Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - A Home Once Hers
There is a tale of a man, a farm boy, who through circumstance, fate, and luck came to importance. He found the egg of a dragon, lost all he knew, journeyed long and far, suffered, loved, and eventually triumphed over the evil that had blanketed the land for a century.
This is not that tale. Unknown to all, somewhere in the vast world, a wild magic was cast. Reaching across the borders of existence, it grasped a young girl in the depths of her despair and tore her from her home. Dropped into a strange world she didn’t understand, like the flap of a butterfly’s wings, the changes she brought were vast and unknowable. Made sister to the farm boy, witness to his tragic death, finder of the egg in his place, his journey became hers.
Yet always she would remember where she came from, and yearn to return to her ancestral home. So it was that, at the twilight of her journey, she sought and found the means to return.
♦♦♦
The one lonely hour of sunlight shone down the throat of Farthen Dûr, bathing the conical mountain city of Tronjheim in golden warmth. The light shone through the Isidar Mithrim, twisting and bending through the rose-shaped star sapphire’s petals of crimson and dusky gold. Nearly a mile beneath its radiant bloom, at the floor of the Dwarven capital, a gathering of races the like of which had not been seen since the fall of Galbatorix two years prior was in progress. One might mistake the gathering for a grand festival, such was the decorations and feasting going on across the cavernous space, but in truth it was a much more somber event than appearances let on.
Kaenna laughed as Ismira, now just over two years old, tottered about, seeking to burn the image of her young niece into her memory. Following her as best a heavily pregnant woman in a festive ankle-length dress could, Katrina sought to prevent her firstborn from hurting herself or stumbling into one of the many drinking contests taking place. Ismira squealed as she was scooped into her mother’s arms just short of running face-first into a Kull’s leg that was more like a young tree than a limb.
A burly arm slung across Kaenna’s shoulders, pulling the young woman into a familiar embrace.
“What did I do to be so lucky?”
Kaenna turned her head to see the bearded face of her brother, Earl Roran Stronghammer. Though he was dressed in a fine white shirt, he had rolled up the sleeves to show his forearms, a habit from when they were young working on Garrow’s farm. Crisp black pants and polished black boots rounded out his ensemble, with the hammer for which he earned his name hung from his waist.
She tucked a lock of green hair that had fallen out of place back behind one pointed ear. “Oh, I don’t know.” She raised a hand and started counting, “You fought off the Ra’zac at Carvahall, lead the village across the Spine, stole one of the Empire’s greatest warships from under their noses, saved all our lives at the Burning Plains, lead the Varden to more victories than most of the other captains, and helped win the day at Urû’baen.” She dropped her hands and smirked at him. “And to top all that, you treat her right.”
“Hah, I suppose you’re right. Like you usually are.” His arm left her shoulders only for his large, calloused hand to plant itself atop her head and start mussing her hair. “You find a dragon egg, get trained by the Elves, even look like one now, and you turn into the wisest person from the valley. And now all this, just for my baby sister.”
Kaenna’s slanted eyes took in the massive gathering once more. All around them were familiar faces. Humans, Dwarves, Elves, and Urgals all mingled together as one people in a celebration of the life Kaenna had lived and the journey she was about to take.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words died in her throat as a familiar voice approached.
“Kaenna, mine kin,” Orik threw his arms open wide, “are you sure you must go?”
A sad smile drew up the corners of Kaenna’s lips at the sight of her adoptive clanmate and king of the Dwarves. “I must, Orik, you know this.”
“Aye, but what of the Riders? Without you to lead them-”
“The council will lead them well, I’ve made sure of it.”
Roran mumbled a goodbye and dipped away towards Katrina and Ismira, leaving the two members of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum alone. Orik looked up, meeting Kaenna’s determined gaze, before sighing. He ran one thick hand through his finely braided beard glistening with a fragrant oil.
“I still don’t like it. All this time and effort to win our peace and rebuild and the one most responsible for it leaving it all behind.”
“I know, but I’m pulled in too many directions. Between my loyalty to Roran as his sister, my oath to Nasuada, and you as my clansman and king, there are too many who have claim over me for me to appear impartial in nearly any matter. Even though you and the other leaders know I would give the truth, the people do not. That is why the council exists, why they have sworn oaths to recuse themselves if a matter would involve their personal lives, and why I cannot be a part of it.”
Orik sighed, reaching up to clasp a heavy hand on her upper arm. “You really do think of everything, don’t you Shadeslayer. To be honest, I knew there was no chance of persuading you now. Not after you and every magic user you could get your hands on spent a year putting power into the Isidar Mithrim like you would the gem on your sword.” He cocked an eyebrow as he looked at the sparkling gem far above them. “You sure you need that much?”
Kaenna shrugged. “The first test I did to send an acorn over would have killed me if I hadn’t worded my spell to have a way to stop it, and that was after a whole week of doing nothing but resting and charging my sword’s gem. The first successful test took me and Saphira pouring everything we had into it for a fortnight. If we’re to send Saphira, the eggs, our belongings, and myself through successfully… well I hope this will be enough or you’ll be throwing this party again in two years!”
A bit of the color drained from Orik’s face and Kaenna would swear his beard wilted slightly. “Oh please no. The number of strings I had to pull, favors to promise, just to get the clans to agree to this one time, I can’t afford it twice!”
“Well,” Kaenna clapped his back hard enough for the sturdy man to stumble, “I guess you’d best pray that it’s enough then!” A familiar head of black hair next to dark brown skin caught her eye. “If you’ll excuse me, I have more family to see.”
Glancing over and seeing what she meant, Orik let out a chuckle. “Right, and I’ve got more knobs to polish.”
Suppressing a laugh at Orik’s choice of expression, Kaenna moved to intercept her targets.
“Queen Nasuada, Murtagh!” she hollered over the din.
The pair stopped and turned, along with the dozen armed men surrounding them. The man’s eyes shone in recognition as he looked at her. A fine red shirt with black trimmings graced his torso, utterly failing to disguise the muscles beneath that could have been chiseled from solid rock. Beside him, the woman was dressed in a deep burgundy gown with sleeves that ended at her elbows.
“Ah, the lady of the hour finally graces us with her presence,” Murtagh said with obvious mirth.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Kaenna Shadeslayer,” said Nasuada.
Kaenna gave a short bow. “It is mine to see you in such good health.” She straightened and the rigidity fell from her face, stepping forward to clasp an arm with Murtagh. “I’m glad you two were able to make it, your message said your presence was still required in Ilirea.”
“Yes, the sorting through of Galbatorix’s archives demanded much of my attention,” Nasuada explained, “but, fortunately, I was able to make enough progress to spare a week for your farewell.”
“I’d imagine having a Rider for a husband helped cut down the travel time a good deal.”
A hint of color came to Murtagh’s cheeks, but if Nasuada’s flushed at all it was hidden by her natural tone.
“I-indeed, Thorn traveled the distance in far less time than a carriage would have, though my escorts would have preferred the longer trip to being separated.”
Murtagh sorted. “I told them Thorn could carry a wagon with them, but they said they’d rather have their feet on the ground. Besides,” he wrapped one arm around the woman’s waist, “I’m all the protection she needs.”
That did get a flush on Nasuada’s cheeks, visible as a pair of darker splotches on her already rich skin. She raised a hand to her mouth and coughed. Murtagh, getting the hint, let her go.
Kaenna smiled at the interaction. While learning about their mutual attraction during the confrontation with Galbatorix had been surprising enough, them choosing to pursue a relationship after Murtagh’s journey to heal from his mental enslavement was even more so. Nonetheless, she was happy for him. Being a member of Roran’s family meant he was like another brother to her, one she had precious little time to get to know before he’d been taken by the Twins and ensorcelled by Galbatorix. Their reunion at the Burning Plains, their clashes during the slow advance towards Urû’baen, and finally the confrontation in the throne room could hardly be called happy memories.
Since his return, however, he’d been almost like a new man. Similar to how she’d known him before they’d first arrived at Farthen Dûr, but with the cloud looming over his fate lifted. His marriage to Nasuada several months before, in particular, she’d never seen him happier.
Letting the barriers on her mind drop, she felt the sheer weight of life in the grand hall. Some, the few that could sense her mind brushing against theirs, recoiled behind their barriers, though most were as oblivious to her presence as a blind and deaf rabbit would be of a circling hawk.
Feeling one life in particular, her mouth lifted into a knowing smirk.
“So, were you going to tell me before I left?”
Surprise flashed briefly on the couple’s faces before both sighed in resignation.
“I suppose it was inevitable, nobody can hide from you,” Nasuada said, a hand moving to rest lovingly on her stomach. “Yes, I am with child. We were going to announce it when we returned to Ilirea.”
Kaenna suppressed a happy squeal, bouncing on the balls of her feet and clapping rapidly. “Congratulations! Oh I’m so happy for you both!” She jumped forward, pulling the couple into a hug by their necks despite being a whole head shorter than Nasuada and a head and a half shorter than Murtagh.
For their part, Nasuada and Murtagh returned the embrace with slightly more restraint. After a moment, Kaenna let them go, a veritable river of tears running down her cheeks.
“I’m going to miss seeing them grow up. Ismira, Roran and Katrina’s second, your first and however many more you have. All the Riders that will be born after this, the dragons returning to their former glory…”
‘Arya and Fírnen,’ she thought to herself, a sting shooting through her heart.
A warm feeling embraced her mind, the touch of Saphira soothing the ache Kaenna felt. She let the feeling wash away her anxiety before sending her own emotional thanks and comfort across their telepathic link. She knew that, as much as she was hurting from these farewells, Saphira was too. Up above the Isidar Mithrim, in the Dragonhold, the blue dragon was spending her remaining time with her green-scaled mate.
Refocusing on Murtagh and Nasuada, she wiped away her remaining tears and gave them a gentle smile.
“I think I’d like to spend some time alone. I’ll see you both later for the ritual.”
Turning on her heels, Kaenna left the couple behind, heading for the outskirts of the gathering to clear her mind.
♦♦♦
With the grand party taking place in Tronjheim’s central hall, most of the rest of the vast city was quiet and empty. Kaenna passed a handful of guards on patrol in twos or fours, some lone dwarves trotting on whatever errands occupied them, and a single lone werecat napping atop a statue. As she ascended level after level, though, even those rare presences faded from her awareness, leaving her with only her own thoughts.
It had been over a decade since she had arrived in Alagaësia. A decade spent in a land not her own, yet had become a home to her. Yet despite having spent most of her eighteen years here, part of her had always longed for the distant home in her memories. Memories of a gentle mother with hair the color of oak leaves; cities of stone and glass that would make any in Alagaësia seem mere hamlets in comparison; people with powers as fantastical as the most complex magic innate to their very beings.
A deep sigh slipped past Kaenna’s lips. It had been years since she’d thought so much of that distant place, letting it come to her only in her dreamlike trance that had replaced sleep for her since the Agaetí Blödhren. Only once Arya had pronounced her fluent in the ancient language had she begun working on a spell to, in theory, send herself back.
The basis of it was the same spell Arya had once used to send Saphira’s egg to Carvahall. Thinking of a way to say things that didn’t properly exist in the ancient language had been problematic, but the real breakthrough had been when she realized she could be somewhat vague with her wording so long as her focus on her memories of the place held firm. It was risky, relying on a wordless component to a spell, but to Kaenna it was worth the risks.
What she was less sure about was everything she was leaving behind.
After the battle for Urû’baen, and his ennoblement, Roran, now Earl Stronghammer of Palancar Valley, had rebuilt Carvahall into a thriving town. In a generation or two, perhaps, it would grow into a proper city. Most of the surviving villagers had returned to rebuild, and some whose homes had been lost in the war followed to buoy up the population and labor force.
The bald hill they’d played upon as children now boasted the castle Roran had envisioned. Well, part of it. It would take years more for it to be completed, but what was there had weathered the previous winter like it had been there for ages. To Kaenna’s surprise, a spacious room connecting to a large chamber for Saphira to rest in had also been constructed. They’d happily availed themselves of it when they’d come to celebrate Katrina’s second pregnancy.
Here in Tronjheim, the Dwarves had offered her a life of luxury which Stronghammer Castle wouldn’t be able to match for decades. Saphira repairing the Isidar Mithrim, the greatest treasure of the Dwarven nation, had earned them no small measure of good will. Saphira, in particular, enjoyed the Nagra brought to her to feed her ravenous appetite, while Kaenna took great pleasure in finally besting Orik in a drinking contest.
Then, there was the place where her heart had set its deepest roots, the Elven capital of Ellesméra. There was where she had truly become a dragon rider under Oromis’s teachings, had her wound inflicted by the shade Durza healed by the dragons in the Agaetí Blödhren, had her sword Brisingr forged.
Where she had confessed her feelings to Arya.
Heat rose to Kaenna’s cheeks, even as her heart ached anew.
Arya Dröttning, the current queen of the Elves, Rider of Fírnen, and Kaenna’s first choice for the Council of Riders. More than any other person or being in Alagaësia, she was the one Kaenna would miss the most. No, miss was insignificant for the hole in her heart that would be left behind once she departed. If any one thing would get Kaenna to rethink all her plans, discard all the work she had done over the past year, it would be Arya returning her affections in full.
She knew Arya shared her feelings, at least in part. Whenever their minds touched, it was impossible for her to not notice the emotions Arya kept tightly controlled just beneath the surface. And the night they had exchanged their true names, Kaenna had wept with happiness at being accepted into Arya’s heart.
But despite the intimacy that sharing one’s true name entailed, Arya’s position had forced her to set aside her personal feelings on the matter to focus on the rebuilding of Du Weldenvarden and, now, her position on the Council of Riders. There was no possibility of her and Kaenna being together so long as the greater good of the realm was more important.
Wiping away tears she had failed to notice in her reminiscing, Kaenna resumed her walk through the empty halls of the Dwarves.
♦♦♦
The mood in the grand chamber below the Isidar Mithrim was somber. Gone were the feasting tables and large casks of mead, ale, and wine. In their place, all present had gathered in a vast circle, in the center of which stood Kaenna, Saphira, six sparkling dragon eggs, and all the physical belongings they would be taking on their one-of-a-kind journey. Peering over the heads of the assembled people, were four draconic heads. Thorn’s red and Fírnen’s green, long since a familiar sight, were now joined by the copper of Mauvea and ruddy brown of Tugubad, the first dragons partnered with a Dwarf and an Urgal, respectively. Together they and their Riders, Murtagh, Arya, Orghó, and Yabgresz, formed the Council of Riders that would oversee the rebuilding of the order and ensure that peace was kept in Alagaësia when Kaenna was gone.
Stepping out from under Fírnen’s shadow, Arya entered the clearing.
“Kaenna Svit-kona,” the raven-haired woman greeted.
“Arya Dröttning,” Kaenna replied before offering the Elvish customary greeting.
Arya returned its companion phrase, a soft smile gracing her features as she finished. “Are you prepared?” She asked, still speaking the ancient language.
“I am in body and mind, and though my heart too yearns for that place it also aches to remain.”
“And yet you will stay the course?”
Kaenna nodded, “I must. Though the Council will ensure the Riders neutrality, and the wild dragons have taken up the plains east of the Edda River, I am too much of a destabilizing factor. I cannot remain if peace is to be kept. And we all five agreed that I should take some eggs with me, so that if another tyrant like Galbatorix were to arise here the dragons would still survive.”
Arya reached out a hand to cup Kaenna’s cheek. The green haired woman instinctively leaned into the gentle touch. They lingered a moment, the world around them disappearing into irrelevancy. Then, her fingers sliding away like a ship at night, Arya retreated.
“It’s time, little one,” Saphira’s melodic voice rang in Kaenna’s mind
“I know. Thank you, Saphira, for wanting to do this with me.”
“I’ve seen your memories of your world and been fascinated by them my entire life. Parting from everyone here is painful, but the honor of being the first to soar in a new sky is one I cannot turn down.”
She was right, as she often was, Kaenna begrudgingly admitted to herself. How a three year old dragon had more wisdom than an eighteen year old woman, she’d never know, but Saphira being wise beyond her years had saved them more times than she cared to count.
Turning away from the Council, Kaenna focused on the piles of belongings they were to take with them. While Saphira had grown significantly over the past two years, now being about the size of a house, the stacked crates, barrels, and bags would probably have been enough to inconvenience even the massive Shruikan before his demise.
Fortunately, Kaenna had learned a few tricks in her experimentation with hopping dimensions. Whispering words in the ancient language, she wove a spell to twist space upon itself like she once had to carry the Eldunarí. This time, however, she bound the space to an empty chest sitting apart from the rest. As she spoke, the assemblage shifted, shrank, then compressed into a black mote that drifted through the air to rest inside the chest. At her final word, the lid snapped closed with a heavy thud.
Breathing a sigh of relief at her spell having been completed, she moved next to the six dragon eggs. Picking up each with all the tenderness she would a newborn babe, she set them into nests of soft blankets in another chest, taking care to set each upright and to swaddle them before moving on to the next.
Once all six were secured to her satisfaction, she closed and locked the chest, then placed a ward upon it to keep all but herself from being able to open it and to protect it from harm. Hefting the chest in both arms, she hooked it onto one side of Saphira’s saddle. Lifting the other, much lighter chest, she stepped under her companion’s neck to attach it to the other side.
With another sigh, Kaenna went over her mental checklist of things to do. Concluding she was, in fact, at the final step, she returned to her previous location and faced her friends and family.
“Well, everyone,” she addressed the crowd, “it would seem the hour of my departure has come.” Her eyes locked on the group from Carvahall, “Roran, thank you for being my brother these twelve long years. Katrina, you keep him out of trouble.”
“I’ll do my best,” the redheaded woman smiled, “but you know how stubborn he is.”
A chuckle ran through the townsfolk as Kaenna looked next to Murtagh and Nasuada.
“Murtagh, though we share no blood you become like a brother to me. You would have loved Eragon, and he would have loved you in return. Queen Nasuada, may your reign be long and peaceful.”
Her green eyes moved again, next settling on Orik.
“Grimstnzborith Orik, I can never repay the kinship shown to me by yourself and your predecessor in making me a member of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. It is an honor I shall carry with me for all of my long years.”
“The honor is ours, Shadeslayer!” Orik’s voice rose to carry across the vast space. A cheer of approval ran through the host of Dwarves assembled behind him.
Letting a smile tug at her lips, Kaenna faced the Urgals, the smallest group represented, at least in terms of numbers.
“Nar Garzhvog, your people have demonstrated honor I could not have imagined when we first met. The tales of your people I will carry with me and sing of until my dying day.”
“And yours shall be woven into the Namna of my tribe so that all shall know of you,” the Kull’s deep voice growled.
Last, but certainly not least to her, Kaenna’s emerald eyes met Arya’s own verdant orbs.
“Arya Dröttning, out of all Alagaësia I would consider Ellesméra my home if I could stay. The gifts your people have given me are what allowed us to finally have freedom from the long night and the peace of the past two years. Would that my heart let me stay, so I could dwell among that sheltered space with you again.”
Arya returned no words, but Kaenna felt her mind brush affectionately against her own. It was the kindest gift she could have received at that moment.
Closing her mind, Kaenna looked across all the hundreds of people there for her. “I would have goodbyes for you all personally, but then we’d been here all season.” A few people snorted at her joke. “Instead, I say this to you all. May the wind always be at your backs, your harvests be bountiful, your children healthy, and your blades unneeded. Farewell.”
Pulling a sheet of parchment from a pouch on Saphira’s saddle, Kaenna unrolled the complicated spell she had devised for her transference. With how complex this undertaking was, even with her mastery of the ancient language and memorization of the spell itself, she was taking no chances.
Reaching out a mile above, she touched the well of power stored in the Isidar Mithrim. Once, she would have called the store that Brom had put into his ring as vast. Compared to what Kaenna, with the aid of magicians from every race, had gathered over the past year, it was but a dwindling pond under a midsummer sun. The vast ocean of magical energy inside the rose of Tronjheim answered her call, and she felt power beyond compare start to flow into her.
Not wasting a second, Kaenna placed her free hand on Saphira’s flank, then began to speak. The words of the ancient language flowed from her mouth with practiced ease, even the most complicated pronunciation gliding off her tongue. The spell was long, filling nearly the entire forearm-long piece of parchment, with numerous points she could abort if she felt something go awry.
As she neared the end, the air around her seemed to grow heavy and warp, the light shining through seeming to pass through molten glass. The sound of the murmuring crowd faded out, like a heavy curtain had been drawn across to muffle them, before the space was silent except for Kaenna’s words.
At the final sentence, she raised her eyes, casting from memory, to look one last time at Arya. A small trail of tears ran down the woman’s fair face, matching the ones on Kaenna’s.
She spoke the final word, felt all the power in the Isidar Mithrim drain through her, then the world cut to black.
♦♦♦
Blinding light flooded Kaenna’s eyes. Next to her, Saphira likewise let out a snort of discomfort at the sudden shift. Her eyes adjusted rapidly, though, letting Kaenna take in the sight so different from the depths of Tronjheim she had been in a moment before.
A sea of trees surrounded them, their broad canopies barely taller than Saphira’s raised head letting a midday sun speckle the loamy ground with light. The air was warm against her face, with a humidity that suggested the ocean, or at least a vast lake, was nearby. She closed her eyes, letting her senses expand from where they stood.
The babble of a stream was nearby. Birds, previously silent at the sudden appearance of a massive predator, had begun to sing again. A squirrel ran up a camphor tree, placing the wooden bulk between itself and them.
And then, at the edge of her hearing, a sound unlike any in Alagaësia reached her. Unnatural, sounding of metal and fire. Her eyes snapped open.
“Stay here, Saphira.”
“Stay safe, little one.”
Checking that Brisingr was secure on her waist and that none of her mail had come loose, Kaenna faced the direction of the unnatural sound and began to walk.
Familiarity tickled at her memory as she came to the small stream, crossing over a fallen log acting as a bridge. The trees began to thin, and light shone through the gaps in their trunks stronger with every step.
Passing out from under the sprawling arms of the final tree, Kaenna stepped out under a cloudless blue sky. There, spread before her, was the city of her memories. Buildings covered in glass stretching floors higher than any shop or home in Alagaësia; roads made of fused black stone bore metal carriages without horses or oxen to propel them; people walked along the smooth gray paths alongside the roads, their forms mostly human but some varying wildly.
Tears ran down her face and her lips curled into a quivering smile. Taking a breath, she spoke in a language she hadn’t uttered in over a decade.
“I’m home, Japan.”