Disclaimer: I don't own it. None of it. Wish I did, but I don't. All credit for original story line, characters, and world go to Christopher Paolini.

Chapter 1: A New Reality

94 years had passed since his adventure had begun… a lifetime to most; but a moment here. Beneath the forest canopy of Du Weldenvarden, time moved at a different pace. A different race lived here, and among them, Eragon became more accustom to the longevity of his life. The hardest part by far had been simply grasping and accepting the fact that he would gradually watch everything he knew and loved in the human world grow old, crumble, and fall to ruin. He knew this would happen, but coming to terms with all this implied had been a terrible, painful blow to his reality.

After the war had been won (at the cost of thousands upon thousands of lives from every race, countless families thrown into grief, and mental as well as physical scars on the survivors that would never heal) things had continued to be chaotic. No one really knew what to do now. "What did they do from here? How should the new government be established, and how can we continue the current truce between the races?" were questions echoing to every corner of the land. No one had answers, but everyone looked to Eragon to find them. He had none. He had never wanted to rule and refused to do so now. There were good people in the world; surely there was a way to establish peace among them.

Eventually, about 4 years after the fall of Galbatorix, an oligarchical system was firmly set in place and strictly conformed to. Five members from each of the four races (elves, humans, dwarves, and urgals), selected by their own people, sat a council. Together, they would negotiate and attempt to find the best solution to any problems that arose. So far, it had worked. Hiccups occurred, as they always would, but were settled.

Eragon had been 23 when the war was won. 7 years of running, fighting, and grief had changed Eragon more than he could ever have imagined. That's not to say there were not moments of joy, elation, and celebration, but even at his young age, he had come to feel so much older. His world would never be as it had been. Ever.

He had settled himself back at his childhood home, eventually, after years of flying all over the Empire with Saphira: his dragon, his confident, his constant companion, and dearest friend. Together, they traveled all of the Empire and Surda, fixing whatever problems and disputes where in their power to fix.

Being so far away from most major cities presented problems. Only in rare moments of tranquility was he able to visit Roran and Katrina who had truly returned home to raise their ever growing family after the decades Roran spent serving in the army. Most of his time was spent surviving lonely nights at the newly resurrected Rider posts. As for Katrina, she had birthed a healthy hoard of children. Their first son they named Garrow; the second Eragon. (There had been an unusually high spike in the number of boys named Eragon after the war had been won…) Three girls completed the happy family, all of which Roran openly doted on.

Time however, marched ever on. As Roran's children grew older, Roran grew old. Grey streaked his hair and beard and his body began to ache. Eragon knew the time was coming when Roran would pass into the void, never again to wake. Each year that thought grew ever more crushing. Eventually it would happen. The fact was inevitable. The grief would nearly tore Eragon apart, body and soul. He quickly realized, after that after gaining control of himself and putting Roran forever to rest in his heart, this pain would be repeated, time and again, throughout his existence. This pain he could not endure. Slowly, slowly he would withdraw from the human world and the relationships he had formed within it. He would try to take what solace might present itself among the other immortal and long-lifed races.