This was written in response to the "End of the World as we Know it" challenge in the Writer's challenges and Dwarven Fan Club Forum. Thank you, Jessi Brooke!
Chapter 1
Eragon's eyes snapped up and watched as the bolts were withdrawn on his cell door. He clumsily pulled himself to his feet, and stood to watch his brother enter the small, damp cell. Murtagh approached him slowly, smiling. Eragon braced himself for the blow that he knew was coming. It didn't do any good. His neck snapped backwards and he collapsed onto the ground, blood streaming from his nose. He lay against the wall, eyes watering, trying to recover.
"You know, my brother," Murtagh said the last word with as much disdain as he could muster, "All you need to do is swear your loyalty in the Ancient Language."
Eragon stared defiantly at the one who had betrayed him. The one who had single-handedly doomed Alagaësia. The one who had – Eragon's eyes filled with tears – killed Roran and Katrina. This memory still burned bright in his mind, even after five years in Galbatorix's dungeons.
Eragon had thought that they were safe. He had been resting in Cithrí after defeating the Ra'zac. Katrina had just then became her old self. He had been happily watching her sit with Roran; Roran's eyes had lost their old sunken quality, and he had looked the way he looked before Eragon found Saphira. Suddenly, they had seen women and children running down the streets. A collective wail had been coming up from the townsfolk. Eragon had leapt to his feet, calling out with his mind for Saphira. Roran had grabbed his hammer and placed Katrina behind him. Suddenly, a vast shadow had covered the sun. They had looked up to see Thorn diving at them, flames spewing from his mouth. Eragon had urgently screamed for Saphira. He had been terrified to realize that he had lost his connection with her. He had looked back to see Murtagh leaping off of Thorn, his sword out. Roran had leapt forward, swinging his hammer. Eragon had screamed out "No!" but it was too late. Murtagh, grinning evilly, had beheaded Roran. Katrina had screamed and collapsed. Murtagh had smiled still more and spoken a single word. Katrina had clutched her heart and, before Eragon could do anything, died. Blinded by tears of rage, Eragon had lunged at his brother. However, he had been quickly disarmed, and had soon found Zar'rok at his throat. He had managed to choke out, "What did you do to Saphira!" Murtagh had smiled and said, "I believe that Shruikan is taking care of her. Slytha!"
Eragon was jolted out of his painful remembrance by an even more painful blow to the chest. He doubled over, coughing blood.
"Eragon…" said Murtagh slowly. "You really need to stop thinking about that."
"Thinking about what!" Eragon managed to gasp defiantly.
Murtagh barely flinched as he forced his way into Eragon's head, easily destroying any mental barriers that Eragon presented him with. He smirked as he forced Eragon to witness Roran's death once more. "That," he said, still smiling. He waited for a few moments, and then left the cell, bolting the door behind him.
Saphira roared out with pain and Thorn's claws dug into her underbelly. She felt his claws leaving her body, and shuddered as her blood began to pool beneath her. She struggled against the chains that bound her, attempting to get at her tormentor.
Fool, Thorn said scathingly, circling her. You should consent to the King's rule.
Never! Saphira said defiantly. Where's Eragon!
Thorn gave what was obviously a smirk. You will see him once you have sworn loyalty to the King, he said silkily.
Saphira struggled even harder. They had had this same conversation every day for the last five years. Ever since she had been captured, Saphira hadn't been able to contact Eragon with her mind. However, she still remembered the last time she had felt his consciousness.
She had been flying over the plains, hunting for deer. Suddenly, she had felt Eragon calling her. She had immediately turned toward Cithrí and had started flying as fast as she could. Before she could ask Eragon what was wrong, however, she had felt his consciousness disappear. She had kept on flying, praying that the worst had not happened. Because of this, she had been preoccupied, and had not noticed another dragon bearing down on her. By the time she had noticed him, it was too late; Shruikan had pulled her out of the sky and to the ground. She had attempted to fight him off, but he was so many times bigger that it had been to no avail. She had watched him brandish a gigantic claw, and felt it come crashing down on her head. Then she had passed out.
Saphira had awoken in a large cell, with every appendage chained to the floor or the walls. She had frantically attempted, once more, to contact Eragon, but it hadn't worked. Since then, she had been in this dungeon, refusing to swear loyalty to Galbatorix every chance that she got.
Thorn watched her smugly. I know what you're thinking about, he said. Your capture, right?
Saphira drew herself up as high as she could, considering the chains. She looked at Thorn, and said It's not as if you captured me. You could never defeat me in a fight.
At this, however, Thorn just laughed, though smoke could be seen trailing out of his nostrils. Yes, well, he said, at least I'm not imprisoned. He flew off, his laughter still ringing in Saphira's head.
Saphira attempted to lick her wounds, but the chains would not let her. She lay down, unaware that she was being held less than a mile from where Eragon was being held.
Vanir listened intently for any sound. Upon hearing nothing suspicious, he threaded his way carefully through the trees, his senses still searching for any hint of danger. The elf finally satisfied himself that it was safe and began to walk at a reasonable pace. As he walked, Vanir collected his thoughts, organizing them so as to keep his sanity.
It has been a long five years, he thought, inwardly sighing. Ever since the Varden's crushing defeat at Belatona things have been insane here. Though who can blame them for losing, seeing as Eragon had been captured a week before the battle. It's a miracle that they actually fought at all. Vanir stopped upon hearing a twig snap. He slowly knocked an arrow to his bow and waited, tense. The sound was coming closer. He readied himself, and… saw a deer step out from behind a tree. He sighed in relief, and continued. After the Varden was destroyed, Surda was next… poor, brave Orik led the Dwarves in a last stand at Aberon. Of course there was no way for him to succeed. And now it seems that he has been captured, just like Nasuada, former King Orinn, Jormundur and every other high-ranking official from the Varden. The only dwarves that survived must be the ones who ran away once Murtagh and Galbatorix descended upon them. I can only hope that Arya will be able to gather them together for her resistance group. Arya… Vanir thought. She has suffered a terrible fate. Losing her magical abilities… but I guess she should be grateful to be alive. But, without magic, there is no way for me to contact her… The last I heard, she had taken the survivors from Aberon to hide, though she would not reveal where. At the time, I wondered why; I could not imagine that Galbatorix's kingdom would reach Ellesméra… I can't believe how wrong I was. Vanir's face became sorrowful as he recalled the downfall of the Elven kingdom. We did not even know that Osilon was under attack until it was too late… By the time we had gotten our defenses ready, Ceris and Ília Fëon had been conquered. The first of our cities to put up a fight was Kirtan… but sheer numbers overwhelmed them. We soon found ourselves trapped between the Empire's advancing armies coming from the West, South, and East… Vanir shook his head sadly. At least Sílthrim posed a challenge. Galbatorix had to send Murtagh and Thorn to help out… And yet we still lost it… and then it was only a question of which city they would attack first; Nädindel or Ellesméra… Needless to say, we moved everybody out of Nädindel and into the capitol… We hoped that the two cities combined forces could overcome the Empire's armies… and it almost worked, but for one thing: Galbatorix showed up. He personally slew Oromis, and Thorn and Murtagh hunted down the distraught Glaedr. The queen held her own against Galbatorix for a moment… but she could not overcome both him and Shruikan… Vanir's somber face grew happier as he recalled his rebel group. We hid in the northern end of Du Weldenvarden… raided Galbatorix's troops as they marched through the forest, trying to eliminate all survivors… and then that fateful decision to attempt to escape to the East, past the Röna lake and beyond… I was always against it; it was too near to the occupied city of Nädindel… And we were found yesterday, the second day of our march… found by Galbatorix himself, with an entire regiment of skilled swordsmen… we were not outclassed, just outnumbered by a factor of ten… I am probably the only survivor… Vanir's expression hardened as he reviewed his plan once more. I must free Eragon Shadeslayer… or die trying.
Arya sighed wearily as she studied a map of Kuasta. It was tiring work to observe a place without magic. She had gotten used to her lack of magical abilities in the last five years since she had partially deflected a killing spell from Galbatorix. Because of her partial blocking, the spell hadn't killed her; it had simply robbed her of any magical ability. She could still fight better than any human, but she could not do magic.
She stopped thinking about it upon hearing a slight cough from her second-in-command, Horst. She turned to look at him.
"You seem distracted, Arya svit-kona," he said gently. "Perhaps you would like me to continue with the rescue plans?"
Arya smiled. "Thank you, Horst," she said, relieved. "I'm sorry… I'm just can't focus right now."
"That's quite all right," said Horst kindly. "I'll take over for you until you're ready to concentrate once more."
Arya thanked him again and left the tent. Horst is a good man, she thought. It's a pity that we've had such a rough five years. She closed her eyes, remembering. We had been completely destroyed at Aberon. I found anybody that was still alive and gathered them together… We had to travel across Surda without detection… and, by then, Surda was a bandit's heaven. There was absolutely no law or order… there still isn't… Galbatorix doesn't seem to care if there's order just so long as he's the one that controls it… Arya frowned for a moment. We had to cross the Jiet river, and then had to pass Feinster… the difference between Feinster and Dauth, though they are quite close, is incredible… Feinster is full of soldiers and has a strict martial law in effect… and Dauth, well… Bandits, slavers and thieves rule Dauth. And we had to pass both of them to reach the bottom of the Spine. But once we were past… well, then we were safe… Galbatorix couldn't find us once we were in the Spine… and now here we are, poised to raid Kuasta to rescue Jormundur… Arya looked up at the sky. And yet, with all my successes, the Elves have fallen… A single tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. I am one of the only elves left in all of Alagaësia… And I must not fail.
Well? What do you think? Yes, I know that there were quite a few flashbacks, but I needed to set up the back-story. Now, click the button that says "Submit Review". Everyone has permission to flame, since just having reviews is a privilege! So, even if all you want to say is that your dead grandmother's pet ferret could write better than I can, just say it! I won't take it personally… :'-(