BLANKET WARNINGS: Eragon/Murtagh INCEST and SLASH! If either offends you, I'm sure you know where the back button is. This is a bit darker than some of my usual stuff- this does deal with homophobia, and I tried to portray Eragon as best I could in his situation (In a homophobic world, he has just realized he's gay, and he has been brought up to be homophobic) while still keeping him IC. I hope I succeeded. Since no one knows exactly what goes on in his head, I think it's pretty believable.
BLANKET DISCLAIMER: I don't own Eragon, or Eldest, bookwise. The only character I own is Talc, because I made him up while writing this. The theory in here is mine as well- that Angela's Prophecy could also be taken to mean Murtagh. (I go a bit in-depth on this through the fic. I have a full copy of the theory in my profile.) If anyone steals it without crediting me and I find you, let's just say I won't be very happy.
Extra Warning For This Chapter: Violence. Lots and lots of violence. (I thought I should warn you since I believe this chapter is the most violent and bloody in the story thus far.)
A/N: Sorry! My computer was down for a while and I had all my outlines and notes on the downed computer. My dad had to take it in to get it fixed and I didn't get it back for a while. I was also just on vacation to Egypt; I wasn't planning on writing during it, but the mood struck and I produced this. (It may be slightly different from my normal chapters, since I wrote this one out by hand instead of just writing it on my laptop.)
Special thanks to Phoenix for pointing out my mistake on Galbatorix's dragon's name. I have corrected it.
On with the story!
Italics: dreams or imaginings or memories
In Dreams Chapter XIII, Part C
Distant footfalls echoed on the sheer rock walls that nearly surrounded the red Rider and his dragon. Only a bit of the pass was visible from where Murtagh lay in wait, but more than enough was visible to give him ample warning of the enemy's approach. Rock walls rose on either side and at his back, making him a bit edgy at the feeling of being cornered.
The ground before him was rocky and dry, the bed to a river that had disappeared long ago. A few trees and some vegetation clung to life, existing on what little rainfall made it to the bottom of the pass each year. The green growths and small flowers on the cliffside seemed to be doing better than the plants at the bottom of the gorge.
Murtagh sighed slowly, attention wandering further from the enemy's slow but steady approach. Hazel eyes wandered from the near-lifeless ground before him to the one place in sight where plants yet thrived; the top of the cliffs. More specifically, he stared off into the distance at a cliff he couldn't see because of the bend in the pass. A cliff he couldn't see but could imagine; the one his fellow Rider was stationed on.
Eragon was waiting for the battle, just as Murtagh was.
The blue Rider had kept the cloak. He hadn't burned it or torn it to shreds, as Murtagh had half-expected. Instead, Eragon had kept the cloak, the simple action enough to cause hope to bloom in the red Rider's chest. Hope he had thought died with Eragon's earlier betrayal; hope for the future, for happiness, for proof that not all dreams were foolish wishes.
Then again, he could be reading too much into his brother's actions. Perhaps Eragon simply didn't want to bother with getting a blanket from the Varden each night.
The look in Eragon's eyes had said differently.
Murtagh had moved before thinking when his brother had jumped into Saphira's saddle, hands moving with the ease of long practice to fasten the leather loops around Eragon's leg.
Eragon had frozen, startled, but had then finished tying up his other leg. After some forced pleasantries, he had turned to Murtagh.
The blue Rider had been so unsure, almost afraid to face him. Hope had been only thinly veiled in the other Rider's expression.
An angry snort interrupted his thoughts. Either Thorn had been purposefully eavesdropping, as he had often done when he was younger, or Murtagh had been accidentally broadcasting.
(Thorn-) Murtagh started to say, a bit defensive, but then the sound of nearby footfalls reached his ears.
(I just broke into your thoughts to tell you company had arrived. You were a bit distracted.) Thorn said dryly.
The Rider didn't reply, staring at the previously unnoticed line of soldiers marching boldly down the pass. Said soldiers were clad in red and black uniforms with Galbatorix's dragon crest in gold thread on the chest; hardly subtle. Each carried his own weapon, be it a spear, sword, or other potentially deadly object, and walked with four fellow-soldiers.
Every six rows there would be a wagon with supplies. Each wagon was guarded by six men, three on each side, and pulled by donkeys or horses. Murtagh looked, but he couldn't pick out where the mages were in the lines of soldiers. It was likely that the mages had been disguised as normal soldiers and were marching with the rest, probably to prevent the Varden from targeting the magic-users first. With no way of telling who shielded the normal soldiers from magic attacks, the rebels would need to fight every soldier before finding the mage.
The red Rider briefly scowled at his inattention.
(Thanks for the warning.) He eyed the line, calculating the time until the enemy army got close enough for maximum effect. The frontline was still a good twenty or so feet away, giving him a few seconds to plan.
Murtagh's hand moved to Za'roc's hilt, the familiar grip comforting despite the fact that the Rider was certain he wouldn't need it. Aerial attacks only for him; he would be much more useful in the air than on the ground.
(No problem.) Thorn replied. The dragon's voice took on an apologetic tone. (I don't mean to be angry. I know you love him, but I hate to see you hurt. I don't want to see you reach for happiness again and have him destroy it.)
(I know you're worried, but this isn't the time to discuss this.) Murtagh kept an eye on the line as the soldiers closed the distance, getting dangerously close to the Rider and dragon hidden behind an illusion. The soldiers could see nothing but an open route to a supposedly unaware and defenseless Surda.
It was time to act.
Murtagh involuntarily tensed, then took a deep breath to relax and steady his nerves.
(Just... be careful.) Thorn told him. Sensing his Rider's readiness to fight, he shifted slightly and prepared to lunge.
(I will be.) With one more deep breath and the knowledge that the soldiers would discover the illusion the hard way if he didn't attack soon, he gave the command. (Go.)
Murtagh dropped the illusion as Thorn lunged, revealing Rider, dragon, and wall of stones as tall as the cliffs themselves. Three men fell before they knew they were in danger, torn apart by Thorn's claws. Two fell to Murtagh's cry of 'brisingr', the others realizing the presence of the enemy as the targeted soldiers burst into flames. The stench of burnt flesh and hair drifted into the air as the blackened corpses fell to the ground.
One more died as the men in front began to raise the alarm, torn in two by Thorn's teeth.
The dragon spat the torso of the man back out onto the ground, blood creating an almost invisible track down his ruby snout.
Thorn roared, spreading his magnificent wings and taking flight. As he took off he whipped his tail into the next two lines of soldiers, sending them hurtling into the nearest rock wall. The lucky ones took the full impact and died instantly. The six who lingered on were picked off by arrows as Thorn ascended.
Just a minute or two had passed since Murtagh had dropped the illusion. Galbatorix's men had barely a chance to scream as they died, let alone retaliate. The merciless attack left a bad taste in Murtagh's mouth, especially as the men were getting chances to scream now as arrows rained down and struck eyes, arms, legs, chests, rarely killing on the first strike.
Screams filled the air as Thorn continued to rise, the Rider concentrating on not listening as the trapped soldiers cried out for mercy, for their mothers, for their God to save them.
The donkeys used to pull the first wagon reared back, whining frantically to be let free.
He deafened his ear to the sounds, unable to listen to the screams of men he would have commanded in this fight had things gone differently at the previous battle.
This was war. If Galbatorix won, the punishment for everyone in the Varden would either be death by torture or slavery. There could be no mercy until the Varden was victorious, no mercy except a quick, painless death.
No mercy. This was war.
Thorn's growl split the air as the dragon continued to climb beyond the canyon walls and then the treetops, well above where they were supposed to be to deal maximum damage.
(Thorn, what-)
(I smell him. That filthy creature is overhead and I don't plan to give him an easy target. Here, at least, I can dodge.)
As Thorn spoke, Murtagh extended his magical senses. It didn't take long to sense the man who had once held his free will captive.
Galbatorix's magic practically leaked from the man, his very presence turning the air thick and unpleasant. The red Rider twisted in Thorn's saddle, glaring up at the terrible figure in the sky above. Keeping his eyes trained on the king, Murtagh quietly prepared several defensive spells he could use if the older Rider tried anything.
With just a moment's warning of displaced air, Saphira was suddenly there, blocking Galbatorix from Murtagh's sight. An odd mix of worry and relief coursed through him at the sight, the same odd mixture running through Thorn. The king was Eragon's problem now; it was Eragon's fight unless the blue Rider needed Murtagh to take his place.
The red Rider and ruby dragon couldn't help but worry whether or not their loved ones would come back to them in one piece.
Turning from the two dragons already beginning to fight in the sky above, Thorn began to lower himself back down to fly in-between the cliffs. Without preamble he began breathing fire, flames hitting the dry ground and setting the sparse vegetation on fire. The fire spread, licking the boots and pants of soldiers too slow to move out of the way and crawling hungrily up their bodies to reduce them to ash. The donkeys nearby brayed in alarm as the fire moved towards them. Weighed down by the wagon, they couldn't turn fast enough to escape and their fur caught fire. The pair tried to run, but the wind stirred up by the pounding hooves added fuel to the fire and it spread more quickly. In their haste, the donkeys trampled several men trying to turn and escape the canyon of death.
The wagon burst into flames as the fire continued to spread, trapping some men under its wheels and spreading the flames to others.
The donkeys finally fell under the fire's influence, having cut a broad and bloody path in their attempt to escape. Some of the men, still alive after being trampled and run over, were picked off by arrows, the magic of Varden mages, or additional flames from Thorn's mouth.
That wasn't the only pair of donkey's to try and run when spooked by fire. Murtagh and Thorn saw the scene repeated all over the canyon as they flew. Horses trampled the men trying to save them in their haste to get away from the flames already consuming their handsome coats. Wagons caught fire and food supplies were gone in the blink of an eye. Spears were reduced to blackened points of stone and some of the cheaper swords warped under the force of dragonfire.
They must have witnessed the death of a hundred men already, but that wasn't nearly enough to cripple Galbatorix's army. The well-trained were making sure they were well-armed and finding the protection of a mage. Thorn's firebreath began to land on magical shields designed to defend against widespread damage instead of burnable flesh.
Flying over one such shielded group, Murtagh scanned the crowd to try and find the mage, mind working quickly to figure out a solution to the problem of the disguises.
It hit him a moment later and he wasted no time in putting it into action. His mind went to work investigating the minds of the soldiers beneath him, scanning their surface thoughts.
The Rider quickly worked his way through the minds of ordinary soldiers, thoughts of wives, children, friends, families, and lovers not his own flashing through his head before being shoved aside.
He could not think of the people waiting at home for these men, men who would never leave this battlefield.
The Rider finally encountered resistance to his mental probing, a mind awash in yellow magic. He pinpointed the man, instantly noting the improper grip the man held on the long spear. This was the mage.
The man must have sensed Murtagh's attention, for he looked up into Murtagh's face.
The Rider couldn't make out the features, but he could sense the fear, the terror.
"Blothr osu onr." No mercy.
The man crumpled, heart having stopped before he realized he was dying. Quick, painless, cold. The soldiers that had been under the mage's protection saw their yellow shield flicker and die. Most turned to run, all having seen the dragon-shaped shadow hovering over them and knowing what came next if they didn't find another source of magical protection. Some, the archers of the group, nocked arrows and aimed.
Before they could fire, both archers and arrows were reduced to ashes. The running soldiers weren't far behind, some dropping and rolling along the burning ground to try and put out the flames while others ran screaming from the stench of death and burnt skin.
Heart heavy and with a lump in his throat, Murtagh continued on. He spurred Thorn to the next large group of soldiers, heading for the pass entrance where actual fighting would be going on, where the ground forces of the Varden had been stationed and fighting and killing wouldn't feel so much like cold-blooded murder, wholesale slaughter.
It wasn't just an ambush or the Varden's only hope for victory; it was a massacre too.
The flames spread on the ground, consuming even the already dead bodies of the soldiers and the bodies of those still dying, arrow or magical wounds preventing them from moving. Ash was all that remained, ash and the scent of burnt hair, flesh, and death and smoke and screams drifted into the clear blue sky.
Line Break
(Saphira, dive!) Eragon commanded, more a warning than an order. The sapphire dragon was already moving, wings tucked to aid their drop towards the distant trees.
A burst of fire sailed harmlessly overhead, missing the Rider by several feet. The brunette allowed himself a small, grim smile as Saphira pulled out of the dive and circled around the black dragon above and behind them in the sky. Saphira had dodged Shruikan's flames before Eragon had warned her. His dragon was getting better at predicting the larger beast's actions, just as Eragon's ability to predict Galbatorix's movements had grown drastically.
As expected, the king had ordered his dragon into a dive in order to follow the younger Rider-dragon pair. Saphira, however, had circled too quickly for Shruikan to follow. The black beast was in the process of turning when Saphira flew at the unprotected neck.
It was a bit risky since Shruikan would easily be able to bite through Saphira's neck, metal plates and all, if the older dragon turned in time and the younger couldn't dodge. Still, the potential reward outweighed the risk and this maneuver had so far succeeded three times out of five.
Shruikan was still bleeding from the last such attack, several scales torn away from his neck and deep gashes from Saphira's claws still dripping.
Saphira's claws once again found purchase in Shruikan's neck and the black dragon roared in pain before whipping his head around to bite at the smaller dragon. Saphira had attacked too close to his body; the larger beast was able to get his head around and his teeth nearly found flesh when Saphira dodged. With an angry snarl, she pulled away and dove, the attack barely grazing her tail.
Expecting their opponents to follow, Saphira angled upwards and spun in midair to face the enemy.
Galbatorix hadn't moved.
Eragon watched suspiciously as his opponent just hung there, dragon's wings pumping lightly as the creature hovered.
"Is your defiance... really worth all of this?" the king asked him, shouting to be heard. A hand, one that had been holding a shoulder injured by Ceszori, gestured to the battlefield far below.
Eragon's eyes flicked down instinctively before moving back to the king. Even the brief glance had made his stomach clench.
The scene below was one of pure carnage.
Parts of the pass itself were burned black, the clifftops blackened in areas by fire spells likely cast by the king's mages. One cliff was entirely gone, brought down by more magic, and the red spots at the bottom of the canyon were too visible against the black ash.
Even so, the fight continued. Screams still drifted passed the Rider's ears. When he looked he could still see the groups of soldiers that had somehow gotten atop the cliffs and were attacking the archers, the mages, and the ground fighters who were trying to help their fellow rebels. So many dead...
"It's not too late to join me. Even now it's not too late."
Stunned and horrified by the unexpected offer, Eragon only stared at Galbatorix. The king seemed perfectly calm and sincere about his offer, causing an uneasy feeling to grow inside of the blue Rider.
"You're a better warrior than I expected. I can always use those with strength in my army. Besides, the seat at my right hand has been empty since your father, Morzan, was killed by a foolish old man. Murtagh was never good enough to hold such responsibility, but you have the potential to be great." Galbatorix extended a hand. "Join me."
The unintentional reminder of the first mentor he had had in his journey to become a true Rider shook Eragon out of his stupor. He gritted his teeth at the remembered sensation of loss, shoving his grief aside in favor of anger.
He couldn't figure out what the king was trying to do; he couldn't actually mean the offer. Galbatorix likely knew that Eragon would never agree to work for the king. So why...?
Unless... maybe the king was afraid he was losing and the offer was some sort of trick to buy time until he could figure out a way to turn things around?
Quickly, Eragon took stock of their respective wounds.
Both his helmet and gauntlets were gone- the helmet had come off when Saphira had been forced to spin upside down to avoid an attack, and he had lost one gauntlet each to an ice spell and sword attack from Galbatorix. Ceszori hung, sheathed, from his belt.
A cut on his forehead, minor though it was, had nevertheless bled heavily and Eragon was certain his ribs and left side were bruised from an attack that would have sliced him in two had he not worn such fine armor. As it was, the outline of the strike was still visible in the metal, it having bent inward from the force. Minor cuts traveled up and down his arms, one deep gash along his right forearm and left shoulder badly burned by magic. Some of his neck and hair had been singed as well. One of his legs was broken, hit by a spell he hadn't been able to block or dodge, and a deep cut still bled sluggishly on his thigh. The wound to his thigh had severed several riding straps as well, making that leg less secure than Eragon would have liked.
Slowly, his magic was beginning to wane as well. He had exhausted some of the gems in his belt when he expelled Galbatorix from his mind and had needed to resist the king's attempts to get inside his head several time since. With all the defensive and offensive spells he was using, he was down to the magic stored in Ceszori's jewel and the magic inside his body.
Saphira was covered in minor wounds, her only major damage three deep gashes on her sides from where Shruikan had tried and ultimately failed to grab her.
The black dragon himself had no major damage besides the neck wound, but minor scrapes and scratches covered his legs, body, and tail.
Galbatorix had one wounded shoulder from a rather well-placed strike by Eragon's blade. A few riding straps were cut on one side from a strike too shallow to draw blood, but the king's other leg was cut deeply from hip to knee. Several straps had been destroyed, almost freeing the leg.
The armor the king wore had protected most of his body, but Eragon had managed to remove pieces of it and put scratches on what remained. An ice spell Eragon had cast had frozen part of Galbatorix's armor and chest before the king had managed to stop it. Another spell had burned the king's bald head and part of his face, the black and red burn giving the man an almost demonic appearance. A shallow cut on his right cheek ended the list of damage to Galbatorix.
"That 'foolish old man' was named Brom." Eragon snapped. He made a vague, tight gesture between himself and Galbatorix. "We seem pretty evenly matched. What makes you think I would want to join you?"
Eragon took a deep breath, trying to calm his anger. Anger led to haste and haste to getting himself killed.
"What makes you think," he reiterated, voice struggling to be level. "-that I would ever want to join you?"
Images began to play behind his eyes. Garrow's body, motionless and burning; Brom, dead from a Ra'zac's knife and resting underneath pure crystal; Krin, lifeless body tumbling through the air to end as only a blood-red stain on the ground. Others, those not killed but simply harmed through Galbatorix's rule. There was Arya, tortured for weeks by Durza and only able to cope by disassociating herself from the trauma; Roran, forced into leadership too early and forced to leave his home and everything he knew; Nasuada, forced to become a leader for hundreds by the premature death of her father. Countless others, those he had never met and those he would never meet, suffered every day, sending off brothers, sons, and husbands to fight the group intending to free them. Lives completely destroyed by the war, families sundered, all to bring down one unspeakably evil man.
Last, he thought of the one who had suffered most because of Galbatorix. An unwilling traitor and now untrusted ally, one who had been forced into slavery and mind torn open for Galbatorix to see all his darkest secrets and terrible memories. The one who Eragon himself had betrayed so horribly.
Murtagh. The brother he could not see as a brother. The one he could only now admit he loved; the one who hopefully loved him still, despite everything that had happened between them.
Galbatorix seemed mildly disappointed by Eragon's refusal, but only mildly. Alarm bells began to go off in the blue Rider's mind, more memories of what Murtagh had been forced into spinning through his mind.
"I won't. Never. You can't make me." Eragon said, horrified at the very thought. Murtagh had survived being controlled by the king, but Eragon wasn't sure he had the same inner strength to survive with his sanity intact.
"I don't intend to. Pity, but it seems the 'new age' of Dragon Riders is over before it was truly begun." Galbatorix's uninjured arm came up before Eragon had time to prepare himself for the continuation of their fight.
"Garjzla."
At the king's command, a brilliant white light exploded into being. Eragon cried out and Saphira shrieked, both caught off-guard by what seemed to be the light of a hundred suns. Both man and dragon instinctively tried to close their eyes, Eragon raising his arm to try and further block the light. Said light burned out of existence several moments later, but the damage had been done. Temporarily blind, as was his dragon, Eragon could no longer tell where Galbatorix was, or even if the king had moved since casting.
In any case, Eragon had to move; waiting made him an easy mark.
(Saphira, higher!)
With no way of telling how close the ground was, Eragon couldn't risk a dive. They would probably crash into the treetops before it occurred to either of them to pull up.
The sapphire dragon angled upwards immediately, flapping powerfully.
It was eerie and worrisome how Eragon couldn't pinpoint his enemy's location- he heard nothing but the flap of his dragon's wings and the pounding of his own heart.
Galbatorix had to plan on attacking. Eragon's vision was already starting to clear, but he couldn't make out much beyond a vague hint of blue. The king wouldn't create the opportunity and then not use it, especially since Eragon would be watching for the light trick now. It wouldn't catch him off guard again, though he wasn't sure yet how he'd block it.
All of a sudden, Saphira began to plummet. It was as if her wings had just stopped working, though Eragon couldn't tell without his sight.
"Saphira?!" Eragon screamed, panicked as they continued to fall. He held tightly onto the saddle he couldn't see, knuckles turning white with the desperation of his grip.
They stopped just as abruptly as they had started, with an added jarring impact the Rider was certain his dragon had gotten the worst of.
They hadn't been falling long; Eragon was fairly certain they hadn't hit the ground, but wasn't sure what had caused the impact.
(Saphira, what hap-)
(Eragon, I-I can't move.) Her voice clearly showed her strain and the sharp edge of panic made Eragon's anger cool and blood run cold.
His vision continued to clear, clearing enough to allow the Rider to make out a large, dark shape some dozens of feet away and a bit above. Eragon didn't need his vision to clear fully to figure out what had happened. Galbatorix had obviously paralyzed Saphira with magic and then levitated her through the same means. It was a lot like when the king had levitated those poor people and Krin from the clifftop-
The bottom seemed to drop out of Eragon's stomach as his vision fully cleared and he realized the king's true intentions.
(We have to get you free. We have to move.) he thought frantically. He could have cut the riding straps and jumped, but that would mean abandoning Saphira. Eragon wasn't sure if the spell Galbatorix had created worked on dragons, but he couldn't risk Galbatorix stealing Saphira's spirit.
Besides, the ground was a long way down and falling bodies weren't exactly difficult to intercept or hit.
(I'm trying!) Saphira was just as panicked, having come to the conclusion moments before Eragon had. Her muscles shook with strain, but she didn't move. The paralysis spell was good and wouldn't wear off soon enough or be broken by physical means.
He needed to get her free, and fast.
"Brakka du vanyalí-" he began, but was cut off by a malicious, booming voice he had become familiar with over the course of their fight.
"Too late. You should have joined me. I suppose, in a way, you are. Your power will feed my own, and it is your power I'll use to kill every last man, woman, and child in the Varden." Galbatorix smiled cruelly. "The souls of Riders did always taste best... so much power contained inside one person..."
Eragon tried to finish the spell, words coming to his lips, but he knew that even if he finished the spell now it was too late. He wouldn't have time to dodge even if he was free.
Galbatorix lifted his hand, magic already collected in the palm, and spoke.
"Freohr hikam."
Line Break
Murtagh had thought that the battle was going pretty well. While the Varden suffered casualties, Galbatorix's army suffered heavier loss of life. When he chanced glances at the battle in the sky, the king and blue Rider seemed pretty even in terms of strength.
He was starting to seriously think that they would win. The red Rider stayed on dragonback, directing Thorn to make calculated bursts where men from Galbatorix's army were concentrated. They had landed once or twice for greater precision, but the Varden seemed to be holding its own.
Some of the red and black clad mages and soldiers managed to put up a good fight with weapons rescued from the corpses of their fellows or the wagons, but it was obvious that the ground victory would soon belong to the Varden.
A flash of light in the sky caught his attention and he turned in the saddle to look up. The light didn't bode well; when he saw Saphira and Eragon fall, he knew the ominous feeling in his chest was right.
Even before they were stopped by an invisible force, Murtagh knew Galbatorix's plan. He had seen it too often while living in Uru'baen. Thorn turned towards the light as well, having caught the flash out of his peripheral vision as he flew over the pass. He, too, recognized what the king was plotting, eyes widening in horror.
(Saphira!) he cried, panic drenching his voice. Still, to Murtagh's shock, he didn't deviate from the course and kept flying forward.
(What are you waiting for? If we don't do something-) Murtagh began, worry trying and failing to morph into anger. Fear for his brother was overwhelming and couldn't be easily overcome by something like anger. What Eragon faced now was worse than death. He had to do something.
(I know!) Thorn snapped, gaze not moving from the helpless blue figure in the sky but still not turning. (But you are my Rider. I know what you're planning and I don't- I can't lose you either.)
Murtagh hesitated at the very real concern and distress in his dragon's voice. Thorn was obviously torn between his love for Saphira and his love for his Rider, Murtagh.
(Thorn... I'm sorry, but... please.)
Thorn didn't turn.
(You want to save them too.) Hazel eyes worriedly assessed the situation in the sky above. The time to act was running out and soon he wouldn't be able to do anything at all.
(If we don't go now we'll be too late, Thorn, please!)
With a howl, Thorn turned sharply towards the scene of impending tragedy. Powerful wingbeats brought them closer and closer to the target, close enough to see black magic begin to pool in Galbatorix's hand. Neither the king nor the blue Rider seemed to notice their approach.
(We won't make it before he casts.) Murtagh's insides felt like lead. They were too far away to prevent the spell from being cast- had they been a few seconds earlier Murtagh could have distracted the king with some sort of offensive spell, but the soul-snatching spell was on the verge of crossing Galbatorix's lips.
They weren't too far away to prevent harm coming to Eragon or Saphira though, and that was the important thing. Murtagh wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did nothing now, even though the price was high to save Eragon's spirit.
It was worth it.
(You already knew that.) Thorn growled in reply, the dragon's obvious pain taking any sting out of the comment. (Don't pretend you didn't.)
The ruby dragon was already flying for the stretch of sky between Shruikan and Saphira. They would be there in just a few more wingbeats.
Everything seemed to slow down.
Galbatorix's hand formed the black crescent just as Thorn put himself in harm's way. The crescent hurtled forward as Murtagh raised his hand.
Any type of shield may have proven futile before, but Murtagh couldn't just let the attack come without at least trying to defend himself.
(I really am sorry, Thorn.)
"Skolir eka fra vanyali." Red magic thickly colored the air in a large globe-shape around the Rider and his dragon.
(I know, Murtagh.)
The black magic Galbatorix had cast struck the shield Murtagh had created, the most powerful one he knew how to create.
With barely a second's pause, the black crescent tore through the shield and struck.
The red Rider could feel the magic hit, opening a disturbingly bloodless wound from his right shoulder to left hip before the magic slithered inside the gash and entered his body.
It hurt. The pain was worse than anything else, the wound seeming to cut right through him. Sludge poured into his body from the wound, black magic alternating between feeling like hellfire and utter cold, creating different extremes of pain within a few seconds of each other. He couldn't tell which hurt more or what hurt the most before a new sensation washed over him.
He was being eaten alive. Red hot creatures with acid mouths swam in the toxic magic, devouring his flesh and strength.
His brain was exploding with the feeling, pain sensors working overtime and quickly being overwhelmed. He couldn't tell what was injured, which was way up, or what pain was real and what was only in his mind. His bones were being cracked and sucked dry of all marrow before being replaced inside his body, splintered and broken.
His lungs weren't working, deep breaths of air on causing icicles to grow and send needle-sharp pains through the organs.
All else was melting, his inner organs forming a useless soup of flesh as the red-hot creatures continued to tear at his strength and dissolve his body from the inside.
Murtagh didn't even realize he was flying through the air until he collided with something firm.
It hurt. His seemingly liquefied organs sloshed around, disturbing his splintered bones. The bones broke fully, all at once, and a rib went through one of his iced lungs, white-hot blood pouring in and choking him.
What was real? His body was one mass of pain, injuries in his leg being felt in his arm and bruises felt like cuts. Everything was so muddled...
As he blacked out, he could have sworn he heard someone call his name, but nothing was concrete except for the existence of pain.
Then, only the darkness existed.
Line Break
Eragon had watched in fear as the spell traveled towards him, then horror as Murtagh had appeared out of nowhere to take the hit.
The impact had torn the red Rider from his saddle straps, blasting him backwards and into Eragon. The ruby dragon had dropped as the spell impacted, only to dazedly lift a wing and glide ungracefully to the ground, where he had apparently blacked out.
As had his Rider.
Eragon stared down at the limp figure in his arms. Only the slight tremors and harsh breathing let him know his brother still lived. Besides the spell just now, nothing seemed to be wrong with Murtagh- no injuries except for the bloodless cut on his chest.
Tears began to collect in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.
(You monster!) Saphira cried. Eragon wasn't sure when the paralysis spell had worn off, but it must have because Saphira was flying forward, talons extended.
(You filthy, evil-) Her mental curses dissolved into wordless fury.
Not having expected Murtagh's intervention, Galbatorix didn't order Shruikan out of the way in time. Saphira's talons raked down the black dragon's face, directly over and through his eyes. She headed for Galbatorix as Shruikan roared in pain, blindly lashing out to try and force the determined female away. Saphira was forced to abort her attack on the king. Furious at being kept from her true target, she fiercely clawed Shruikan's long neck, adding longer and deeper gashes to the few already there.
"This isn't over!" Galbatorix shouted, pressed close to his dragon to present less of a target if Saphira came after him again.
Eragon barely heard him, keeping a tight grip on Murtagh's limp form to avoid dropping him as Saphira attacked again, dodging Shruikan's teeth when they came uncomfortably close to her forelegs. Growling, she began circling the larger dragon, but the black beast had adapted quickly to his blindness and tracked her movements through scent and sound.
"I'll be back. Enjoy your 'victory' while it lasts- it won't be long." Galbatorix's hand came up one last time. "Reisa, Murtagh."
Caught off guard, Eragon almost lost his grip on Murtagh as the spell tried to lift the red Rider into the air.
"Letta!" Eragon shouted, clutching tighter to his unconscious brother. "Sitja baen ono zreta."
Eragon could feel the king's magic pulling at the red Rider and poured more of his waning magic into the spell holding him down. With a muffled curse, Galbatorix ended his spell. Saphira and Eragon tensed, both expecting an attack, but to their surprise Galbatorix directed Shruikan to turn away from the younger pair. The king glared at them for a moment more, eyes lingering on Murtagh, then fled with a few powerful wingbeats.
Eragon watched as the figure retreated into the distance, unable to fully accept what had just happened, then returned his attention to Murtagh.
It didn't feel like a victory. Not like this.
(Thorn...) Saphira whined, eyes flicking to where the ruby dragon lay, unmoving.
(In a moment. They don't know what happened.) Eragon looked towards the pass. War cries continued to drift up from the mass of people and Eragon could make out the faint clang of metal on metal.
He tried his voice. It failed him.
Eragon cleared his throat and tried again, speaking around the lump that had formed.
"Atra let zvo waise honyr." Eragon murmured. He swallowed to try and clear his throat, but it didn't work. The lump was still there.
He took a tighter grip on Murtagh's body. Even unconscious, the other Rider cried out softly in pain at the extra pressure.
"Galbatorix's army," Eragon said, voice echoing in the sky, carrying to each and every ear on the ground. "-drop your weapons. Your king has fled. The Varden has won. Surrender peacefully and drop your weapons; the Varden has won."
The fighting had ceased. A few men had stopped when he had started speaking, but now no one moved except to check the sky. When only Eragon and Saphira were visible, weapons began to fall.
The clang of metal reached his ears, followed shortly by a loud cheer from the still-living members of the Varden.
They had won.
Against all odds, they had won.
Eragon didn't feel like cheering.
(Now?) Saphira asked, anxious.
(Yes. Let's go, Saphira. We can report in later.) Eragon could and would wait to see a healer until his dragon was assured her partner would be all right. His wounds pained him only a little. Besides that, Saphira had likely sensed the same thing Eragon did; no healer would be able to help Murtagh. The bloodless gash was not a broken bone or ruptured stomach or sword wound a healer was trained to treat. Even if the knowledge to treat such a strange and terrible injury existed in the Varden, so much magic was wrapped in the wound that Eragon doubted any one person had the power to affect it.
That magic was in the wound still was the most worrying part of the gash. Things like Eragon's broken leg were easy to treat because the magic had already disappeared from the injury. The magic had temporarily invaded his body, broken his leg, then disappeared, as was normal. The spell that had hurt Murtagh was still present, meaning a healer would probably need to remove the magic and undo the spell before treating the injury.
Eragon couldn't be entirely sure, since he had never come across such a spell before. Neither Brom nor Oromis had ever mentioned anything of the sort to him. In any case, a few more minutes would not matter. Even if Eragon did go the to healers straightaway for Murtagh, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to let him go.
A few minutes to reassure Saphira, then he'd find the closest healer and see if anything could be done.
Saphira dove.
Eragon held tightly to Murtagh, almost losing grip yet again before Saphira's wings unfurled and spread to halt the rapid descent. She landed awkwardly, wings folding at her sides as she moved rapidly towards the fallen dragon.
The ruby beast's chest rose and fell steadily, body miraculously only lightly scraped from both the fall and the battle.
Thorn would be just fine, as long as Murtagh recovered.
Staring down at the raggedly breathing form of his brother, Eragon wasn't so sure he would.
TBC…
A/N: Believe it or not, this chapter was 23 handwritten pages. Guess my handwriting's pretty big… I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and that not too many of you will try and track me down with sharp pointy objects…
Ancient Language Translations:
There was quite a bit of the AL in this chapter. The translations are as follows:
"Blothr osu onr." - Stop his heart
"Garjzla." - Light
"Skolir eka fra vanyali." - Shield me from magic
"Reisa, Murtagh." - Rise, Murtagh
"Letta!" - Stop
"Sitja baen ono zreta." - Literally 'stay place you are'. Take no credit except for 'are', which is an anagram of Spanish word 'estar' with the 's' swapped for a 'z'.
"Atra let zvo waise honyr." – Let my voice be heard.
Review Replies!
3.14 - I'm glad you were that attached to Krin- lots of people think I'm a big meanie authoress now for killing him off. (And we need to hang out again soon- I still have your books!) For now the battle is over- I hope you weren't disappointed that I only had Eragon and Murtagh's viewpoints, but I thought it best to stick with the two I had already established. If enough people want it, I might write sidestories or something with more of the fight.
Angie - I'm sorry about Krin. Lots of people miss him, author included. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Anonymous - I' glad you liked the last chapter and hope you enjoyed this one just as much! (I had to do something to make Galby evil, since being powerful and collecting taxes just isn't enough evil, in my opinion.) Keep bashing that Galbatorix doll!
Phoenix - Thanks! I think some people were certain that the battle was over then, but how anticlimactic would that have been? It's the Final Battle- well, at least Final Battle, Part 1. I don't think it's odd at all that you like my explanation for Galby's power growing. I thought it was only logical, plus it makes him actually evil, not just 'he's strong and he taxes us. Off with his head!'. The tension between ExM was a bit much- I like the ExM scene too. I have correct Galbatorix's dragon's name- I think I looked it up before putting it in, but maybe I didn't, or maybe the site I looked at was wrong...? Either way, I had it spelled 'Shruikan' in this chapter. (Could you imagine the look on Paolini's face if he ever read this?)
Immadance - Thank you so much! I'm glad you like it so much that you keep coming back for more, even when you dislike what happens. I try to make my stories enjoyable, but my stories tend to be angstfests until the characters reach a happy ending, this fic moreso than anything else I've written. (Hopefully, even though you probably disliked what happened in this chapter, you'll continue coming back?) Again, I'm glad you liked and thanks for reading!
hylian-dragoness - Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out- I hope it was worth the wait! Kudos to you for being able to read the whole story in one afternoon! I know people who it would take a week to catch up to where the story is now. I do my best to write a good story- I'm happy you like it so far!
Sophia - I'm glad you liked the story so much! I updated as quickly as I could- did you like this chapter as well?
Fitzwillam - I'm glad you like the dreams. At first they were just to keep up the pattern of the first two chapters, but now they have their own significance. I couldn't have picked a better title than 'In Dreams', even now that it's grown into a multi-parter instead of the planned oneshot. I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!