Hi, everyone!! Yes, I know I should be working on Eldunari or UD, but the next chap of Eldy is with my betas and chapter 19 is on the way, and my next UD is also coming along. This fic has been lurking in my head since I started UD, and a few days ago it demanded that it be written. So I, the obliging twit, complied, and this ccame into existence. If you read the summary, then you know what's going on. If you didn't shame on you, go back and read it.
This is a very dark fic, because its dark!Eragon, which is rare and DARK (duh). There are lots of mature themes here, including murder, suicide later on, angstness, and a smattering of betrayal and black magic to feed the sadistic side in all of us. So, you have been warned, and if I get any flames that rant about any of the aforementioned topics, I will set duckhunter33 on said flamer, and he doesn't mess around. Clear?
Alright, so this was inspired by III: Cold in the Eragon chapter of UD and me watching Revenge of the Sith with my pal. So then I watched the entire saga, over a week- long period (I'm on break, see) and I was startled at how similar Star Wars and the Inheritance Cycle are. I mean, the main protagonist in both (Luke and Eragon) has 1. special powers (magic/the Force). 2. Dumb luck, 3. A relative that's a bad guy (Murtagh/Vader). 4. Said relative spending large amounts of time/energy trying to make them evil/bring them to their leader. 5. Loyal friends/women encouraging them. 6. Both belong to an almost- extinct order of beings (Jedi/Dragon Riders) 7. Absolutely no good/evil conflict in them whatsoever, unless they happen to be battling the bad relative. So I got to thinking, and with my friend/soul sister/other half of my mind, this was born. If Murtagh is Vader, who is Eragon? Most people would say Luke. In fact, on the Inheritance wikia, several parallels are drawn between the two. It's freaky, actually. I, however, have decided to change that. Guess who he is now? Teehee....
Alright, enough of my rambling. GO READ!!!!
Disclaimer- I do not own the Inheritance Cycle or Star Wars. I am, in the bluntest sense, stealing their characters and issues and mixing them together in my secret labratory, rather like a drug dealer, and then proceeding to impose my madness on others. So no lawsuits, Mr. CP and Mr. Lucas.
Prologue: In Obscurum (In the Darkness)
Once upon a time-
(a bad time, a burning time, a time when everything and everyone could go up in flames at any moment, gone forever, lost, snatched, killed)
-in a land known as Alagaesia-
(A burning land, a land alight with the flames of war and good and evil, slowly blazing out into nothingness-land)
-there was a man-
(A boy, really, young and foolish and prone to all sorts of pain and foolishness and hurting)
-known as Eragon. He was a hero, a warrior, a Dragon Rider, full of love and compassion-
(And fear, and hate, and anger, and so much darkness)
-and goodness. He was the Varden's greatest soldier, the ally of the elves, the man who defied Galbatorix daily and lived to fight on-
(And struggle on, hate on, sink further and further down into the depths of darkness)
-so he could free the people. A true hero, they called him. They sang songs about him and his dragon Saphira, songs about his glorious deeds and strength and compassion. Every child knew his name, breathed it into the night, wishing to catch a glimpse of him, the Hero-
(who carried the darkness, who came closer and closer to toppling each day.)
-of the people. But then, something happened. On the Burning Plains of Alagaesia, something terrible happened. Red fought blue, and hidden away from the rest of the world by a vast expanse of jagged rock, a secret was revealed.
(A terrible secret, a secret carrying the darkness and the weight of the world in one simple sentence)
After that, the world began to spiral down, devoured in its own maelstrom of flames and lies. Soldiers who could not be hurt fought on the bloody- soaked plains, dragons that were not dragons roamed the skies. A golden Rider, the last of the ancient order, fell to his death, and the Hero changed. Something went wrong, a twist of his goodness, a wound that he could not close, for all of his magic-
(Because it wasn't black magic, magic that defied the laws of nature, of the world)
-and strength. The rumors spoke of the Hero's pain, how tortured he was by the death of the golden Rider. He was broken, they said, and alone, truly alone. He began to watch his companions and friends more closely, fiercely defending them. In time, it became evident that he was terrified of losing them, and at last the King had a weakness to exploit.
"I have your friends, young Shadeslayer, and your pregnant lover. Why don't you come and face me like a man?"
The secret songs sing of what happened next; a great battle, foul play, an offer, the lure of power and protection, a choice, and then the darkness wins. The Hero, incorruptible, unwavering, loyal to the end, changed sides. Blood paints the fields and mountains crimson, the Varden's blood. The Lady Nasuada dies first, executed publicly in the bustling Uru' baen. It is there that the whispers start, that people began to talk of how cold the Hero was, how he didn't flinch when the Lady cried out in pain and defiance.
"How could you, Eragon?"
The noose of darkness tightens, and the Hero slips further away.
"Roran Stronghammer has opposed my rule long enough. Kill him."
"As you wish."
Stronghammer, the cousin of the Hero, dies in a burst of flames from a blue sword, agony still on his lips, his eyes still focused on his wife, who cowered over her newborn son.
"It was either Roran or Arya."
"You monster. Look at what you've become! Don't act like you're sorry!"
Murtagh was executed publicly as well, his blue eyes cold and filled with pain as he looked at his younger half- brother.
"Maybe you are the son of Morzan. Brom would have never done such things."
The Hero's wife, the elf princess Arya, fled her husband one night, knowing that her Eragon, her Hero, was dead and consumed in the burning flames. When he caught up to her, the songwriters say that he begged her to return with him, that he would change his ways, that he loved her and wanted to be with her. No one wishes to sing of the truth, of the torn hearts and agony in the sword that plunged into the body of a pregnant woman, killing her and her child.
"I though you loved me!"
"I did, until you became a monster!"
At the end of that day, the Hero had lost everyone, except his Saphira, who became as twisted as he was. The darkness took a Hero, a young man of pure heart and innocence, and turned his goodness against itself-
(A many- headed snake, the darkness, always writing and fighting and lashing out, devouring, devouring, until nothing was left but the snake itself)
-and destroyed it. The land of Alagaesia wept tears of blood and ash as it burned, slowly, surely, for its child, its precious son, the Hero, had fallen, and the endless night had begun. There was pain, and hurt, and then-
(No hope but one, only one, in a single egg, stolen years later, and a child)
Hmm. Odd, this one. I kinda like it, actually.... huh. Well, Eldunari is my main priority, so this won't be updated frequently. And the chapters might drastically vary in length.... eh. Whatever. So, did you like it? Hate it? Please R&R, I love your feedback!!
Oh, and don't worry, this format, while fun to write in, will not be the prevailing format. I'll switch back to the normal soon. Yeah. And duckhunter33, if you read this, don't fret, 'cause I'm going to update as soon as I get the chapter back from my betas.
Next: Fragmins Memoria: Liber (Fragments of Memory: Child)
"Are you Eragon?"
"Liar! You can't be Eragon."
"Eragon died a long time ago."