This is a fic written for the "End of the World as we know it" challenge on the Writer's Challenges and the Dwarven Fan Club forum.

Alright, people, I'll say this once, and only once : DO NOT FLAME! If you don't like it, find a nice way to tell me... However, if you're Jessi Brooke, then you've got carte blanche to flame it as much as you like.

Hope you enjoy...

Prisoner, Slave and Rebel

Eragon's head snapped back from the force of the blow. He winced as he felt his lip burst, and his mouth was filled with the metallic taste of blood.

He hardly noticed. He had become accustomed to blows such as this over the past five years, the five years he had spent as Galbatorix' prisoner.

He turned back towards his brother. The man who had captured him and Saphira. The man who had betrayed all of Alagaësia. The man who had killed Arya.

He could remember that day better than any other. He and Arya had fought side by side, along with Orik and a few other dwarves. Thorn had landed twenty feet away from them, then flew off to battle Saphira once his Rider had dismounted.

Eragon's attention was claimed at this point by a Ra'zac that had landed in front of him and was almost instantly decapitated. But in that instant, she died.

Eragon never saw what happened. All he saw when he turned around to face his brother once more was the elf princess impaled on Zar'roc.

That image still haunted his dreams.

He had rushed forward to meet Murtagh, rage burning throughout his entire body. It was only after his sword had been flicked away and Zar'roc, stained a deeper red by Arya's blood, rested against his neck that he remembered Oromis' last lesson.

Never let anger govern your actions.

The flat of his enemy's blade collided with his temple, and he remembered no more.

Another blow yanked Eragon's thought back to the present. Murtagh grinned, seemingly relishing his brothers pain.

"What were you thinking of?" Eragon stiffened as Murtagh forced his mind open. "Your elf princess again? This is becoming monotonous, brother."

"Why did you do it?" Eragon grated out. "You hate him as much as I do."

Both knew who he meant. They had this conversation every time Murtagh came to torment his younger brother. The reply was always the same.

"Because I had to. She was my enemy."

Eragon's second comment had never been answered, nor did Eragon delude himself into thinking that it would be one day.

Vanirs lip curled as he considered his situation for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

He came to the same conclusions as he always did : he was a slave in Galbatorix' palace, and he entertained no hope of being rescued.

Five years since the Varden's defeat. Five years since Arya was murdered, and four since Queen Islanzadi died of a broken heart. Ever since her daughter fell, she had slowly faded, losing the will to live. She died the day before Du Weldenvarden was invaded.

Oromis died when Galbatorix' army had stormed Ellesméra, killed by the king himself, and Glaedr not long after.

And Eragon Shadeslayer was a prisoner in this very palace.

Vanir interrupted himself at this point, removing his gaze from the opposite wall of the cell that served as his room, but he could not stop himself from coming to the final conclusion that always ended his internal debate : hope had abandoned Alagaësia.

Even if the new band of rebels did manage to recruit enough men and train enough spellweavers to overcome the imperial army - unlikely, he reminded himself - there was no way to match one Rider, let alone two. While Eragon remained a prisoner and the last egg unhatched, there was no way for them to win.

And the worst of it was the Vanir could do nothing.

Roran closed his eyes wearily while listening to a report on the growing numbers of the rebel group. There were now fourteen hundred men, women, elves, dwarves and spellweavers who had chosen to join Roran : less than a quarter of the imperial army.

With Du Weldenvarden and Farthen Dûr occupied, the rebels had had to find a new base. Surda was overrun by bandits and subject to Galbatorix' rule, and King Orrin was working in the mines near Farthen Dûr. Lady Nasuada was a prisoner in the Kings dungeons, and the Council of Elders had been executed after the Varden's defeat.

It was Roran who had gathered together what remained of the Vardens army : barely three hundred after the last battle, and escaped the elven forest to hide in the Spine. The only other free people this side of the sea were a few elves, led by Rhunön, hidden but trapped in Du Weldenvarden. It was yet to be seen if Galbatorix knew of their presence or not. He knew of the rebels, of that Roran was certain, for no matter how hard he or anyone else tried, no-one could make him believe that the King was stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to take the throne and keep it for over a hundred years.

The only ray of sunshine, for Roran, in an exceptionnally dark sky was Katrina, now a proud mother of twins : Garrow and Selena, as Roran had insisted on calling them. They were both bright and cheerful redheads of nearly five years old, and were (Roran said) the cleverest pair of hellians the gods had ever seen fit to bestow on Alagaësia.

The witch Angela was with them as well, and the two werecats, Solembum and Maud. Few of the elves and dwarves had escaped the last battle, but among them were a choice selection of the best spellweavers, smiths, generals, politicians, archers, swordsmen and advisors in all of Alagaësia. The dwarves had also had the good fortune to have their King escape alongside them : Orik, after having seen Eragon lose to Murtagh, had sounded an immediate retreat, thereby saving most of his army from the initial massacre, only to have them butchered later by the army that invaded the elven forest. He and most of his clansmen had escaped, but few others.

Roran turned his attention back to Däthedr, who had finished talking and was waiting for his reply.

"I'll deal with it tomorrow, Däthedr." Roran heaved himself out of his chair. I can't concentrate now."

"Very well." Däthedr made no comment about the use of his name. Formality and etiquette weren't considered to be important any more, even among the elves, as everyone hidden in the Spine knew that it would only need one traitor for them all to be executed. They could die the next day, if Galbatorix knew of their whereabouts. There was no time for etiquette.

I KILLED ARYA! Woooooooooooooooooooooooooot! Who loves me? And no, she ain't coming back. She's six feet under and she's gonna stay that way!

On a slightly less psychotic level, please press the little button saying submit review on your way out. Or I swear I'll start killing more people off. People you all actually like.

Carly

Evil Random Facts Person and Evil Public Relations Personnel of the Evils R Us forum. Fear me if you dare!