"It weighs heavy on my heart to stand once more where Vrael fell. I don't know that we're ready for this." Kiawátha sat atop his dragon partner, Jörmungad, and looked over the whole of Palancar Valley. Ristvak'baen, so recently renamed, was truly the place where the Riders would die.
"You know that it will not be Galbatorix that comes yes? There will be no avenging Vrael today," the dragon's low, rumbling voice echoed in the elf's head, tinged with sorrow.
"I am more than certain it will be Morzan who comes to kill us. Galbatorix couldn't be bothered to do it himself. Or perhaps he will send his shade pet to do the deed."
A dark dot on the horizon came into view as Kiawátha turned to face the Great Plains. It was a long way away, but certainly not Galbatorix. If it were, he would have been slinging spells across the miles-wide gap.
The dot closed quickly, resolving into the unmistakable shape of a dragon. Its scales were a deep shade of red, and Kiawátha knew that it had no name. Jörmungad himself had taken part in removing that much from the traitors that had become the Forsworn. When Morzan and his dragon were only a mile away, Kiawátha calmly uttered a spell. From his mind left all of his memories from Du Weldenvarden. Glaedr and Oromis were safe from discovery, at least for now.
The red dragon landed with no small amount of grace in front of the loyal rider and dragon. The red scales glittered in contrast to the deep green of Jörmungad's.
"Atra es-" Kiawátha attempted to remain courteous and extend a formal greeting to Morzan, at least to give the image of surrender; Morzan cut him off quickly.
"Do not waste my time Kiawátha. We both know why I am here. You know the choice that lays before you. I would advise you to not make the wrong one," Morzan surprisingly extended at least a semblance of peace, though that was revealed as charade as he unsheathed Zar'roc. The blade lost its definition when held against the scales of Morzan's dragon.
Kiawátha did not answer for a long time. The wind atop the fortress blew hard, whipping the elf's long, silver hair about his face. "Morzan, you already know the answer to that," the elf drew his own sword, a long rapier, the metal the same dark green as Jörmungad's scales. He slid off of his dragon, as Morzan did the same.
"Will you fight him on foot? You will surely lose! Come back, fight in the air!" Jörmungad made a move to allow Kiawátha to climb back up, but Morzan's dragon stepped forward and growled menacingly before lifting himself into the air and letting out an almost deafening roar.
"Morzan will not follow us into the sky he is not that stupid. But his dragon is. Now quickly, kill the runt," Kiawátha took up his pose opposite Morzan as Jörmungad jumped after Morzan's dragon. The two titans collided above as Morzan made the first move below, stabbing forward with Zar'roc, nearly making contact with Kiawátha.
The two Riders danced back and forth across the top of Ristvak'baen, Morzan slowly gaining the upper ground. Kiawátha's sword was too thin to cross with Morzan's. The human Rider's strength had also been increased by Galbatorix's meddling; he was now on par with any elf.
Up above, the battle was anything but mirrored. The two dragons, both colossal in size, tore and ripped and bit at each other, their scales forming a beautiful whirlwind in the sky. Blood from both of them dripped down around the two riders, but it was clear that Jörmungad, the larger dragon by far, was coming out ahead. Morzan's dragon's wings were punctured, its legs and belly bloodied. It took labored breaths and flapped hard in the air to stay afloat.
It was not long ebfore the wards around Kiawátha were depleted, and it was only seconds after that he sustained the first wound of the fight; a short scratch along his inner thigh. Blood began to leak down his leg, spilling onto the ground at an alarming rate. Kiawátha mouthed words in the ancient language as he attacked with a renewed fury, managing to drain Morzan's wards and deal him a blow in return, a piercing of the left upper arm. When he finished the spell his bleeding had been staunched, but he did not have the luxury to heal the wound entirely.
The fight continued on for a long time. As time passed, and Morzan tired, it became easier for Kiawátha to keep up and stand his ground. But it was just as he had swatted away a strike from Morzan that he could not deal the final blow. He felt a piercing pain in his neck and looked up to the sky. Taking steps backward to not fall over from the shock, Kiawátha watched as Morzan's smaller dragon continued to close his jaw tightly around Jörmungad's neck. Both dragons tumbled to the ground, Jörmungad taking the brunt of the blow as he smashed through a sturdy wall of the turret. Both dragons fell into the valley below, but it was not Jörmungad's roar that sounded after they had rolled into the forest.
Kiawátha looked over the edge of the tower, almost unable to process what was happening. He turned just in time to see Morzan recovered and walking towards him. Before the elf was able to raise his sword in defense or prepare to sidestep a blow, Morzan hurled his sword vertically, sending it spinning towards Kiawátha. Unable to react in time, the weapon pierced the thin plates and chainmail overtop the elf's chest. Dropping his sword, Kiawátha stepped backwards off the ledge in a desperate attempt to escape. He managed to whisper, "Ganga," and he slowed before he reached the ground.
It was not enough. He could not sustain the magic and the world began to go dark around him. He did not feel himself hit the ground.
