//------------------------------// // prologue // Story: After Alagaësia // by myyrlin //------------------------------// Prologue.... After Alagaesia. A brisk wind blew across the swiftly darkening landscape, the sun offering little warmth as it hung low over the horizon. Eragon sighed longingly. That same sun hung over the distant land of Alagaësia he and Saphira had left, ten years ago. With Alagaësia, both had left behind a piece of themselves, pieces that they may never see again. Eragon and Saphira sat together, thinking of the loved ones that lay in years past and unknown miles away. Saphira closed her pristine blue eyes as she remembered the two male dragons she had left behind. Thorn, the spirited red drake she had fought and later forgiven. Fírnen, the powerful green drake with which she had shared an intimate experience. A shiver of pleasure trickled down her spine as she remembered the vigor and excitement, the ferocity and passion that had been shared on that day as fiery senses she had never known before were awakened. Her sensuous thoughts interrupted Eragon’s reverie, causing his cheeks to flush slightly. Though he welcomed the warm thoughts of Saphira, they did not fill the gap left in his life. He heaved a great sigh of longing as his thoughts drifted in a sea of memories, wonderful memories of people whom he may never see again. His cousin, Roran, and all the years they had spent growing up together. They had caused Roran’s father so much mischief. Garrow had always been a good sport about it, but knew when to limit them with a stern hand, typically when games crossed into work. Garrow had been stern, but always loving, always welcoming, and always ready with a good tale to tell. Eragon could never get enough of Garrow’s grand, fantastic tales of daring knights, powerful mages, and dragon riders of old. Those fond memories grew harder to let go of as he traveled further and further away from what had once been his only home. Eragon wistfully gazed over the setting sun, letting his anguish sink with it below the horizon. Saphira nudged him gently with her muzzle, knowing full well the pain he was feeling. All those they had left behind they loved, almost as much as they loved each other. They let their sorrows flow into one another, hoping to ease the pain of loss. Their feelings met, doubling their grief briefly, until they found each other in the miasma of emotion. Feeling each others presence brought them into a peaceful equilibrium. Eragon thanked Saphira for her comfort with a weak smile. Saphira responded with her own version of a smile. Both felt their warm feelings enveloping each other. It was a much needed respite from internal turmoil they had both been feeling. So far away from Alagaësia, so far away from the ones they loved, they could not feel at home. Their restless spirits sought comfort where little existed beyond what they gave each other. They had been seeking so long for that peace which a home could provide. When they found a home, perhaps then, they thought, their grief would alleviate and they could concern themselves with raising the next generation of dragons. Eragon and Saphira had found hundreds of dragon eggs and Eldunari during his last few months in Alagaësia. The decision to leave was heartbreaking, but necessary. They needed to find a new home to train the new line of dragon riders, a place secluded from disapproving eyes and prying magicians. Their days consisted mostly of traveling, some flying and some walking, supplemented with lessons from the dragon Eldunari. Each day they learned more about the world they lived in from the ancient dragons. It was a marvelous thing, the vast storehouse of ancient wisdom they carried with them in the souls of the dragons. They learned much about the world that Oromis had never taught them. Days blurred together as they continued their travels. Their traveling hymn of fly, walk, hunt, and learn became perfectly routine, broken only by the moments Eragon and Saphira would spend together, pouring their emotions into each other. Days came and went. Wings beat up and down. They traveled, they slept. Hope lay in a vague cloud of doubt. Having endured another day without much event or prospect of a new home, they settled in for the evening in a clearing on the shore of a secluded alpine lake. It was a small and quiet lake, fringed by stately pines and fed by a stream which cautiously meandered from the bordering mountains. Water lapped soothingly at the shoreline and the frosty, winter breezes rustled the trees ever so gently. Saphira alighted smoothly and crouched low to allow Eragon an easier dismount from the saddle. Eragon inhaled the fresh mountain air, the crisp scent of pines tingling in his nose. He sighed contentedly and stretched the stiffness from his limbs. With hardly a second thought, both Eragon and Saphira lapsed into each other’s consciousness, enfolding their troubled minds with the comforting presence of their soul mates. It felt wonderful to break the routine when they shared their thoughts and feelings, and the strong emotional bonding they experienced gave fresh life to the day. Eragon tried to focus on Saphira, but the concerns he had for their fate gnawed at him, chipping away his spirit like waves against a stone. Would they ever find a home which they could call their own? How many more years would need to pass? Even with the dragon Eldunari, how could he and Saphira alone, barely trained dragon and rider, possibly raise a new generation of dragons? Heavy waves of doubt plagued Eragon’s mind. The gnawing uncertainty of their fate thrashed against his waning spirit, consuming his thoughts with roiling emotions. Saphira’s consciousness burst through his mind like a bright beacon, piercing the darkness that clouded it. He could feel Saphira’s shining warmth pushing out his uncertainty, washing his spirit clean in gentle brushes of comfort. Eragon latched onto her like a child to his mother, not daring to let go lest his own fears take him. Saphira’s whole being was intent on raising Eragon above the crushing weight of the world. She was there for him, and he was the only thing that mattered to her. Light poured down into Eragon’s soul as he felt himself lifted higher and higher, borne aloft by Saphira’s wonderful presence. Eragon felt as if his head were above the clouds and his nerves were standing on end. The world around seemed so vast and full of life, and he could feel every bit of it, seething and sparking all around him. He knew Saphira felt the same by the way she purred from inside her throat, the way she did when she was deeply pleased. He also knew that she and he were the only two sparks of life that mattered at all right then. The rest of the world would just have to sort itself out for the time being. Eragon and Saphira gently settled out of their mental euphoria, slowly spiraling down to earth like a pair of leaves in the wind. They landed together, their thoughts reassembling within reality until their senses caught up to their surroundings. Sluggishly, their thoughts came back to them one by one like a trail of breadcrumbs. They were by a lake. It was getting dark. They were quite hungry. Eragon and Saphira were both in agreement that hunger was the most pressing matter to attend to. Lunch that day had been small and brief, consisting of only a few wild hares and local herbs which Eragon had foraged for them. Lunch seemed like a distant memory now, which only intensified the growling in their stomachs. Saphira was too tired to hunt tonight, so Eragon made his way to the shore of the lake to see what food he might find there. He sensed fish teeming in little schools in the shallows. It would be a simple matter to catch them. Magic would certainly do the trick. Anytime he used magic, he enjoyed thinking over the myriad ways tasks could be performed with magic. Fish, for instance, could be caught by boiling the water around them or moving the water containing them. One could even influence them to move towards the shore in a number of ways. He had decided a to employ mental coercion, imbuing the fish with the desire to swim ashore. Saphira watched greedily as all the fish within Eragon’s mental influence swam headlong onto dry land. Eragon counted about thirty beached fish when he ceased his mental assault. After hastily assembling a makeshift fire pit out of driftwood and stones, he set about the trivial task of lighting the fire. “Istalri!” he commanded, instantly igniting the dry wood. The word “brisingr” was more direct for the task of firemaking, but had the inexplicable effect of setting fire to his sword, so he hardly ever used the word anymore. With the fire crackling and lapping nicely, Eragon took three of the fish for himself and started to clean them. Saphira snapped up the rest of the fish for herself. Ingenious method, but I think boiling the water would have been more efficient, said Saphira mentally, her mouth full. They would be cooked and easy to gather, . Eragon looked up from the fish he was preparing. “It doesn’t make any difference to you. They cook nicely in your throat. Besides, this method required less energy.” Saphira huffed between mouthfuls as Eragon procured from his pack a large flat river rock he typically used for cooking. Less energy than you use when carrying that cumbersome thing? she chuckled. Eragon rolled his eyes as he felt Saphira’s amusement. It was the same amusement she felt whenever she knew when she was justifiably right, especially on issues regarding food. “I’ll eat how I want, and you eat how you want, okay?” he replied huffily. Saphira gave another chuckle, bits of fish spewing from between her jaws. A smile formed on the corner of Eragon’s lips. He shook his head and resumed his supper preparations. This was something like the third time in a week Saphira had given him a hard time about his food habits, a trend that had actually begun when Eragon decided to start eating meat again. Saphira loved to bring up how foolish she thought Eragon had been in refusing meat for so long, tossing in jabs about the silly ways he ate, in her typical not-so-subtle fashion. It was also her way of getting back at Eragon for the not-so-subtle comments he made about her weight from time to time. Saphira finished eating before Eragon even began cooking his first fish. She licked her teeth clean of any remains of her meal and started to chew on some fireweed that grew nearby. Her senses delighted in the scent of cooking fish. She did not sense the same delight in Eragon, quite the opposite actually. What is wrong, Little One? she asked. Eragon turned to Saphira, his face set like a heavy stone. “You know what’s wrong,” he replied, shrugging. I do, but I like to ask all the same. “It’s just….” he began, “oh, I don’t know.” Glumly he prodded his fish to examine how well it was cooking. Leaving our loved ones behind. Raising the next generation of dragons and riders. The burden we must bear, Saphira reflected sagely. Eragon’s head wavered somewhere between a nod and a shrug as Saphira’s warm breath tickled his neck. She didn’t need to say it, but all the same it felt somewhat good to reconcile the troubles they both carried. Eragon slumped heavily against a log and heaved a great sigh. But so long as it is a burden we bear together, she said with a gentle nudge, then I would not mind carrying it until the end of all things. Eragon smiled as the warmth of Saphira’s breath became indistinguishable from the warmth of her feelings. He let his shoulders slide down easily as Saphira’s spirit enveloped him in affection. Thanks, he conveyed gratefully. Saphira hummed deep in her throat and tousled Eragon’s hair with her breath. She covered Eragon in motherly warmth and sympathy, letting her precious Little One know that she would always be there to pick him up, that she would always be there for him, that he was the reason she existed. The pair remained locked in blissful communion until it felt like hours had passed with them lost in each other. Evening slowly closed her curtain over them and nocturnal sounds began hailing the arrival of nighttime. Faint traces of dusklight trickled through the trees, eventually disappearing with the sun over the distant horizon. The light is fading fast, Eragon, noted Saphira through the link. We should settle ourselves down for the night. Eragon clung to Saphira’s warm consciousness for a moment longer before reluctantly returning to reality. We’d better get some sleep, he agreed with a sigh, the faint red on the horizon gradually fading to deep purple. A Nightingale began warming up its voice for its nightly song while crickets joined in for the chorus. We should be absolutely fresh to explore further into these lands tomorrow. Another day of traveling, searching, and fruitless prospects. Saphira conveyed hearty agreement as she nestled herself into a bed of smooth stones between the lake and the edge of the woods. She hummed contentedly. Hmmm…… she gave a bemused snort. I wouldn’t mind it. Every day living with you is an adventure to me. Eragon smiled and rested his head against Saphira’s warm side as she put a protective wing over him. The pair began unconsciously drifting into each others consciousness as sleep crept over them. Tomorrow, thought Eragon, tomorrow would be a new day in a new world. Tomorrow would be when things would finally be looking up for the two of them. Tomorrow would be when their weary search would finally prove its worth. The Nightingale led them to sleep with a calming melody of nighttime, singing its song about the glittering stars and the silent moon. Eragon and Saphira drifted into their dreams, locked around each other in a warm mental embrace. . . . Far out in space, across mind-numbing distances and vast reaches of emptiness, the stars burned hot and bright. Immense, seething globes of light and energy toiled endlessly through unrest, constantly feeling the pull from each other, and coping with the violent, gnawing energies within. They pushed and pulled, around and around, gliding, floating, performing their intricate Dance of the Infinite, while the universe continued spinning around them. Across eons of time and light-years of space the stars continued to waltz to the tempo of unseen forces. And worlds which existed a thousand lifetimes away watched the dance from where they sat and wondered what it all meant. The light of their dance cascaded through time and space, through the gaping void between worlds. It glided past stars and planets alike. It tumbled through atmospheres, causing thinking creatures to look up and blink. It spiraled down into a tiny, peaceful world, where harmony reigned and magic controlled the day and the night. It reached the eyes of a certain Alicorn Princess, and pierced right into her soul. Princess Luna looked up at the night sky and blinked. The stars twinkled brightly against the deep, cold background of space. They shone on Luna with a close familiarity she had nurtured over her entire lifetime of looking up at them. She could call out each star and constellation by name: The Sphinx, Prietta’s Crown, Galea Fortuna. It gave Luna comfort to know that they would always be hanging in the sky for her. Even if the world collapsed around her, at least the stars would still shine. But tonight something was different. She could sense it, see it, stirring in that black emptiness, the stars were trying to tell her something. Something about their shine was not right. Without further pause she leapt down from her nightly post at the North Tower. She spread her deep blue wings and made a hasty descent to the castle. The universe seemed to be playing games with her, and she was not amused in the slightest. Luna banked smoothly around the tower to where the north wall connected. A pair of stallions, weary and yawning from the night watch, snapped to attention as the princess alighted upon the castle ramparts. “My Lady!” they said with rushed salutes, hastily rustling up spears and adjusting drooping helmets. The princess brushed past them with hardly a second glance. She sped down the ramparts and across the courtyard, leaving the guards bleary and baffled. A solitary torch flickered in its rung beside the scullery door, casting a faint orange glow around it. Besides the cold light of the moon, it was the only source of light in the courtyard. Its flame swayed as Luna threw open the door and entered in a whoosh. She passed swiftly through the kitchens and the great dining hall, the light of the moon casting pale shafts through the windows to guide her way. She glided noiselessly down the servant’s staircase. Canterlot Castle lay as silent and still as a tomb. Its stately halls lay dormant, and its beautifully carved marble statues, so majestic in the light of day, cast suspiciously long shadows in the moonlight. During the day the castle would be filled with the activity of servants and guards going about their duties. Now, save for the castle guards, and one increasingly frantic princess, there was not a soul stirring in the place. At another intersection of hallways Luna took a left towards the armory. She took no notice as another guard hailed her presence when she passed. Luna darted down another hallway filled with rows and rows of doors; the guards’ private quarters. She stopped at the door at the end of the hall and began knocking. In his chamber, Nightfall arose at once from his light sleep, a harsh knocking at his door. His dreams had been pleasant, but his duties took precedence over nighttime fantasies. He donned his uniform in a rush, accidentally elbowing the lamp on his nightstand. He winced as it shattered on the floor, scattering pieces of glass everywhere. He sighed to himself, shrugging. He had “borrowed” the lamp from his sister the last time he had visited her in Saddle Arabia. It was quite an exquisite piece of artwork - not a bad reading light either - and his sister had been furious when she found out her brother had taken it. Probably about half as furious as she would be when she found out that it had been destroyed. Nightfall nudged the brightly-stained shards of the lamp sullenly. He had promised to send the lamp back in one piece. His sister would be devastated. She would probably kill him for this, but he’d have to save regrets for later; duty was knocking at the door very aggressively now. He opened his door and saluted smartly, unsurprised to find Princess Luna standing before him. “My La-” The princess pulled Nightfall from his room before he had a chance to speak. He stifled a gulp. Even in the dim torchlight, Nightfall could see the Princess’ grimly set jaw, and the dread in her eyes. “Follow me at once!” she whispered sharply. Nightfall knew better than to second-guess the Princess of the Night, and followed without a word. For anypony else this would be unusual. Ponies weren’t meant to be lurking about this late, doing Tartarus-Knows-What, and perhaps not even Tartarus knew what had Princess Luna all in a fuss. But Nightfall knew there was always a reason. He didn’t need one right away, just like the fiasco with the Czar of Artrotzka and the Shaded Veil. Oh yes, that was a fiasco. It was dangerous, practically fatal to allow the Veil to get so close to the Czar, and though the Czar didn’t like the term “live bait,” that is exactly what he became under the circumstances. Nightfall hadn’t expected the Veil to make her move until after the Summer Sun Celebration, but the tea had been served cold that night, and Princess Luna was not one to rest on ceremony. The Princess had come to him that night, before the Sun-raising Ceremony, and he hadn’t needed an explanation then either. A good thing, too, as there wasn’t a second to spare. Precious seconds could mean the difference between life and death, thankfully life in the case of the Czar. As for the Veil, well, perhaps nopony needed to know. That was all behind him now. Expecting the unexpected wasn’t an occupational formality; it was a necessary lifestyle. It would take more than a few late-night escapades to make him suspicious. Being a member of the Lunar Paladin, he was member to all types of business that the Princess did not want brought into the daylight. That was the way Equestria liked to keep it; out of sight, out of mind. That was the way Princess Luna liked to keep it. Nightfall followed apace behind the Princess, passing down corridor after corridor, some sparsely lit by torches or lanterns, others lit only by the silver moonlight through arched windows. After a while, it seemed to Nightfall that they were traversing fewer and fewer lantern-lit hallways, and even the moonlight seemed to have trouble finding any windows to sneak in through. Neither of them spoke. The only sound between the two was the faint clicking their hooves made on the marble floor. Not a single soul greeted them as they made their silent pilgrimage, which Nightfall surmised was intentional on the part of the Princess. Anytime they encountered a wavering light or some soft echoed voices of guards from a distant corridor, Princess Luna would hastily lead off in a different direction. Whatever business that ponies didn’t need to get their snouts in, Princess Luna carefully, if not tactfully, kept out of reach so they’d never have to get their snouts in it in the first place. But Nightfall couldn’t help noticing that there weren’t any torches to be found in the hallways that they were now passing through. The windows all seemed higher and dirtier, as though the pegasus window-washers hadn’t passed this hallway in several months. He didn’t have time to dwell on this for much longer, as Princess Luna whisked them down another flight of stairs and into another hallway. The hallway they now found themselves in made Nightfall slightly uneasy. It was filled with stone busts of famous ponies, most of which Nightfall had forgotten the names of, but that wasn’t what disconcerted him. Quite unexpectedly, Nightfall found himself a bit turned around. He had had enough trouble keeping his bearings with all the backtracking and guard-dodging - not to mention the lack of decent lighting - and now he didn’t recognize this part of the castle at all. In fact, he could swear that he’d never seen that bust of Starswirl the Bearded before. It looked cracked, dusty, with the long beard chipped in several places, but he didn’t have much time to think about that either, for now Luna had them darting down another dark passage. They rounded a corner and at last came to the grimmest hallway they had yet traversed, and one which Nightfall had certainly never seen. He gasped, then spluttered as stale, dusty air filled his lungs. The place smelled musty and damp despite it still being above ground-level. Dour, lusterless moonlight trickled from tall, grimy windows, revealing an equally grimy stone floor, covered by a threadbare scarlet carpet, which must have been splendid in its heyday. Now, however, it could hardly be distinguished from the grey stone which surrounded it and frequently showed through its tattered shreds. This hallway obviously hadn’t been touched in years. Between the windows were darkened alcoves in the walls, filled with sinister-looking statues. The statues depicted all sorts of creatures, from ponies to griffons, minotaurs to alicorns, and several which Nightfall could not immediately identify. At the base of these statues were placards inscribed with long-forgotten names, ancient dates, and terrible misdeeds. Nightfall’s eyes rested on a dusty statue of a great minotaur. “Krulgar the Tyrant,” he read aloud. “Brought devastation with his Endless Hordes of Ruin in the fourth Solar Era.” The statue was enormous, nearly twenty-five feet tall. At its base were figures carved of the tyrant’s foes being crushed beneath his hoof. Its face was carved into a savage snarl, frozen forever in the ageless stone. Nightfall shuddered at the image created of this ancient terror. He looked to the next nearest statue. In the stone and lurking shadows was a strange creature the likes of which he had never seen. The creature had a long, segmented body with several spider-like limbs which seemed to protrude from it with no heed to symmetry. Nightfall read the inscription at the base. “Despair of Eons. Showed the world that Cruelty had a face in the twenty-second Lunar Era.” Nightfall looked up to where he expected a grotesque visage to be carved in the stone. Instead he found a smoothly-hewn face of blank stone at the head of the hideous creature. “Its face was too horrible to preserve in any memory,” said the Princess. “When it was defeated,” she continued, “it was cast into the deepest, darkest pit of Tartarus, where light would never again reach its unholy features.” Nightfall shuffled uneasily where he stood. All these statues were reminders, terrible reminders of ancient evils and great calamity. He felt as though the statues were all reaching out to take him and drag him back to the dark eras they rose from. Even the hallway itself seemed filled with malice. The tense moonlight cast long, gripping shadows along the floor, which crept along as though they were stalking prey. Nightfall coughed. “You have a task for me, o Mistress,” he said, straightening up. The Princess led him to the end of the hall, passing horror after horror along their way. Out of the corner of his eye Nightfall saw many names he did not recognize, but a few he did. “Discord, Lord of Chaos…...Vol-Draen, the Sundered Soul…...Sombra, the Shadow King…..” They stopped before a statue at the end of the hall. Luna bent her head before it. “Here,” she said stiffly. Nightfall looked up at the statue and froze. The statue’s large, black, bat-like wings were spread wide as though leaving no escape, and fangs jutted out beneath its lips, which were curved in a cruel sneer on its face. The cold, stony eyes of the statue starred outwards with condescension and icy indifference. This was a creature he certainly recognized. “Nightmare Moon. Smote the land with Darkness in the twelfth Solar Era.” The already-darkened hallway seemed to get darker as he spoke the words of the inscription aloud. An icy chill went down his spine and a horrible feeling overtook him, an emptiness that was only replaced by more emptiness. The statue suddenly looked like the darkest thing in the hallway. He couldn’t bare to look at it any longer. “.....H-....Highness!…..” he gasped, the air suddenly returning to his lungs. “Things are ahoof, Nightfall. Terrible things,” said the Princess solemnly. Her face looked calm, profoundly calm, just as the moon which shone bleakly through the smeared windows. She stared at the wicked stone with crushing serenity, not even batting an eyelash. Nightfall knew that the image created by that statue was most hateful above all things to Princess Luna. This statue represented everything that Luna now strove to eradicate from her kingdom, and from herself most of all. He thought he could detect a hint of almost-taunting in her stoic gaze. She was enticing the statue, daring it even, to try to come back. Without a word, she leaned inwards and touched the tip of her horn to the black needle protruding from the head of the statue. A pale blue aura surrounded her horn and swirled around to envelope the black figure of Nightmare Moon. It glowed and trembled violently for a few moments, shedding years of accumulated dust and filth. With a grinding crunch, the entire statue lurched back into its alcove, revealing a passageway at its base. The glowing and trembling of the statue ceased as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the two shadowy ponies standing before the yawning hole. “Come,” said the Princess, her gaze still fixed on the statue now sunken into the alcove. She stepped down into the blackness. Her hooves clicked away down the steps into the unknown. Nightfall had questions. Many questions. But questions were a luxury reserved for those with time. Hesitation had rarely been a condition for him to live by. Every breath he drew could be sompony else’s last. He had never found time to be on his side. Without further pause, he stepped into the hollow passage after his Mistress, and the two descended wordlessly into the darkness.