It was an epic battle.
Hiding behind an ugly stone statue that was an unsightly lump protruding from the ground of Urû'baen, bright brown eyes wider than ever and taking everything in, Varden member Jarsha watched the scene unfolding before him.
Smack in the middle of the capital's unsightly building, ahead of the battling armies – Galbatorix's versus the Varden's – two warriors were fighting. Their armour glinting in the sunlight that was streaming down from the heavens, they dealt blow upon blow upon each other's swords. Weapons had dropped from nerveless fingers, the faint strains of magic were left floating in the air, and hundreds of eyes were riveted to the two fighters as, through the clashing one of them yelled a strangled cry.
The one who had called out had a blue sword, and the other, a red one. While the warrior with the blue sword appeared to be tiring slightly, he had no helmet on, revealing pointed hears and long, unruly brown hair. This gave a way a tidbit from his life before this battle – a link to the past, so to speak. Staring at the brave warrior, Jarsha – as did every other single human, Urgal, Ra'zac, elf, dragon, or dwarf on this end of Alagaësia – knew that this human was no ordinary human…
The other warrior's helmet-covered head, darker armour and the ruby embedded in the middle of his chestplate suggested that, while he and his opponent may have been of equal talent with the sword, this one was stronger, more skilled in the ways of magic. A dark aura emanated from his very being – a secretive, shut, reclusive aura, not open and rash like the other's.
While they fought, above them soared a draconic, aerial combat between two dragons. One, its scales a shining azure, was considerably larger than the other, who – on its claw – appeared to be thicker-legged and stronger than his blue adversary. Claw upon scale, tooth upon skin, fire upon wing, the two were evenly matched. Red for blue, ruby for sapphire, blood for water, their scales matched the fighters' swords. On and on their teeth cut each other's wings, again and again their spikes ground against each other, faster and faster their barbed tongues expelled flickering flames.
Suddenly, the fighter with the blood-red sword began to press it down upon the other's. Had the circumstances been toggled slightly, it would have been a wonderful battle to watch – clash of sword upon smash of sword, their two swordsmen at it like dancers on a stage, aware of nothing but the sound of their own sparring and the hatred etched on each other's faces. Now, though, it hardly seemed fair, with the blue-armed warrior beginning to tire as he was. The dragons, though, were evenly matched – blow for blow, flame for flame, they perfectly matched up, each as strong as the other.
One could sense the warrior with the red sword smiling evilly as he began to overbear the other, his sword pressing down so hard so that the other's arm began to tremble. Struggling against the blood-red sword that was threatening to knock his own blade out of his hands, the elven warrior glared.
"Even if you destroy me, you and Galbatorix will never reign over Alagaësia!" he shouted, forcing his sword yet harder. One could see his arm shaking, could almost feel the blood pumping in his veins as he struggled to survive. "We are good! We do not kill if need be not, we do not murder recklessly in frenzied bouts of rage as you and that mad king are prone to!"
"And just why should I do that?" The red-bladed warrior's voice was much deeper, much more mature-sounding than the other's furious shout. "Why should I listen to you – you, who did not listen to me when I asked you to join our side?"
"You know it's not right!" Gritting his teeth, his opponent's face bulged in anger, rage, and… magic?
For indeed the legendary force of gramarye began to make its mark; the shining sapphire carved into the blue sword's hilt began to glow with an unearthly light. "Brisingr!" he muttered savagely, then looked up into the slit, soulless black eyes of one he had known so well… Had loved like a brother...
It pained him to do this, but he knew he had to… He knew that hurting his opponent like this was the only way to defeat him. Even as he acknowledged these thoughts, the young fighter twitched one pointed ear and ducked as the other's sword sent a fresh onslaught of pressure on his sword, which he felt was igniting. He felt it glowing as if the scales of his dragon had fallen to the earth as comets, glowing as if the sun in the sky had turned a beautiful celestial colour, glowing like the fire within, the inner flame that flickered away courageously for all he stood for… Glowing with all his heart and soul.
And it was like that he aimed a pressured blow to his enemy. "You know perfectly well that the path you have chosen in life is not the right one to have followed!"
"So what?" The red-bladed warrior glared, halting his maelstrom of sword sparring to glare the other in the eye. "As long as Thorn and I are safe, are strong, are alive, I don't even need Galbatorix." He laughed cruelly, and snapped his fingers; instantly, the glow on his rival's sword faded and it was once more nought more than a mere blue sword. "So why should I come to your side, Eragon?" Another cruel laugh as some mystic force sent the newly named Eragon tumbling. "Why should I come to your side, Eragon Shadeslayer, when the dark side can make me powerful, rich, renown…even famous?"
"Aye, infamous!" In a single bound, Eragon was back on his feet, a flicker of magic returning his fallen sword to his hands. "Why did you do this to us, Murtagh? Why did you do this to me, Murtagh…my brother?"
For the first time, the wielder of the red blade stammered, stuttered, not knowing what to say. "I… I… I do it because—"
But before he could go on, there was a roaring, immature, yet somehow inhuman battlecry from Eragon, followed by a furious summoning. "COME, SAPHIRA!"
The blue dragon effortlessly broke away from her battle with her blood-coloured enemy, lashing him away with her tail. With another inhuman battlecry, Eragon jumped onto her back. Murtagh began to mutter a spell under his breath, but it was too late.
With a roar that could only be the essences of a Rider and their dragon melded together, Eragon Shadeslayer attacked Murtagh, son of Morzan, with an almighty blow from his blue sword.
"Jarsha!"
The teenager looked up.