragon.

Eragon. For generations, people had said that they were descended from his cousin, but when asked where his castle lay and where the old farm was buried, no one didn't have a clue and were exposed as frauds looking for the fame and fortune that her family had.

Jumping as her mother cleared her throat in a scratchy way, Harry looked away from the landscape and into her mother's eyes as she said, "Honestly, Harriet. Do you have to look so... ordinary and common?"

"Mother. I look like any other teenager who wants to fit in." Harry argued back, her voice like a waterfall, gesturing to her outfit. A dark purple calf-length skirt with a side-split, silver velvet top with one sleeve that ended and flared at the elbow and kitten heels that were also silver glitter. To top off the look, she had jet black hair that ran down to her bottom and slanted ice blue eyes that darkened in shadow and when she was angry. Her ears were also slightly tipped, resulting in the rumor that she was descended from elves.

"I do wish you had chosen something more appropriate for this occasion, Harriet." Her mother sighed, leaning back into her seat and looking her daughter over with a critical eye. Sighing once more, she added, "This is the Remembrance Festival. I would have like to present a young lady. Not someone who looked like they had been dragged through a hedge backward and come out screaming and kicking. What our ancestor, Roran, God rest his soul, would think if he were still alive today."

"As far as I know, Mother, the festival also doubles as a fancy dress competition for the kids and teenagers who are going. I have my costume in my bag. An authentic outfit from Roran's time, mother. I'm sure you'd agree with that. It is after all, from that time." Harry said, using the title as an offensive and looking out of the window once more as her grandmother said, "Give the child a break. And with this being her last time going to a festival with us before she goes to college, at least let her dress how she wants, okay, Minerva? It's not often one chooses to dress like she has. And she looks the part so well that anyone would think one had actually come out of hiding in curiosity. Or remembrance."

"What are you talking about, Aryana?" Harry's father asked from the driver's seat, looking in the rearview window at his daughter, "What have you chosen to be, Harriet?"

Smiling, Harry tapped her nose in secrecy, hoping that no one had been through her bags when she had left them in the trunk of the car. With her grandmother in the know, she couldn't afford to have her mother and father finding out what she had planned to wear for the competition, knowing that they would disapprove and demand something more ladylike. She had found the outfit in a box in the attic when she had been putting her things in that room. The box had been aged but the strangest thing was that it hadn't rotted away and the contents hadn't spilled out onto the floor. After prying it open, she had found the perfect ensemble for the said competition. And with the right accessories, she certainly looked the part, like her grandmother had said. A little too well sometimes, as she also spoke the ancient language of the elves fluently. She had been adjusting to her accessory when her grandmother had walked in and promptly screamed in excitement. It had taken ten minutes before Harry had calmed her down and reassured the elderly lady that she was her granddaughter. By the time the servants had come bursting into the room, Harry had managed to take the accessory off and thrown it into her wardrobe and put on her dressing robe and sat down with her grandmother, listening as she spoke about the past. Her grandmother had spoken about the war that had happened a thousand years ago and Harry was enraptured, listening as her grandmother weaved legend into fact's as she spoke about the legendary Dragon Rider Order and their mysterious leaders, Vrael and Eragon Shadeslayer, and their achievements in life. As Harry listened to her grandmother, she felt as one with history, feeling like she had been born in the wrong century and wanting to know more about the people who had been bonded with the magnificent beasts, Dragons.

Focusing her attention back onto the here and now, she heard her grandmother telling her parents, "...and they were so graceful. Just like our Harry here. Have you ever wondered why she walks and talks like the forest dwellers, yet is so obviously human? This is one question that we can never answer unless we agree that the Riders exist, as do the Elves, Urgals and Dwarves. We have to believe that the war was won, because of these mysterious beings who were driven back from where they lived and sent away into where ever the hell they are now. And all because of him."

"Mother, I would prefer it if we did not talk of the Elven folk, the Urgals, the Dwarves or the legend that is the Dragon Riders, thank you. We are near Teirm and I would like it if we kept this for home and family time." Minerva said, sending a glare at her mother and daughter, who held her gaze steadily, before turning to look out of the window as the city of Teirm came into view ahead of them. Having driven all day, Harry couldn't wait to see the city in all its splendor. Being the only city, apart from the Capital's of both Surda and Alageasia, that held the traditional festival, Teirm was a huge tourist spot and housed many museums in honor of the Rider Eragon and the Varden.

As she looked, Harry thought she saw a shadow pass over the car but when she looked back, there was obviously nothing to be seen.

'Odd,' she thought, looking up at the sky and behind them, 'I could have sworn that I saw something pass over the car. I wonder what it was.'

"Harriet, what is it?" Her mother asked her, startling the teenager as she looked out of the rear view window. Whipping her head around, Harry looked at her mother in confusion and answered, "I, I thought I saw something pass over us. It must have been my imagination, mother.", before looking out of the window again and seeing that they had arrived in Teirm, city by the sea and if the legend was to be believed, the place where Roran and the entire village of Carvahall pirated a ship called the Dragon Wing on their journey to join the Varden.

By the time, she gave what she had seen any more thought, they had arrived in Teirm and she saw a young man jump out of the way of the car and stood on a woman's foot. He was cloaked and he seemed to look out of place in the countryside as he was shoved off the woman's foot and stood there awkwardly, looking up at Teirm's city wall. He also seemed to be holding something underneath his cloak as he walked. A something that glittered as the clothing moved with the wind as he walked into the city.

'Who is he? And why have I never seen him before?' she thought, looking forward again, as they drove up to their hotel.

LINE BREAK! CHANGE OF P.O.V.

This place has changed, Saphira. Eragon thought, looking over his blue dragons shoulder at the land below, Makes me wonder what all the fuss is about and why Arya was wanting us to return.

The month before, they had received a distressing message from the Elven Queen, Arya Drottning, and had immediately packed for Alageasia, not knowing what they were going to see. The both of them had changed since the last time they had been in Alageasia, nearly a thousand years ago. Eragon was no longer lanky, but had filled out with muscles and Saphira was bigger and bulkier in the body, while still holding onto a slim body. Her scales were sharper and could cut even the hardest of minerals, but they still held sheen and could be seen even in murky and miserable weather.

Saphira merely hummed in reply, too tired to think as she flew in search for a place to rest, hopefully in the Spine, near Teirm so Eragon could explore the city they had met Joad, the scribe who had helped the Varden steal Saphira's egg, with the help from Eragon's father, Brom. The man had also harbored both his friend and Eragon when they were hunting the Raz'zac.

Landing in a secluded clearing, Saphira crouched low on her belly, allowing Eragon to jump from her back, and roll upon landing on the hard floor, armor clanging against armor in a cacophony of metal against metal. Straightening up, Eragon looked around him and up at Saphira as she looked down at her Rider with deep sapphire blue eyes that sparkled as he looked at her.

We must rest before you venture into the unknown, Eragon. This journey has been hard on both of us, even with the Eldunari safely back home. We may look young and healthy, but our years show in our eyes. came the mental response as she lay down and growled softly while shuffling her wings into a more comfortable position, half-lifting the wing facing her Rider in an invitation for him to rest underneath. Smiling, Eragon did just that and closed his eyes, giving into his waking dreams as Saphira lowered her wing and drifted into a deep sleep, sharing her dream with him and vice versa.

Some hours later, the pair were rested and Eragon was stretching his stiff joints into something more flexible. Hearing his back pop, he smiled as he straightened again and drew an iridescent blue bladed sword from his bags, settling into a fighting stance, crouching down with the sword held firmly in two hands and in front of him.

Twisting the blade into a single hand, Eragon lunged forward at an imaginary enemy, parrying the blow in his mind and swinging the blade for a feint to the left below the leg, aiming to bring the enemy to the ground. Settling back into the first stance, he repeated the process and spun around, bringing his sword up to block and parry an enemy at the back of him, stabbing the air and spinning the blade around, gripping it in both hands and slicing the air. Over and over again, he blocked, parried and attacked the enemies in his mind, until he had worn himself out and was breathing hard at the exertion he had out himself through.

Sheathing the sword, Eragon looked up at Saphira, smiling, and saw that the eye facing him was sparkling in amusement. He didn't need the rebuke she gave him as he went off in search of a stream to wash the sweat from his body.

You ought to be more careful, Eragon. A fool would realize that we are out of practice on the real combat front. Having only sparred with the trainees, is it any wonder why you use your memories for your own practice? Saphira said, amusement coming in waves as Eragon looked to her and flicked water in her direction.

Thanks, Saphira, he grumbled, dipping his hands into the stream he had found, a few feet from their camp site, and washing his face with the water, yes, I know I'm out of practice, but I think that I didn't need just my memories this time. For reasons I don't yet know, I feel like we are being watched from afar. I think we must be cautious when we reveal ourselves to Alagaesia as Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bjartskular.

In that case, came the annoyed response from Saphira as she shuffled her wings again in annoyance, I guess it's back to when we were on the run from the Empire. You going into Teirm and me staying out of sight. Again!

That bit the bullet, so to speak, for Eragon as he flicked water and tried to fight back the memories that came unbidden to his mind. Shielding his mind from the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, Eragon sighed and looked back at his dragon and said, Saphira, if I could do anything, ANYTHING AT ALL, I would make sure that you were there, by my side and showing the land that we still exist. You hear me? I would do anything for that chance for us to be shown together. Now, please, put those poisonous thoughts out of your head and let this day be known as the day that we came back and no one even knew about it.

Thank you, Little One. she said, quietly, adding a little louder, Go. Go and explore this new Alagaesia we have stumbled upon. But be sure to take Brisingr with you. Just do not lose the stupid splinter of metal, you are so fond of using with the you are so insistent on teaching them in using a splinter as a weapon is beyond me. If you get into trouble, yell and whoever is troubling you had better watch out as I will come with a vengeance.

And I love you too. came the smiling response as Eragon tickled her and turned away, squaring his shoulders and walking away from her, throwing his hooded cloak over his armor and walking away from their camp site. A few feet away, he started to run to Teirm, running out of the woods and stopping dead as he saw carts driving themselves, people in strange tunics and strangely, women with breeches and some with their hair cut above their shoulders. All of them were heading in the same direction, to Teirm, he guessed as he followed them.

Saphira, Alagaesia really has changed since our departure. he commented in surprise as he followed the people to the city. There are carts that drive themselves and the people all dress the same. Like the Elves do. Or did, I don't know.

Do not get stressed over it, Eragon. I am sure that we will find Du Weldenvarden to be the same, if not bigger and more prosperous. came the reassuring reply accompanied by what Eragon thought to be a soft ripple of emotions coming through their mental link. Smiling slightly, he stopped at the sight of Teirm and was buffeted about by people as they went by on their business, some grumbling about "Kids stopping dead as if they've never seen Teirm before."

Gulping nervously, Eragon sent a quick mental picture to Saphira and stepped forward into the city, just as a cart came beside him and startled him into jumping back onto someones foot, making a feminine voice shout out and curse like a sailor, shoving him off her foot and walk on into the city, without so much as looking back at the boy who had jumped out of his skin.

Taking a calming breath, Eragon walked forward into the city and was immediately stopped by the sight of all the colorful banners strung from every house. People were walking about almost as if this was normal, kids were running about shouting and bawling, too wrapped up in their games to notice that a stranger had stepped into their midst and was staring at the houses. The same carts were all over the place, some were bigger than others, some were smaller, others were longer that most. People were coming out of the carts and walking into them, the carts then going away from the places they were stopped. In the center of each street was a stand that proclaimed: '1000 years!'.

Wondering what that meant, Eragon started walking again, sending Saphira mental pictures through their link. In some ways, the town/city was exactly the same with children running about and screaming as they went, but in may other ways, it was also very... different and strange.

Hearing a voice that was louder than everyone else in the city, Eragon looked around to see that the people had stopped their activities and went to the source of the voice. Cocking his head, he followed suit and let himself be dragged along by the crowd as they all congregated around a stage, where a family was standing. A man in front of the family was saying, "...And it gives me great pleasure to introduce this year's hosts: Lord and Lady Stronghammer, and their daughter, Harriet." And with the introductions over, the man stood aside and let 'Lord Stronghammer' take the talking piece, while his wife, a woman with brown hair that shone as if it were raven black stood at his side and his daughter, a teenager with long jet black hair with hints of blue shimmering in the sunlight, slightly slanted ice blue eyes stood at the back watching everyone with a bored look. Along with her elfin features, this Harriet was also looking like she was human. She also looked like someone Arya had stressed about nearly thirteen years ago. A young girl, whose name escaped him at times. On a whim, Eragon pushed everything aside, reached out with his mind and touched the girl's, making her jump slightly and look him straight in the eyes.