You know when you have absolutely no idea what to do? There's always an answer: PLAGIARIZE TOLKIEN. Considering he's like, the best there is. My genius tapped out at this point.

Raylena groaned as her body was flung into the ground again. Her limbs were trembling. She couldn't hold off for much longer. She was going to die.

Murtagh brandished his blade, his face twisting, the wretched voice being forced from his lips. "Like father, like daughter. Neither competent in the end." A cynical smile twisted the young man's face. Even his eyes were black. If Murtagh was alive, he was being smothered.

Raylena pushed her hands against the ground, forcing herself to rise to her feet. She was bruised all over, from her pinky to her heel. Even her lungs ached from within as she tried to breathe deeply and gather more strength. She glanced over at her sword, lying shining on the earth, the emerald green sparkling in the sun.

His eyes followed her, and with a word he summoned the weapon to his other hand, winking at her.

Vile.

She shook her head and backed up, knowing the effort was useless. If she was to die, couldn't she at least hold the one thing that defined her? The essence of her existence? She glanced down at her hands, the leather scratched and made rough by the constant tumbles. There was something else... she looked up and met his eyes as she deliberately peeled off the covering, revealing her gedwey ignasia.

It began to shimmer as he stepped forward. She straightened her shoulders and stared at him, that long lost feeling starting to replace the hole in her heart. She was who she was; why hide it? She opened her mouth to speak, but Murtagh doubled over, collapsing to the ground.

"Murtagh!" She shouldn't be scared. What was going on?

He was shaking. And then yelling. Then it was silent. Murtagh cursed and raised his head, his clear brown eyes reflecting the confusion in her own. He opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. She didn't want to.

They stared at each other until the sound reached them. It chilled her through her bones. And then the thudding. The awful, beautiful rhythm. Her heart began to beat in time as she slowly turned, not daring to believe.

From behind Uru'Baen there came a cry. Voices, so many voices crying out. So many familiar. She began to sway as her mind was overwhelmed. Too many to know or hear. Too many distractions. No, it couldn't be! She heard him.

Eragon was lying on his face when he regained consciousness. He forced his eyes open and stood shakily to his feet, coming face-to-face with none other than Galbatorix. The man was staring at him, a blank expression on his face. His long, thin, withered face. He was staring, unmoving. Eragon stared back, wondering what he should do. If he should run, or if he should die.

The king slowly raised his eyes, staring up at the cracked stone. "What have you done?"

The voice. Everything Raylena had said sounded nothing like what he heard now. It echoed through his ears and mind, sending him into a dizzy spiral through himself. He had to concentrate. The words Glaedr had spoken over him were whirling through his head. He focused on them and let them build until the damp feeling slithered away.

The king was now smiling. "Well done, Eragon... well done."

Eragon ran. And for some reason, he wasn't drawn back. He leaped down the steps, going faster and faster until he thought he was flying. Out. He had to get out. Now.

Raylena sank to her knees, her arms limp by her sides as she stared. It seemed the bottom of the castle was ripped out, and from it rose a terrifying army. He led it.

Thud.

She trembled with every downbeat. His shadowy form was not quite solid, but she was seeing it. Her heart must be near exploding.

Thud.

A tendril of thought reached her. Oh! So familiar. Another. She was on her feet, running, forgetting what was around her. Her vision was blurring. Tears. She was weeping, everything in her pulsating with the rhythm of his wings. She was screaming his name. "Eridor!"

His beautiful, jaded eyes locked onto hers. He let out a bugle and tipped into a dive.

"Eridor!" She dragged out his name, letting it rush through her with every step that pounded against the earth.

He raced towards her, locking out his wings and skidding to a stop before he dropped before her, shaking the earth as he met it.

She tumbled against him, sinking into his not-fully-there scales. But it didn't matter. His wings were around her, protecting her for the first time in years. She was safe.

Murtagh stared past her at the large, brilliantly shadowed emerald dragon. She was nearly hysterical. He could sense her frenzied thoughts as she sprinted away. Yet he only was able to stare helplessly. This could not be happening. What was happening?

Pain ripped through his mind, but not as vicious as before. He was still gazing at her back, wishing he could see her face as she fell out of view behind the large, ethereal wings. His heart ached, and for the first time in many years he felt his mind start to detach from everything holding it.

Eragon raced out of Uru'Baen, gaping as he turned slowly in a circle. There were so many people. Half of them weren't even alive as they sparred and cut through the Empire's soldiers. Some looked familiar; they must be Riders or elves long-dead that Oromis had spoken of. Just thinking of him brought his face to his mind, with his eyes kind as he either instructed or scolded Eragon. His eyes were so unique, and Eragon was staring right at them.

He jumped backwards, blinking. The elf stood before him, tall and proud, Naegling drawn. "Eragon."

"Master." He shakily touched two his first two fingers to his lips.

Oromis tilted his head upwards and closed his eyes, a happy smile spreading across his face. Eragon looked up also and saw Saphira circling. Glaedr's Eldunari was secured in her armor.

"Master."

Oromis didn't move.

"Is everyone alive?" His voice trembled.

The elf opened one eye, smiled even wider, and closed it again.

Eragon turned around, staring at the half-formed shapes all around him and on the grasslands behind the city. It couldn't be true. Perhaps he would finally get to meet her... but no, he had to concentrate. Galbatorix had let him go, why? These people were alive, but there was only one dragon... he recognized the creature from her description. Raylena's. So why would the king not kill him on the spot?

Unless... perhaps the tie Galbatorix had formed to the Eldunari had been broken. The power of the dragons combined with the elves, Raylena, and himself would be insurmountable. He was vulnerable, and he was hiding. Why, oh why had Eragon not struck him down when he had the chance?

"Because you still are as impulsive as you ever were," a voice growled from behind him.

Eragon froze. That voice... he knew. Unbidden tears briefly clouded his vision as he slowly turned around. Brom stood before him, arms crossed, and smirking just like he always had. Yet there was another look in his eyes... Brom, uncertain? Eragon stared at him, not believing his eyes. His father was back from the dead.

"Not for good, mind you... I don't know for how long. But we must use the gifts we are given."

Eragon swallowed, the tears threatening to spill. "Brom?"

"That is 'father' to you, my boy. I'll have my due respect."

"Brom," Eragon choked out before he threw himself into the older man's arms. It only took a minute before he realized that the storyteller was crying as well.

They stood in silence, tears saying everything that needed to be said before Brom pulled away, clearing his throat. "Child, there's someone you need to meet."

She looked just like the fairth.

Sooo yeah. We'll forget this. I wanted to leave it out and time skip, but eh. Whatever. I really don't care that much.