Disclaimer: I don't anything, Eragon-wise, Arya-wise, Saphira-wise, Tialdarí Hall-wise, or some other what-not. That includes Ellésmera-wise.

Summary:
Eragon finally kills the dark king, and Alagäesia is gradually restoring to its former glory. As the land settles, the friendship between Arya and Eragon deepens. In the midst of this, Eragon unconsciously stumbles into the rest of his future. Phrases from the text are displayed each chapter, but will eventually run out. Read and, please review.

This is a first Eragon FF, and shows what happens to the final dragon egg, which has not hatched ever since Oromis' death. Expect little to none mistakes, and all Ancient Language has all the special characters. Perfection is the key. All nonsense will be displayed in the Disclaimer. Expect that to be MiStAkAbLe (mistakable).

Note: And this Prologue is probably a turn-off because this is basically the "climax" of the purple and makes people uneasy. But I only suggest you skip this chapter, and or move on with the next chapter. Then again, the next chapter(s) may feature the purple-ness too. Chapter 3 begins the cleaner part of the story.

Prologue: Acceptance

[An epic romance is in your future, extraordinary, as the moon indicates - for that is a magical symbol - and strong enough to outlast empires. I cannot say if this passion will end happily, but your love is of noble birth and heritage. She is powerful, wise, and beautiful beyond compare...]

A starlit night decorated the landscape. The stars were beautiful in the forest sky, with a full moon overlooking the minor lights. From an elf building, the princess, Arya surveyed the landscape.

The Tialdarí Hall was one of the few elven structures that was able to portray a clear view of the surrounding landscape. Few trees were able to obscure vision of the admirer, as they stuck out above the treeline. Like the one Arya was looking out of, no trees blocked her line of sight, with the edge of the forest seen a few leagues away.

When shall this last? Arya asked herself. Is my reign so important that weeks must be forfeited to accept a rightful ruler beside me? Is there no reason for popular vote?Arya knew deep within her heart that a king must be strong in both mind and matter, and must be able to defend himself and his people whenever the time may come.

It was before departing Ellésmera for the Varden about a year ago that Arya spoke with her mother. Arya knew the scene all too well...

The bold princess dressed in the elven raiment slowly walked into the throne room that beheld her mother. As Arya bowed, Islanzadí rose from her throne, the cape of swan feather rustling behind her as she moved. After issuing the traditional greetings, Islanzadí spoke after a brief silence.

"My dear daughter..." she said in the Ancient Language, "you must leave for the Varden so soon?"

"Yes, mother," Arya replied, rising to her standing position. "I'm sure Eragon is better off with me gone as to not upset his teachings with Oromis-ebrithil. Besides, it feels as if I have tarried at home for far to long."

"Arya..." Islanzadí said, "But you have just returned home."

"The same feeling persists."

Islanzadí closed her eyes. "Very well, but I have something very important to discuss with you." The queen's eyes opened again as she spoke.

"After Galbatorix is dead and peace is restored through all of Alagäesia, I would want to have my successor chosen. There is no one whom is heir to the throne but you."

"You want me to lead the elves just as you did?" Arya gasped. "I feel as if I am not yet ready."

The elven queen sighed. "I believe you are, my daughter. There is still time if you wish it, but that time is short because we may have found our Rider who shall slay that whom has killed my mate and has spread his deceit throughout the land. In the meantime, ponder about this, as I have already resolved my mind to this solution."

Arya was taken aback. She hid her surprise with a dip of her head. "I understand."

"Thank you for listening to me. May you run swiftly, my daughter."

"You are welcome. I shall run as swift and as safe as possible." And with a turn of her body, she sped out of the throne room, a tear of solitude streaking down her face.

It has been a year since that happened. Galbatorix's evil deeds had almost been erased, and the land of Alagäesia was almost as it was during the rule of King Evandar, Arya's father.

Is something troubling you? The head of Saphira, dragon bonded to Eragon, rose from the ground.What is troubling your mind?

The duties I must assume in a few days. Arya replied. Her hand gripped the railing in front of her. And the amount of time need to arrange the terms of her Excellency. It just seems so sudden that my mother is to give the throne to me. And... Arya stopped as she cast her glance at Eragon, whom was sleeping on the floor. His face was serene, quiet, and showed no discomfort. ...him. I can't seem to... believe that a farm boy like him would rise to the authority of a king. And this... attraction to him I feel? Arya turned her head away from the Rider. He had achieved of attracting my attention toward him. Every single day, I think of him, even when I am thinking about something else. In the midst of battle I sometimes look around to see him fighting on the ground. Even when I lie down to rest, the image of his face penetrates my concentration.

You do realize Eragon knows you better than he knows himself, right? Saphira queried. That was how he was able to 'paint' the fairth of you.

Arya glanced at under her bed. In the faint light, a black box could be seen. I kept it, Arya finally said.Not really, but I had copied it since it gnawed at me like when something bothers me completely. Arya then closed her eyes, took a rather long pause, and opened them again. It was still a perfect rendition of me. When I laid eyes on it, I was troubled by how Eragon puts me with such... beauty. I could hardly bear to think myself that highly. Sure enough, I am a princess, but then again, have done things so shameful that even he would cast me away as if I were nothing but a bad omen.

A firm hand rested on Arya's shoulder at that moment. Arya whirled around to see Eragon, his black-brown hair shining in the moonlight. His eyes shone with both vigil and worry.

"What is wrong, Arya?" he asked, his brown eyes swirling in the light. "Are you not well?"

Arya lost her grasp of words, then resented to sending a tight embrace to Eragon instead, tears falling to the ground. Eragon was somewhat frightened by the attachment, and mouthed to Saphira: Was it something I said? Saphira responded by shaking her head before descending back to the ground.

Eragon put a hand to the princess' back and one on her head, running his fingers through her hair as she started to cry. "All is well..." Eragon said, trying to assure her. "All is well..."

It was a moment before Arya released Eragon, but still held her forearms. When she looked away, Eragon asked, "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Yes." Arya choked on the word and hung her head. "I... am so sorry that I hadn't said this sooner."

"What...?" Eragon replied softly.

"I..." Arya hugged Eragon tightly again, burying her face in his chest. "I can't bring myself to say it..."

"You don't have to," Eragon replied. "All that matters is that you are okay."

"I am okay... but I don't feel right without letting you know..."

Eragon blinked. "You may go ahead and say what you have to say. I will not share this information until you deem it necessary.

"You know," Arya started, "that starting tomorrow, the... contest... on whether you shall rule beside me takes place, right."

"I am aware of that."

"I feel... that I want you to rule beside me."

"Is that it?" Eragon asked. "You want me to rule beside you?"

Arya looked away again. "And... not only that... but..." Arya choked on the last word. "Why is it so hard to reveal such a paltry discovery?"

"Because you think the other person already knows it?" Eragon guessed.

"But... Eka hjart ono," Arya said quickly. Even with the fast response, Eragon grasped what she said, now pondering in his mind: Wait... what? Did she say 'I love you' as in 'I love you?' That can't be right... She refuses to even take my hand. That can't be right... Then again, she said it in the Ancient Language. So what she says is true?

Eragon was still deep in thought. Arya looked away for a quick second, and the moment Eragon returned from his trance, Arya jerked forward and for the first time, two years since they met and became friends, their lips met contact. In that time span, Arya's eyes were slightly open.

Eragon, whom had clearly not seen it coming, was shocked, enough to not return the kiss. It was still a light kiss, but nonetheless surprising.

It was a few seconds before Arya withdrew. "It is not likely for two lovers should meet and be so many years apart," she said. "And it is not likely should one lover be older than her father-in-law. Such is the laws of nature."

Eragon whom had come back from his surprise, quickly said, "Feigning death is also unnatural. Death is a part of who we are." Eragon then wrapped his arms around Arya. "You are cold, are you not?"

"A little..." Arya said, shivering a bit. "You were going to... participate... in the ceremony, right?"

"If being a Rider doesn't restrict me." Eragon looked up at the full moon. As he watched, two white birds flew across the night sky, glowing in the moonlight. "The only thing is that I don't want my back ripped open like when it did Durza."

Arya rested her head on Eragon's collarbone. "I am sure no one would want to do that. It should be a fair match of mind and sword. Any sort of deception is intolerable."

"Isn't physical attachment a kind of deception?"

"No," Arya said, smiling. "I am glad that physical attachment isn't. It shows well being and good luck. It is not a deception of any kind."

Arya released Eragon and the two pecked each others' lips before returning to bed. Eragon stared at the wooden ceiling. She finally understood how I felt. A part of me missing and now I am whole. He smiled at the thought. His eyes became heavy as he descended into the world of dreams.

Eragon walked through the mist of the Spine. The sky was a pale orange and pink, the sign of morn or twilight. The clouds swirled around a lone star in the sky, so it must be twilight.

Eragon kept walking, due to instinct, with a hand on the hilt of Brisingr; because he felt danger. He tried to contact Saphira, but she seemed too far away. When Eragon had walked for fifty more paces, the mist cleared, showing the shape of an obscure fortress. Guards were stationed before the gates, numbering ten men with five on each side. They raised their spears like a tunnel as Eragon passed, and the portcullis raised as he neared it.

Inside, a dark fog settled inside... a lone figure, dressed as black can be, stood in the middle of the courtyard. A sword hung at the person's waist, which he drew. The red sword trailed out with a pale note. The blade gleaned as if splattered with blood, shining in the pale twilight. The man transferred Zar'roc to his left hand.

At that moment, Eragon lost all will to do anything. He could not breathe properly, nor move; just wait. The man let out his right hand, then said, "Excellent work, my son. Now we may rebuild Alagäesia just as it had been before it was wrecked by Galbatorix. Now, join me, my son. Be my heir and rule beside me." At this moment, Eragon had to remember this man was the same man as the one he had dreamed about two years back in Tronjheim, was Morzan.

The mist then cleared as Eragon found the will to wheel around, and found another figure, one tall, gentle, and proud. As the other man drew closer, Eragon recognized the man.

Brom was dressed in the tunic he had worn during storytelling. In his right hand, he held a blue blade; slim, sharp, and as deadly as the most well crafted arrow. It was as blue as the afternoon sky. The sword, which Eragon thought was Undbitr, glowed in respective iridescence as Zar'roc. Morzan's face contorted with disgust.

"I heard you died, friend," Morzan said, putting disgust into the last word.

"And I thought you were still screaming in agony during that battle we had at Gil'ead," Brom said smoothly. "Looks like I thought wrong."

"This boy is my son. He carried my sword and traveled with my firstborn son. He is rightfully mine."

"Eta," Brom replied with ferocity. Morzan shook as the Ancient Language shocked him. "He is mine," Brom continued. "He may have carried your sword and traveled with Murtagh, but he has first traveled with me, was taught by me, and has the potency of me. He, even now, possesses my sword and dragon."

Then the two spoke in perfect unison: "You must choose, my son. This all depends on whether you make the decision. We give you exactly two minutes. Choose now, or forever be Son of None." Morzan retreated to the palace steps, Brom to the raised portcullis.

Eragon was speechless and dumbstruck. He had no one to help him. He no longer had Saphira to turn to. It was his choice. He looked at the two men that stood on either side of him.

Morzan, with the red Zar'roc in his hand, glowed of burning passion and anger in his eyes. Every now and then, his blue eyes would glow red, as if they were the flame of the dwarf furnaces of Farthen Dûr. The hand in which he held Zar'roc was gripped tightly, a white knuckle could be seen from Eragon view.

Brom stood fearless and serene, as he did when he was speaking to him via Saphira's thoughts. His eyes were cool and peaceful, and like the tide, seemed to flow and ebb. The man whom was Eragon's true father wasn't like he one who had traveled with him, rambunctious and sore-tempered, but now patient and kind. Undbitr seemed to shine with harmony, the grip on its hilt loose and relaxed.

Eragon closed his eyes and prayed, just as he did when he flew non-stop from Farthen Dûr to Ellésmera, to Gûntera, to help him make the right decision. As Eragon did, he felt himself being pulled to Brom. Eragon opened his eyes, sure of his decision and walked over to Brom's side.

As Eragon looked back at Morzan, anger and hate surged around him like evil spirits as he lifted Zar'roc to eye level and rasped, "You have yet again defied me, my son," Morzan said, spitting the two words as if they were sand in his mouth. "Because you have defied me, I curse you. May you never find your home again. May you never find any place of comfort. May you LEAVE ALAGÄESIA AND NEVER RETURN!"

Eragon gasped as the spirits of Anger and Hate swirled around Morzan and entered him. The black hair slowly shifted to a red color. His once apricot colored skin turned ghostly white.

When Morzan had stopped screaming, he looked down at Eragon with yellow eyes. Eragon stiffened, and glanced at Brom, whose gaze didn't betray peace. He merely lifted his right hand, the glittering sapphire ring, Aren, pointed directly at the Shade. Brom drew upon the ring, and barked, "Deyja un mor'ranr atra ono néiat finna!" A bolt of red and blue lightning shot from the ring and smote the Morzan-Shade in the heart. The bolt continued its path and shot open the doors of the palace, and an explosion racked the building. Eragon shielded his face behind his elbow as shingles and bits of wood flew at him. They were deflected by an invisible shield.

Brom steadily lowered the ring. When Eragon checked Aren for magic, barely any of it had diminished, despite the wording Brom used. May you die and never find peace. A death and a curse, Eragon thought.The most painful death that could be ever dealt to you...

Brom turned his attention to Eragon. "Do not fear, my son," he said, kneeling down in front of Eragon so that he stared at him in the eye. "There is no need to fear. I have not yet died. I still live within your soul. And Saphira's. Do what you have to do. Whatever the consequence may be, it is unavoidable. I am proud of the caution you took to get this far. You are certainly worthy to be my son." Brom lifted his eyes, twinkling as a tear slid down his face. "I heard from Oromis-ebrithil that you would have become a full-fledged member of our order, were it not for Galbatorix's taint. For that, I am proud."

Eragon smiled, but then his face fell as he heard the phrase for the fourth time: May you leave Alagäesia and never return. Brom sensed his sorrow, and asked, "What is wrong, my son?"

Eragon fought for words. "When... when you were speaking with Lord Risthart in Teirm, when we were traveling, I had my fortune told by Angela, a witch. She cast a dragon's knuckle bones and it revealed that I shall leave Alagäesia forever." Brom seemed to digest the words as he closed his eyes. Eragon felt a surge of warmth in his mind, clearing his thoughts.

"She also said," and Brom's words seemed to be in simultaneity with the voice of Angela's, the witch, "'An epic romance is in your future, extraordinary, as the moon indicates - for that is a magical symbol - and strong enough to outlast empires. I cannot say if this passion will end happily, but your love is of noble birth and heritage. She is powerful, wise, and beautiful beyond compare.'" Brom's voice returned to normal as he spoke again, "I see you may have found that person, although I am not entirely sure. You may even be married to a descendant of King Palancar himself, although, none of the stories say anything about a princess Rider. And as you know, I know all of them." Brom smiled. "In this deadened land, I have contacted Garrow, as he wants to say a few words to you, if you wish." Eragon eagerly nodded.

Brom closed his eyes again as his voice melded with Garrow's: "So, you gotten into a bit of trouble, eh? I'm glad that Brom kept you safe, along with that massive of a dragon of yours." Garrow-Brom sighed. "At least you're safe.

"A Rider. If I were still alive, I would hug you, but sine I'm not, I can't. How is Roran? Ah, I need not know. He may not have gotten much through working with Dempton, but he still won Katrina. And Sloan. Tucked away with the tricky elves deep in their forest. I can tell you how many men he killed, too, that Roran! Ten since the man with the white beard, two with 'the Twins,' about two hundred and sixty-four men during the Varden. Heh... He got himself all bloody. You should go meet him at our farm." Garrow-Brom smiled. "Take care, Eragon Bromsson. Atra esterní ono thelduin." And the dream ended as the last of the sun drifted behind the mountains of the Spine. And the last thing Eragon saw were the glyphs inscribed on a stone tablet that was originally in the palace, apparently the only thing left standing, read: Ono dröw eru néiat. You are not alone.

As this is a first Eragon FF, please no flames. Constructive criticism is accepted.