Finally getting back to this... what I believe is seriously, after four years of bare consiousness. So... yes, that means this story began, and was planned from start to finish long before brisingr came out. This starts after Eldest, and always will. ...No chance to change it now.

There are many things I regret, however one of which is not having the inspiration to come back and rewrite the first few chapters to what they should be. I wrote them in days of much less experience, and in my mind, I am very unsatisfied with the first ten chapters or so. Big part to be annoyed with. Though my readers disagree... what left I have, so don't let me discourage you.

Secondly... And more importantly, I wish I hadn't stopped. I imagine a constant stream of replies would have been much more encouraging, but that is no longer possible. I've broken things in the middle, and this story may never recover. I will have to live with that.

Still... I intend to make the best of what remains.

To those left, enjoy...

-Fallen Dragonfly

How much had Eragon's life changed in the last two years?

It all started when he found a strange blue stone in the woods. He had thought it might be worth selling. Little did he know then that it would change his life forever. A week later, the stone, the egg, had hatched into a dragon.

Overnight, he became a being of old stories, and legends... The dragon riders.

That was a long time ago now. Since then, he had lost two surrogate fathers, saved an elven princess, and fought as the champion in a bloody war. Eragon had become crippled, and healed. He had met his brother, and found out who his father was.

Some things are better left forgotten.

But others would not let him. Murtagh would be bound to fight him until one of the siblings died. Roran would still blame him for the loss of his bride, until Eragon helped rescue her from the jaws of monsters most poeple only see in their nightmares. And the threat of Galbatorix was ever present. Eragon often though of the fact that eventually he was going to have to fight that monster.

Certainly not something he was looking forward to.

Provided, of course, that he could even defeat Murtagh. Though those battles would not come for a time yet. It was merely two days after the last battle, in the chaotic glory that was the burning plains.

The empire had lost, and it would take some weeks, maybe months, to rally their forces again. Neither were the Varden in any shape to take on the empire at the moment. They had one a battle, but the king still had legions of people he would conscript if need be, and they had no desire to encourage another battle soon. With a enemy bearing down on them, armies would be too easily rallied.

The pen is so often mightier than the sword. Nasuada knew that. She knew she would need to retreat temporarily, and instead seize the moment to spread propaganda. The fact that they had one a battle on a major scale would be enough to influence hundreds, perhaps thousands, to their cause. A great majority of people fight for the winning side. If that side doesn't look to be winning anymore, then defection could occur in the masses.

Well, that was what they hoped.

But not all things could, or should, be put off. For that reason, Eragon had been annoyed when his body seemed to refuse to recover quickly. There was one thing he was all too happy to put behind him, and he needed to be strong to do so.

...Mistakes are often that way, especially the big ones.

Not one to hesitate much, Eragon had barely woken when he decided he was well enough to do what he needed to do.

Still, there was no harm in getting an extra boost.

Eragon sighed in a strange semi-comfort as waves of cold fire rushed through his veins. He kind of enjoyed the sensation, and for that reason he loved the product that caused it. Faelnirv was indeed a great invention.

Saphira?

Her attention, which had been somewhere else, was focused on him immediately. Yes little one?

Can you join me? I have a mistake to undo.

He hadn't expected her to get angry at his words. Nor growl loudly as and reply so suddenly.

It is OUR mistake Eragon, neither realised the fault in your wording! Her voice calmed. Let us both correct it.

He was silent though, and entered a path that would take him to Nausada's tent. On arrival Saphira landed by his side. He touched her scaly cheek lightly, then with a deep breath, entered.

Nasuada welcomed him, but he merely raised a palm in acknowledgment. The person he sought was the mentally deceptive form of a young girl, who was tearing into a roast chicken with ravenous gusto.

"Elva..."

The girl turned slowly, her mouth still half full. As her eyes met his, a violet lance drove into his mind, and it took some control not to shrink away from the contact.

"Is it time?" She asked, speaking in her mutated tones.

"Aye."

She scrutinized him for a moment, then moved to kneel at his feet. "Please, let it be done."

Nasuada looked on, seeming to struggle with something for a moment. She got past it though, and Eragon had been in the process of accessing magic when she interrupted him.

"...I am unsure what will become of you Elva, after he does what he will do. So I tell you thus. I thank you for all that you have done, and I hope that if something about you does change, you will not forget what was. Many people owe you their lives, including me. That is a debt I can never repay."

The dark-skinned women took a breath before continuing. "Perhaps, if you wish it, I would care for you as if you were my own."

Elva's eyes widened, her carefully controlled image of cynicism slipping for a moment. "Thank you..." she whispered.

Nasuada bowed slightly, then turned her attention back to Eragon. "As you were Shadeslayer."

The rider nodded and placed his ungloved palm against Elva's forehead, silver meeting silver. To touch it felt as if his hand was freezing. Unrelenting, he again did not shrink away, and began to draw on Saphira's great pool of strength as he uttered a spell. "Augthati du skoilr dro Saphira ae Eragon stetwar raeth'r."

Eragon's energy slowly waxed as silvery light cascaded from his palm and into Elva's brow. The girl shivered at the feeling, but remained as still and silent as she could. For several minutes the contact continued, drawing upon more and more energy as they fought the spell they had sealed. As the last bit of magic fell away, Eragon let out a small sigh, repressing a yawn.

Did it work? asked Saphira.

I am unsure. he whispered in reply.

A tear touched his palm. Elva was crying.

Eragon his hand away, unfurling the still solid silver brow and violet eyes.

"...th-thank you."

He tried to apologise, but all she did was pull his hand till it touched her again, thanking him in the true tones of a child.

Saphira poked her head into the tent. It is done?

Aye.

Eragon lingered for a moment, and began to leave when he felt a small body hug him. Turning, he saw Elva then move to Nasuada and Saphira in turn, where the dark haired girl hugged the dragon's long snout.

"So..." said Nasuada, suddenly cheerful. "...what do you want to do now? With you new life?"

Elva's tiny face concentrated for a second before screeching out, "Get something to EAT!"

It was a rare moment then, that even if they were all on the verge of war, lingering on a battlefield of a war long past, and a campaign still in progress, laughter was shared within a tent.

-Chapter 1 -End-