(A/N) I am currently in the process of rewriting the story and posting it on Archive of Our Own (AO3) under the author name Satres_Jedi. The first chapter is already up, and it basically makes this a different story. Galbatorix and Eragon now have the beginnings of character arcs, which is cool. Shameless plug over. Hope you all enjoy this chapter.

I'll post a teaser of the new Ch. 1 in the footnotes if you're interested.

For whatever reason it won't let me post the link to AO3.

Inspiration for this chapter: watch?v=Bzl8kRD-kDY

Ch. 23: Fear and Loathing

"Here you go," a slender hand appeared offering a mug of whiskey. He lifted his head, following the arm to see a blonde-haired woman sitting beside him, the bustle of the tavern falling unnoticed.

"Thanks. I need it," Eragon exhaled.

"Why is that," she asked.

He paused for a moment, the astringent smell burning his nostrils. "You know what, I'm not really sure."

"Well if you can't remember, than it's probably not important," Formora said as she lifted her own mug in a toast. "Here's to unimportant things."

Eragon bumped his mug against hers and lifted the mug to his lips, "To unimportant things," he said thoughtfully.

The burning liquid slithered down, inflaming his throat. "I always forget how awful this shit is," he coughed.

Formora chuckled. "You just have an unrefined palate," she said, savoring the dark liquid. "This is from the finest distillery in Eastern Alagaesia and aged in sherry wood casks for 20 years. If there are two things Dwarves know its architecture and liquor. Feel the smooth finish in the back of your throat as the sweet hints of raisins, apple, and dried spice coat the tongue," she swirled the liquid in her cup. "And just when you think the journey is over, a wisp of smoke trails upward," she sighed with content. "Breathtaking."

"Tastes like a fire pit if you ask me, " he said forcing another sip down his throat.

Eragon looked at his lovers face, and his heart fell. His fingers trailed down his chest.

"What's the matter," she asked with a soft smile.

"Unimportant things," he muttered.

Her face popped in front of his suddenly. "Denial." Her lips moved, but the voice came from his head.

He shook his head. "What'd you say," he asked as he looked at Formora.

"I was just saying it's a lovely night for a swim," she grabbed his hand, leading him towards the river.

"When did we get here," he asked, his vision swirled for a moment before clearing.

"Don't you remember," she asked nonchalantly. "We're on our way to the Varden. Arya and Saphira are sleeping just over that hill. One more day and we should be there."

His heart began to race, and he resisted her pull. "No. No , no , no, no, no nononono," the words hastened. He tried to wrestle his hand free, but her grip was that of a vise.

"If you're worried about not getting enough sleep, don't be. It's just a quick dip and we'll go back," she smiled.

The grip on his heart faded. "Of course darling. Anything for you," he said softly, the corners of his lips drifting up.

"Damn right," she gave him a kiss on the cheek and began to undress.

He pulled his shirt over his head, when her face appeared again. "You failed."

He let out a scream as he fell backwards. Invisible hands lifted his shirt off of his head. Formora straddling him on a bed filled his vision; her pale skin illuminated by a beam of soft moonlight.

"God I hate these things," she said as she unwrapped a cloth that served as a bra. "The person who invented bras must have been a man, cause no sane woman would ever think these would be comfortable."

"I think you look better without one anyway," Eragon said.

"You just like it 'cause you can see my tits," she teased.

"I like it cause it's you," he smiled and pulled her closer.

Blood flooded her cheeks and she turned her eyes away. "That may be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

He pulled her closer to him, turning her head to face him. "Well you better get used to it, cause I'm going to be saying it for a long time."

"I'll hold you to that mister," she said, pulling him in for a soft kiss.

A warm liquid began to drip on his lap.

"I wasn't expecting that reaction so quickly," he said pulling away seductively. He looked down and his vision flooded red.

"What is this," he blinked. Formora's face appeared, a stream of blood flowed down her right cheek. "Liar."

"No. I…" He was kneeling on the ground; Formora lay in his arms bleeding. Rain poured on the battlefield; blood congealing in the mud.

"This isn't happening," Eragon closed his eyes and shook his head, begging for the gruesome scene to leave.

"Of course it's happening," Formora said matter-of-factly. "You weren't strong enough, and you failed."

Her face flashed in his mind. "Murderer."

His eyes flew open. There was nothing. A pure black void enveloped the pair. Formora stood a few feet away from him, blood pouring from her chest.

"I'm not a murderer," he said, shakily standing up.

"That's what you'd like to think, isn't it," she said. "Poor. Old. Eragon."

Formora began to walk around him in a circle. "Nothing is ever your fault is it?"

"That's not what I…" he began to protest.

"Rose. Selena. And now me," she continued, cocking her head to the side. "What does it say about you when everyone you love dies, because of your decisions. Or did you even love us?"

"Of course I…" he faltered.

"It's almost like you wanted us to die," a new voice touched his ears. Eragon's head shot in the direction of the voice, revealing the source.

"Rose," he squeaked.

"Yes. Your dear and loving servant. Oh, that's all I was to you, wasn't I," she glared. "A dog to order around."

"Of course not," Eragon pleaded.

"You left us," a voice he knew all too well said.

Eragon couldn't bring himself to look in its direction.

"I spent your whole life calling you Eragon, gushing about my son who cares about what happens to others," Selena lamented. "But that was never you. You adopted the moniker Denethor, but it was never just a name. It was you. I can't believe I never saw it coming."

"That's not me," Eragon managed to eek out.

"But it is you," Formora chimed in. "And this is what you've always wanted: a life where you can play the hero, a life where none of your baggage hangs overhead, a life where you can do no wrong."

"And you got what you wanted. Good for you," Selena said pointedly. "I hope you're proud."

Eragon sank to his knees, holding his head in his hands.

"What makes you think you deserve to be the good guy," Formora asked. "Nothing you have done indicates that you are good. Hell, you can't even escape your old life without killing everyone who cared about you."

"Do you know what they did to us," Rose postured. "Do you know how much pain and torment we went through because of your 'plan'?"

"Of course he doesn't," Selena interjected. "Because he wasn't there."

Tears began to seep from his eyes, falling between his fingers and into the void.

"Oh. Are you finally accepting everything you've done," Formora asked with fake sympathy. "All the suffering you caused?"

"Isn't that sweet," Selena's said slowly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She bent down to lift his face to hers. "If only you had cared then."

She removed her hand and walked away, black ooze absorbing her into the void.

"Maybe you should have stayed in Uru'Baen," Rose said. "Maybe you should have thought about the consequences of your actions.

The void absorbed Rose.

"I never wanted any of this," Eragon choked through his sobs.

"Oh, but you did," Formora approached him. "All that's left is for you to enjoy your life as the hero. That is, if you can forget what you did to us."

"Why are you doing this," Eragon begged.

"Me," Formora asked incredulously. "I'm not doing anything. I'm dead remember?"

Eragon stared at her with hollow eyes.

"This is you," she said. "All of this… is you. This is how you actually feel about yourself. How much longer are you going to keep lying to yourself?"

The void claimed it's last victim, leaving only a broken man in limbo.

Several minutes passed like decades. Eragon lay flat on his back, staring into the black. He was long past the point of tears, his puffy eyes blank.

All of this is me? He wondered.

"Yes Denethor. It's all you," he saw himself clad in Empire armor standing over him.

"Don't call me that," Eragon said adamantly.

"Why not," Denethor asked. "It's how you see yourself, isn't it?"

"No it isn't. Why does everyone keep saying that," Eragon cried, standing to face Denethor.

"We're all just reflections of you, inhabited by your perceptions," Denethor stated.

"What does that even mean," Eragon asked.

"Formora said it best: this is how you see yourself. Longing to be hero, while playing the villian," Denethor accused, allowing his point to sit for a time. "There's something you've missed, the main theme of the night."

"What the hell have I missed," Eragon shouted. "I've been accused of not caring about people, killing those I love, and being a bad person. What could I possibly have missed?"

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You've gotta read between the lines buddy," Denethor chastised. "Bearing in mind my previous statement, think about everything you've said. I'll wait."

Everything I've said, Eragon questioned. But I've barely said anything this whole… Right, they are me. Formora, Rose, and my mom are all just projections of my subconscious. He… I mentioned a theme, so what did they all have in common.

"Getting close," Denethor said.

Do I think that they would be mad at me?

"You're getting colder, practically freezing," Denethor teased.

No. Not they. This is about me.

"Hotter!"

"I'm mad at myself," Eragon asked.

"So close you're on fire!"

No. It's not that I'm mad. It has to be deeper than that.

He stopped thinking. He finally knew what Denethor wanted him to say.

"Have you got it? 'Cause I'm on the edge of my seat here."

Eragon nodded.

"Oh," Denethor said giddily. "Pray tell."

Eragon hesitated, not wanting to accept it. No. It's not that I don't want to accept it. It's that I don't want to admit it.

Denethor placed his hand on Eragon's shoulder. "You knew this had to come sometime. All the roads have led to this: the moment of truth."

Eragon stayed silent.

"SAY IT," Denethor screamed in Eragon's face.

"I hate myself," Eragon said finally.

"We have a fucking winner," Denethor said triumphantly, backing away from his double. "It's about time we ended this charade."

Eragon covered his eyes, begging for his dry eyes to produce one last cathartic tear.

"No, no, no. Don't cry," Denethor chided him like a child. "Granted it's not like you could even if you wanted to. You've already cried buckets and buckets. There's nothing left inside you. And I mean nothing. That is, nothing except your shame and weakness."

Denethor faded into nothing, and the voided disappeared.

(Line Break)

Eragon shot up, looking at his surroundings in shock. He was in his bed, and he felt a presence beside him.

What was I doing? I feel like I was doing something.

He first noticed dark hair falling on his mattress. And a face.

Arya. What's she doing here?

He took a look around the room. He saw the broken mirror, and a trail of blood leading to the washroom. His memory returned, and he realized exactly what he had done and the state in which Arya had found him.

She… saved me?

(A/N) Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Here is the teaser for the updated version of the story posted on AO3:

"While we are here I have one more topic to discuss," Galbatorix said. "You have done well in your instruction, and, if I am being candid, I was not entirely forthcoming with my true goals for the Kheshig."

The trio sat up a little straighter in their seats.

"I told you I wanted an elite force to carry out missions that were deemed to difficult for normal soldiers or that required a certain level of discretion, and while that was not a lie, it was not the entire truth," he grew pensive. "The goal of the Kheshig was a force that served me with no hesitation. A group of fanatical belief that would carry out any order I gave. And I'll be damned… it seems that it worked. With the ten recruits and 30 already initiated I have amassed a perfect army that would charge to their deaths if I told them to."

"An impressive feat my lord. I am honored that you had the trust in us to fulfill this task for you," Barst said with an air of dignity.

"Given that the Varden is preparing to launch an assault, I felt it proper to be open with my must trusted advisors, for who knows what I will need to Kheshig to do and sacrifice,"

Melian broke her silence. "If I might ask my lord, why do we need to have a force with fanatical belief?"

"That's the million-dollar question Lady Melian," he praised. "You see, I divide humanity into two fundamentally different layers: the handful that knows what really is, and the vast multitudes that don't know. The former are called to lead, the latter to be led. The former that know that truth is unattainable, while the latter reach their arms out for it."

Who is Melian? Where the hell does the Kheshig factor into the story? How is Denethor different as a character? Hopefully you will read this new iteration and find out. Until next time.