This is my first story for Inheritace Cycle, which might be considered a dead fandom, but that is not going to stop me from publishing one fanfiction to it. Paolini started Eragon with a chapter, where Eragon was not even mentioned. I thought this would be a good start. Next chapter will be from Eragon's POV.

Beta reader: Dragonblooded

The Grey Queen

There is only one thing scarier than knowing Death comes for you. When he doesn't. When even the Grim Reaper refuses to take you. When he avoids you like the plague.

A group of grey-skinned people stood in a wide circle. They surrounded a triad of black stones on the cracked ground, the gaps releasing black sulphurous fumes into the air. Every person in the circle was connected to those next to them by white threads of swirling untamed energy. They all had one purpose in their minds. They all knew the price.

A huge wave of energy crashed down upon the circle, releasing itself from their bodies and aiming directly towards the middle. The black clouds retreated between the three dark stones as if scared. There they stayed, trying to lash out at the energy that burned them. They were stopped by a white barrier, barely visible, locking the darkness inside.

The darkness curled viciously into itself, forgetting the people around it.

One of these people watched the results of their spell in fear. It fed off of their energy until there was nothing left, and the people, one by one, fell apart, turning to dust. It started with one person and the people next to him followed, and then those next to them and so on.

She knew this was necessary. Everything they knew, they loved and admired, would be lost without their sacrifice. To ensure the ritual's success, they each had to die. The blood magic seal could be broken only by blood of its creator. There could be no witnesses.

Despite knowing this, she was scared of Death. She, the youngest of them all, did not want her life to end just yet. As the spell took its price from her neighbours, she forcibly tore herself from the circle. As she fell, her magic was ripped out of her. She was left utterly drained, but alive.

Beside her, the Grey Folk disappeared from the land of living.

+BREAK+

She later regretted not dying then and there. She searched for Death at every opportunity, but it avoided her path, not once nearing it. When she realized she did not deserve an honourable death, she tried to walk into Death's arms herself. But yet, no matter what, the Death was still running away from her.

Her life had lost all meaning, until the elves sailed from Alalea. Without a common language, as they soon discovered, they had a connection purer than any other words before. They understood each other. The Ancient Language, the elves named it. They happily accepted her amongst them. Aside from her age, and her grey skin and hair, she became quite like them.

Together they built cities hidden from the dragons, who roamed the sky from time to time. There, amongst them, she found purpose, a reason to live again. And the youngest prince of the elves found purpose with her, too.

Once she had him, she could not have imagined leaving him. She would die as last of her line ―she had come to peace with that ― and with that her line and her race would end. They would all be safe.

It wasn't long until even that wish of hers was broken. She and her beloved came to expect a child, and she dreaded the moment of its birth. And dread, fear, they do terrible things to people. When a baby girl was born, she held linens over her little face. She had to end her bloodline, before it spread further.

Before the deed was done, her beloved interrupted her, and without hesitation put a sword through her back. As she bled out, her loved one standing over her with disgust in his eyes, the realization hit her. She had failed. At everything. She didn't even finish her last words: "The North… ." And with that the last of the pure Grey Folk died.

+BREAK+

Her daughter was called Líadan the Grey, and she was brought up by her father. No matter how she tried, Líadan never fit in. Some elves admired her differences. Others hated her for it. Her hair was never the bright silver of the others', but a dull grey. Her skin never reflected light in the breathtaking elvish way, but consumed it in its greyish colour. Her grey eyes were so empty that no one could stand to look into them for long.

When her father's brother – the king – announced a need to explore further North, past Du Weldenvarden, she gladly offered herself for the task. The king gladly agreed. Forty elven families would go with her and secure the North by building a town there.

Her father did not support her choice, but in the end, as a parting gift, he brought her a sword. She called him Argelion. That was the last time she would ever see her father.

In the North they easily found the proper land for a great town. They built there a flourishing camp, but every time a building rose, it was knocked down in the night by strange creatures Líadan had never seen before.

One day, she gathered one elf from each family and decided to follow these creatures deeper into the North. Eventually, they found their nest. Three dark stones stood upon the shattered ground and from beneath this triangle the creatures appeared. Líadan and the elves fought them, all avoiding that triangle, as if something primal was telling them not to step inside.

Líadan was attacked by two creatures that looked like dark wild wolves, but only half of them was made of flesh. The other half was partly obscured by black sulphuric fumes, only sometimes revealing rotting bones. Instead kill her, they pushed her inside the triangle and everything faded to black.

When she woke up, she was laying just outside the triangle. Next to her, sitting in a pool of blood, was a black crown decorated with thorns and thirteen Hellebore blossoms, one of them bigger than others. In the middle of each blossom was a diamond. On the bottom of the crown were forged long lines of strange symbols she couldn't read.

The crown started sucking in the blood around it. It glowed, as if radiating with a bloodfed joy. Confused, Líadan noticed a deafening silence around her. She was not hurt. It was not her blood. When she looked around, she saw the ground covered in bodies, torn to shreds, not a trace of elf or creature. Líadan cried over the loss. She couldn't even recognize her fighters. All the parts she saw had been drained of their blood.

Líadan gathered the crown, pressed it tightly to her chest, and left that strange place. When she returned to the rest of the group, she was on the verge of death, and she wore a black crown upon her head. She told no one what had happened. The families held a vigil for their loved ones, who never returned with Líadan.

The thirteenth day of silence Líadan pulled them from their stupor. She told them about her plans to build the town, not only as a way to secure the North, but also as a memory of their loved ones. They soon found a strange black ore they called Dauthhvass, from which they built their village.

The strange creatures tried to attack a few times more, but every time Líadan came close to them, they ran away screeching in fear. Eventually, after many years of hard work, their task was finished. A black castle stood atop a hill surrounded by houses and lands all protected by high strong walls. They called it Norvedrgarde. The elven king named Líadan the Lady of the town, but it was so far from his reach that it gained independence. With the support of the elven families, Líadan rose from their Lady to their Queen. She became known to others as The Grey Queen.

Not long after her coronation, she had a child with an elf from one of the houses in Norvedrgarde, a little girl with pale greyish skin and surprisingly crimson eyes and hair. The Grey Queen didn't know the first time she looked in those eyes that she looked in the eyes of a murderer.

Nor did she know that fourteen years later, that would be how the reign of Líadan the Grey would end.