Hey, guys! I hope you will enjoy this chapter just as much as I enjoyed writing it. This year has been rather tough on me and any comment you leave, guys, would be highly appreciated. Thanks for keeping up with me!

Beta-reader: Dragonblooded

Eragon could feel his heart skip a beat. Surely he had heard wrong.

His eyes chaotically wandered the room until they stopped to stare at Galbatorix in disbelief. It took him a few moments to collect his wits to answer. "You cannot be serious!" he exclaimed loudly, his voice shaking.

Something dangerous flashed in the king's eyes. He stood up from his throne unnaturally quickly. "Am I not?" It was not a real question. It was a threat. The huge dragon behind his back was not even needed for impact.

Eragon took a step back involuntarily. "Letho wanted you to keep Marzanna alive, and you can use Nasuada as bait," Eragon tried to argue.

"The Shade is my servant, just as all of you will be. And Lady Nasuada's role as bait has already worked. Are you not all here? I do not care for either of their lives." With that, he raised his hand into the air. Words of the ancient language started to flow fluidly from his mouth.

Eragon did not catch all of them, but he didn't need to. The effect was immediate. The chains holding Nasuada and Marzanna woke magically and started twisting around their bodies, until they looped around their necks and tightened.

Both girls tried to struggle, but the more they did, the more the shackles tightened. Soon the colour of Marzanna's face betrayed how bad the situation was.

The Blue Rider barely had time to pull himself together before he intercepted a sinister whistling coming his way. His reflexes took over and he stumbled a step forward, turning to face the sound. Saphira's shout echoed through his mind. From her perspective, he saw that the red sword had missed him by a few hairs.

That traitor! He had been dumb enough to believe that Murtagh was truly on their side, yet he attacked him from behind, honourless. The anger fuelled Eragon's first swing.

Murtagh avoided it with such an ease and precision that it made Eragon wonder if he had ever known his true fighting style. The gap between them was getting quickly wider. For a while, Eragon showered Murtagh in wild uncontrolled attacks, with no result.

Only the strain of the Blue Rider's muscles made him stop and think. While diverting some of Murtagh's vicious attacks, Eragon collected himself and his experience. He recalled his lessons from Oromis and Brom alike and evaluated Murtagh in a different light. For the first time looked at him from the Red Rider's own perspective. And the Red Rider did just the same. They circled each other steadily.

Murtagh's attacks were coldly calculated for minimal risk. From his stance, it was obvious he did not intend to lose. While Eragon could distinguish the typical male ego, craving victory, there was more to it. His half-brother could not afford to lose.

And then it all clicked. In his shock and confusion, Eragon had almost forgotten about the prize. While Murtagh did not hold anything against Nasuada, he was devoted to Marzanna through their bond. His brother had not betrayed him at all.

In a way, Eragon envied him. Unlike him, he was not torn between his duty and his heart. He was fully fighting for Marzanna, not caring at all for Nasuada's life. That sense of injustice made Eragon attack with renewed power, choosing duty above anything else. This time, though, his attacks were better planned, taking into account his knowledge of Murtagh's weaknesses and strengths.

The first blow Murtagh stopped only barely, as if shocked Eragon had attacked with such calculation. There was something like shock and realization on the Red Rider's face for a moment, before it was hidden behind a mask of concentration.

His brain did not really believe the king would kill one of the girls.

Eragon had to crouch to avoid losing his head, though the king would probably have interfered in time. With a few elf-like jumps, he repositioned himself behind Murtagh, whose more muscular body was now slowing him down. He charged at him and managed to cut the Red Rider across his chest, copying the shape of the scar on his back.

Murtagh staggered a few steps back and pressed his hand to his chest, only to draw it away painted in blood. While typically that would have made the Red Rider become enraged and reckless, this time he managed to control his temper. His mind entirely focused on one target.

The Red Rider minimized the distance between them and faked a blow towards Eragon's left thigh. The Blue Rider's reflexes automatically tried to stop it, but Murtagh was prepared. Just a fraction of a second before he struck him, he changed direction to slice through his half-brother's thigh.

A shout escaped his throat as the pain penetrated his body, shooting from his thigh to all the nerves inside him, each writhing with its injured friends.

Eragon! screamed Saphira. He could hear her trying to get to him, only to be stopped by Galbatorix's powerful spells. The Blue Rider tried to move away before his half-brother could attack again, but for some reason, the traitorous red sword was stuck inside his muscle, its point protruding from his thigh, perfectly wriggled between his armour.

As soon as he isolated his mind from the pain, a solution came to him. Murtagh was so far without a weapon. He swung his sword at his head. That blow would have efficiently decapitated the Red Rider if Galbatorix's interference did not tilt it to side, so Murtagh's temple was struck only with the flat.

It was still enough to make him dizzy. The Red Rider let go of his sword and Eragon was able to push him away, finally escaping Zar'roc's grasp. The Blue Rider charged, hobbling, towards his half-brother with his eyes set on victory.

Even though Murtagh was now defenceless, Eragon attacked anyway. His half-brother tried to protect himself. He raised his hand. And Brisingr went right through his palm.

A painful scream filled the room, and blood stained the stone floor. At the same time, though, the agony seemed to bring Murtagh back from his dizziness.

"Finish him, but do not kill him," commanded Galbatorix from his position in front of the throne, looking down at Murtagh with disgust. "It seems like we have a victor." With that, the king turned towards Marzanna's 'prison'. He was about to open his mouth to end her life. And he would have, if Murtagh's shout had not interrupted him.

A shout of a certain sentence, in the ancient language. Murtagh said it so quickly, with so much despair, almost as if he was grasping at his last resort. Eragon did not comprehend all the words.

There was one word, which stood out above every other in the sentence. Not because it was an extraordinary word. In fact, it was a basic one. Eragon would have understood it even with only what Brom taught him. It was the way Murtagh said it. He put so much faith, yet insecurity into it.

Duty.

Eragon, who was prepared to deliver his final blow and send Murtagh to the land of dreams, froze in his place. Shivers ran across his skin. He found himself unable to move. He could feel his chest clutching and tightening around his heart and lungs, cutting his breath short.

A memory resurfaced on the front of his mind. Sloan's voice resonated throughout him. "...As if someone had walked on my grave."

And he had to agree with him. That was exactly how it felt when Murtagh used his true name.

The Red Rider was looking up to him, blood pouring out of his temple, with anticipation and expectation at the same time. It seemed like the time in the room had stopped. From Eragon's shaking hand, which had only moments ago been prepared to attack, fell Brisingr. Reality was catching up with the Blue Rider.

Murtagh's eyes widened with surprise as Brisingr met the ground with a rattle. He slowly collected himself from the ground, just as his half-brother fell to his knees, beaten.

And he was not the only one falling.

An unexpected, sickening snap following the word 'jierda' cut through the tense silence of the room. Before anyone was able to look its way, the shackles rang against each other as they released Nasuada's dead body from their grasp.

Eragon, who had not even recovered from the loss, turned his head. His mind did not fully register what had actually happened.

There, on the cold ground, where many lives throughout Galbatorix's reign had ended, lay another victim. One might have expected a calm expression on Nasuada's face. Instead, it was contorted in fear and bitter defeat. Her head was twisted at an odd angle above her snapped neck, and her wrists were almost flayed to the bone.

The Blue Rider's breath seemed stuck in his lungs. He wanted to cradle the hope that she was just unconscious, but the way her body was twisted left no space for any spark of light. The world as he knew it was falling apart. He had failed everyone. He had lost the glowing lantern of all the Varden who followed her for a better future.

He did not know how long he was lost in his disbelief. He came to himself as Galbatorix was praising Murtagh, who at least had the decency to look ashamed, but clearly did not regret anything.

"I am pleased, Murtagh. You might overshadow your father in the end," said Galbatorix with satisfaction. Then his eyes, filled with a glint of madness, snapped towards Eragon. "We do not need to waste more time. Both of you make your vows of service so we may end the battle outside."

The Blue Rider lifted his eyes from his former leader up to Marzanna, half hoping for help or any kind of support in her. He felt so beaten. He was not ready to face Galbatorix again, or for the first time.

But while Marzanna's body was physically in its prison, her mind did not seem present at all. Her eyes were foggy and her face was expressionless. Eragon frowned and gave up any hope for backup.

"I am never becoming your servant," Eragon spat defiantly.

The corners of Galbatorix's mouth moved up into a vicious smile, yet his voice did not portray anything of the sort. "While I hoped for a different outcome, I am not disappointed. In the end, I do not need your will or cooperation to get an oath from you."

"I would rather die than serve you!" Eragon shouted, his need for revenge suddenly catching up with him.

"You will need my permission for that," Galbatorix said angrily as he turned to sit back at his throne, clearly pleased with himself.

He never made it there. Instead, he had to duck unnaturally quickly to the side and unsheathe his sword Vrangr. An icy statue, which no one had noticed until then, charged at him. For a while, Eragon believed it to be Boreas' icy form, until he noticed differences. The statue was not moving fluidly at all. Instead, it seemed as if its legs were moving too slow in comparison to its arms. Instead of a magical light coming from its head, where the diamond filled with the energy to power Boreas' other body was hidden, light shone from its hand, where ice grew over the diamond inside the pommel of Íssbrandr.

The statue swung its sword again at Galbatorix and cut through his cheek, leaving behind a bleeding wound. That seemed to enrage the king. Within a few moments, using all of his power and skills, he had completely destroyed the statue, until the sword was completely free of any ice. It was sent flying away from the king across the room, barely missing Eragon.

The king looked livid. Even Shruikan cowered slightly. It did not take long before Galbatorix's eyes fell to Marzanna. The she-elf was pale with exertion, but darkly pleased with herself. Galbatorix's protections and the use of the name of the ancient language did not seem to stop her magic.

"How dare you defy me you filthy creature!" With a few quick strides he walked towards Marzanna and clutched her head in his hands. Using some old, probably long forgotten spell, he immediately made the she-elf scream and writhe in pain, her wrists bleed profusely as the shackles bit at her skin.

It seemed like a minor pain in comparison to the one she was reliving inside her mind. Murtagh, who was until then standing, fell to the ground in screams as well, sharing the pain with Marzanna. The king was not thrown at all.

As everyone was 'entertained' in their way, no one paid any attention to the last person in the room. To the person, who was until recently body bound in place by the king, but who in his distraction had been let go of.

But all eyes were on her within a split second, as Arya, who had managed to sneak up on Shruikan, thrust Niernen into the black dragon's head.

A deafening screech resonated within the room, making it vibrate and shake under its power. And soon, the throne room started to fall apart as Shruikan tried to shake off Niernan and Arya. But it was stuck deep inside, and Arya was holding onto it tightly. With his size, it was not unexpected that soon his head rammed into a column supporting the entire building.

Arya fell to the ground with Niernan, safely landing on her feet in a cat-like move. Without waiting for anything, and not slightly afraid to risk everything, she attacked again.

For the first time in more than a hundred years, Galbatorix looked surprised, and clueless. Eragon did not need to be told to act. He jumped after Íssbrandr, which he pulled to himself just in time before a few stones from the ceiling buried it. The adrenaline crusading through his blood made his injured thigh numb, making him forget about the wound almost entirely.

And that was how a farmer boy ended a century-long tyranny.

+BREAK+

The world was collapsing around him and on him and in him, yet there was only one thing on Murtagh's mind. He caught a glimpse of Eragon fighting Galbatorix. He saw Arya trying to finish off Shruikan, who was wildly trying to throw her off, breathing out black flame that heated the room's temperature to near intolerable levels. Thorn and Saphira were just joining her.

Yet, his eyes were focused only on the girl hanging limply from her shackles. He ran towards Marzanna, avoiding falling stones.

"Marzanna! Stay with me, please! Marzanna!" But there was no response. Murtagh lifted her head to look in her eyes and saw that she was flitting on the verge of consciousness. He let go of her and tried to open her shackles.

Spells were still not working. Murtagh registered Shruikan roaring in pain and anger, but did not waste his time looking that way. It just indicated that they did not have much time. He swung Zar'roc at her shackles.

Nothing happened.

Murtagh felt despair fill him. With every unsuccessful blow, the image of Marzanna buried beneath the building came more to life. He shouted out and, with as much strength as he could gather, hit the shackles one more time.

Marzanna's body fell to the ground without any effort to stop her. Murtagh crouched beside her and tried to protect her with his body from the falling debris. The link between them was faded, but not disappearing. That calmed him partially.

"Watch out!" came from Eragon, and Murtagh looked up.

And he stared into a bottomless gaping black pit of sulphur and rotten meat braided with sharp yellowed teeth the size of a tree. There was still almost an entire room's width between them, yet he could not see anything else.

Soon, the blackness started to fade away with a sinister flame as Shruikan, in his last attempt to survive, tried to burn everything around him.

Eragon, with elven speed, was running out of its reach, carrying the bloodied Íssbrandr, leaving the king's corpse behind to be burnt and never recovered.

Murtagh! Thorn's shout went ignored, unable to help his Rider.

All of this happened within a mere second. Murtagh felt his life flash before his eyes. He would be remembered in this world as a traitor. He closed his eyes and waited.

Out of nothing, something hard pinned him to the ground. A familiar welcomed feeling, filling the well-known gap inside his chest, appeared as Marzanna's body pressed to his. He did not need to open his eyes to know.

But he opened them anyway to see an icy capsule forming around them. He could still hear and see through the icy cover the black flame blazing around them, burning everything but them in the process.

"You save my life, I save yours," a faint voice whispered to him as Marzanna moved her lips only a few centimetres against his ear. The exertion was palpable in her voice as she constantly recreated layers and layers of ice to protect them from the inferno outside.

And then the black light disappeared, and everything seemed to go silent. They waited for a few more moments before Marzanna made the icy bunker disappear.

They were greeted by a scorched collapsed room. Pillars were broken and fallen against each other, supporting each other and thus, the building as well. All the luxury of the room was completely destroyed, burnt to ashes. A huge black dragon corpse was lying there, pouring tons of scolding dark sticky blood. Nasuada's body was nowhere to be seen, and where Galbatorix's corpse had previously lain, now there was only ashes that barely reminding a human body, surrounded by melted metal.

And then, all the vows he still felt to Galbatorix vanished.

+BREAK+

"Are you guys alright?" Eragon called to Murtagh and Marzanna in shock and joy. He survived through the inferno only thanks to Saphira, who protected him from the unbearable heat. It still left him with many burns and wounds, but once he had killed Galbatorix, he felt his access to his magic renewed. Thus, he could heal himself to some extent.

Thorn seemed to have done the same for Arya. They were out of Shruikan's reach, behind his head. Yet, they still were victims to the scolding air.

He expected to feel victorious after ridding world of Galbatorix, but all he felt was worry, pain, loss, defeat. Eragon thought he had lost Marzanna and Murtagh in the fire, but he should have known better than to underestimate them.

He wobbled to them and helped the already-standing Marzanna to her feet. He expected her to lean towards him, but instead she slowly started staggering towards Galbatorix's corpse. He looked at her in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I am alright. Ch-check Murtagh. I just need…to see it...with my own eyes," Marzanna murmured weakly. Eragon just shrugged and knelt towards Murtagh, any hard feelings from the previous affair vanishing with Galbatorix's life.

"Let me heal you, brother," he said softly to the Red Rider. Soon, they were accompanied by Thorn, fretting over his Rider. Using Thorn's energy, they healed Murtagh's wounds and managed to get him to his feet.

"Thank you," murmured Murtagh, not daring to look Eragon in the eyes in his shame. "But it is not over yet. Let's not waste time." Together with Arya he climbed into his rider's seat and waited for Eragon to do the same.

The Blue Rider looked towards Marzanna, who was crouched over Galbatorix's burnt body, her back towards them. He took a few steps closer to her and called, "What is it?" There was a slight worry that the king might have survived even that.

Marzanna looked slightly alarmed. She blinked in confusion. "It..,it's nothing. I just had a moment of weakness. Let's go." She shot up from the ground and oddly hobbled over to Saphira so the dragons could carry them outside. Eragon's eyes stayed on the ashes of the corpse, which looked strangely dug through.

What is it, little one? We should go. The Varden needs us. Everyone needs us. Eragon just shook his head, feeling as if something important was vanishing from his grasp, yet the harder he clutched, the more it escaped from his hands.

It's nothing. They quickly collected their weapons and set off towards the battle raging outside.