Chapter 3

A/N: Well, here we are. 2nd to last chapter. Yeah. I don't own Eragon or Middle-Earth. Yes, I know Segura is here. She is indescribably ancient. Don't be surprised.

Aragorn stood. "Arwen, Sam, I am sorry. I must leave. If what Uthalîa says is true, there is no time to waste. Arwen, I have heard this story, but Sam hasn't. Continue, for he needs to know." With that, Aragorn unhitched one of the horses, climbed onto it, and rode off in the direction of the dwarven mines.

Uthalîa looked apologetic. "Sorry, but duty calls." He climbed up into the saddle of the Lethrblaka, saluted, and flew away.

Sam waved farewell, then sat beside Arwen. "Please continue." Arwen smiled at him, and returned to the tale.

"The boy was astounded. He had never heard of the Magna Crepusculum.

'What is this?' the boy asked. Jasymiv sighed.

'The Great Twilight is a curse. A curse in the form of a being. This curse has laid many civilizations low. The Rethor, the Warriors, the Helki, and the Sycopha, to name a few. There is only one way to defeat this curse. The Sword of Thalir. It resides in the Northern Evellands, guarded by a being of immense strength. Its body is wreathed with flames. It is a Balrog. The Balrog's chamber is protected by a fox-witch. You must defeat the witch and the Balrog at their own games. Then, the sword is yours. For this reason, we have named this ordeal "Fires of Thalir." It is your destiny to defeat this curse. Go, and we will be with you.'

After that, the boy woke. He shook off the sleepiness and gathered what little items he had. Then, he began his journey. For three days and nights he traveled, finally arriving at Thurgundhall. He began to hear whispers of the evil fox-witch. The boy knew that he was in the right place.

The next day, he left the city. He carried with him only his bow and arrows. Later on, he came across a cave. Smoke belched from inside, and the boy bravely entered. Acrid flame stung his eyes. When they cleared, he saw a hooded figure sitting next to the fire. This, he thought, must be the witch.

The figure spoke with a voice like claw dragged down a chalkboard. 'Velcome, traveler. Have you come to find Thalir?'

The boy nodded. 'Very good. Segura knows that she must find a good riddle for you. Hmm. How about this?' Segura closed her eyes, then recited, 'Vhat does a poor man have, the rich want, and the dead receive?'

The boy smiled. He had been poor all his life, so this was easy. 'Nothing,' he replied in a clear voice. Segura frowned.

'Obviously I made ze question too eazy. You may pass. Beware the Balrog!" She cackled to herself as a door in the back opened. The boy walked through it, and was immediately hit by a wave of heat. There, in the middle of the room, stood a creature of fire. Fifteen feet tall, flames crackled around the Balrog's body. In its hand, a whip of crimson, licking, burning flames was coiled. At the sight of the boy, the Balrog bellowed and started forward. The boy shot, but the arrow burned up before getting close to the creature. He tried everything he could think of, but it was no use. The Balrog was too strong.

The boy fell to the floor, and asked someone, anyone to help him. In his mind's eye, a man slowly appeared, sinew and corded muscles bulging. Then, the man spoke.

'I have heard your plea, son. I am Oromë, the Huntsman of the Vala. There is one thing I can do for you. I give you power that no mortal has held for a thousand years. Now, you can fight the demon.' The man faded, and the boy found himself back in the present with an angry Balrog bearing down on him. He stood up, pulled back the string of his bow, and let the arrow fly. The projectile glowed with a pulsing, ebbing, blue light that reminded the boy of the sea. Then, the arrow hit, and the creature was covered in a translucent, turquoise light. Its fire was extinguished, and the Balrog fell to the ground. There, in the entity's back, a sword was embedded. The boy walked over and extracted the weapon. The hilt was perfectly balanced in his hand. Even without ornamentation, the blade was exquisite. The work was masterful, light, and amazingly tempered. The edge was razor-sharp, a cutting side perfect for tearing through the hardest adamantine. The boy could feel a conscience in the blade, as if it were alive. I am alive, the weapon seemed to say. That night, when the boy fell asleep, he was once again in the Zerketha.

'Well done! I am proud of you. We all are.' Jasymiv floated forward. All around her, the Legaris hovered, seemingly unaware of the situation. 'There is one thing left. You must find the cursed being, and defeat him.' The boy nodded. 'We can send you to the being's lair, but we can do no more. We are bound by the rules that govern the Zerketha. Are you ready?' The boy nodded again.

The Legaris began chanting. 'Erythnul seturn morai Magna Crepusculum!' All was black.

The boy came to in a dark room. The air was chilled, and the shadows seemed to move on their own. A dark whisper echoed around the room.

'So, the great hero has come. Well, I do not plan to be defeated.' The shadows coalesced into the figure of a man carrying a dark staff. He struck at the boy, and missed. The boy jumped up, and reached into the mind of his enemy. This was the first time he had attempted to deliberately break into someone's mind, but he could see out of the man's eyes. He saw himself, readying the sword to attack. And then he felt the tug of another consciousness. The sword was tugging him, pulling him into its mind. He was part of the sword and the man now. He was a being of metal and flesh. The sides of the sword bonded with the meat of the enemy. He was a hybrid of two completely unlike things. He shot forward, and dug the blade into his own side. The weapon glowed with an unearthly light, pulsing between red and blue. It stung like a hornet nest. He screamed in pain. Then, he was just a sword. An inanimate object of metal with a mind. The Magna Crepusculum had been defeated. He slowly let go of the sword, reluctant to part minds. But he knew it must be done. As he released his hold, he drifted into the Zerketha. Jasymiv stood in front of the Legaris tribe, the Dream Keepers. Jasymiv was smiling.

'Good job. You have defeated the curse. Because of this, we give you your true name: Urúvion Beriadan, Fiery Defender of Man. Farewell, Urúvion. May we meet again in dreams.' The Legaris faded away. Jasymiv faded last, and she bowed to him. He bowed back, and she was gone.

Urúvion eventually left his land, and traveled east to an undefiled land he called Middle- Earth. He replenished the land, and reproduced. Every so often, a son or daughter would show up that had the same power as their ancestor. They became known as Ripente. As for Urúvion Beriadan, he died in the Shire, buried with Thalir, the sword that stopped a curse, waiting for the next destined Ripente to claim the legendary blade."

Finally, Arwen finished. Sam was silent, pondering what he had heard.

"The Magna Crepusculum was not defeated, though. It was weakened. It waited for the moment when it would be reborn, to bring a new reign of terror on our lands." Arwen said.

Sam looked up. "Am I the destined one?"

Arwen nodded. "Yes, you are the one destined to stop the curse forever. I will take you to the Shire, and then we can depart for the Grey Havens. Are you ready?" Sam nodded. "Aryetha toketha Urúvion gravi." She raised her arms, and soon, nothing was left but a slightly disturbed patch of grass.

They arrived on the outskirts of Sam's own village. He gazed hungrily at the humble cottages, knowing that he might not return. Arwen was standing at a block of stone, engraved with the first Ripente's name. Arwen bent down to Sam, and whispered in his ear. He nodded, and went to stand on the stone.

"I, descendant of Urúvion Beriadan, do claim the sword of Thalir for my own, and with these words, I will fight to the last breath to defeat Kutir. Likrit Rithe Firnthen Mosretta Skethan!" The block of stone shivered, then began to shake. It split in half, and a beautiful sword rose out of the grave. Unadorned, the blade was the most amazing thing Sam had ever seen, and he had seen a lot of amazing things. The weapon put even his new gilded sword to shame. Sam reached out, and the blade floated into his hand. He staggered back. The knowledge of this sword was incredible. A centuries-old battle weapon sat in his hand. The sword immediately bonded with Sam, and he saw the entire battle with the Magna Crepusculum first-hand. This was a force to be reckoned with, this blade. Sam looked to Arwen, and nodded. Arwen raised her hands again, shouted "Grey Jikolar Havens Senorise Kilthan Mithlond!" A great wind blew up, and carried the two to the Grey Havens, where Aragorn already waited with an army, and where the first gliders of Kutir were landing.