I had a good number of people ask me for a chapter two of this story, which really surprised me! I personally HATE reading OC stories...so for some reason I wrote one.

Why? No idea.

But my brother really loved it, and he's the one who helped me put this one together. So everyone who wanted more of this gets to thank Taegalad for it!

We actually finished it quite a long time ago. At least a year, if my memory is to be believed. I always thought I was going to add more onto the end of it, but I can always do that later, if inspiration strikes again.

ANYWAY.

Hope you like it.

ALSO READ THE END NOTE! It is genuinely hilarious and one of my all-time favorite writing stories.

SPOILERS: The final battle in the final book of Inheritance!

This was it.

This was the battle that would decide the fate of Alagaesia.

Eragon and Murtagh stepped forward, drawing their swords, but Galen stopped her little brother with one hand.

"If it is a duel between the children of Morzan that you desire," she said, meeting Galbatorix's cold eyes, "then it is I, and not Eragon, who must fight."

The King frowned, clearly confused.

"Eragon is the son of Brom," she said, and watched Murtagh flinch, his dark eyes widening.

"What are you doing?" Eragon murmured.

She squeezed his arm, wordlessly pleading for him to trust her.

Galbatorix laughed. "The twins," he sneered. "Always so protective of each other. Yes, battle away. Fight to the death, while you're at it. The Son of Morzan and the Daughter of Selena. This will be a battle for the bards to sing of."

Murtagh's face was horribly white, his eyes dark pits of helpless fury as he stepped forwards, drawing the familiar blade of Za'roc from its sheath. It glimmered like blood in the light of the torches.

Galen drew her own blade and held it to one side.

Nasuada screamed, yanking on her chains with all of her strength, but she could not budge them.

Galen ignored her.

For this to work, Murtagh had to change his Name.

For his Name to change, something fundamental about him had to change.

She knew what she had to do.

Islingr cried softly in her mind, but he understood well the agony of losing a brother to the King. He would not stop her. She reached out for her dragon, smothering him in all the love she had for him. He returned the mental embrace and their minds entwined tightly, exchanging wordless farewells.

In perfect unison, the twins stepped forward. Their eyes were locked on each other, matching each other step for step.

Their duel was more like a dance, so familiar with each other were they. Each knew exactly how the other fought, what move was likely to be performed in what circumstance, where the other would step and how they would dodge that blow and parry in turn. It was almost as though it had been choreographed. But there was only one way this fight could end.

Galen would accept no other course.

She drove her twin harder, her strikes more powerful, forcing him to move faster to match her.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed as their blades locked and their faces were scant inches away.

She could feel her eyes burning with tears. "What I must," she answered, and she could hear the crack in her voice.

He frowned at her, his lips moving as he mouthed her words, puzzling over them.

She spun in place and utilized an attack she had learned from the elves during their time in Ellesmera, successfully driving her brother back before her. She gave him no more time to think on what she had said, forcing him to turn all his attention to holding her at bay. He held more Eldunari, yes, but she was inherently stronger thanks to the Agaeti Blodhren.

All she had to do was keep him distracted enough for her to lose.

It was that simple.

As they fought, she carefully set about disentangling her mind from Arya, Saphira, and Eragon without them noticing. If they knew what she was planning, they would never let her do it.

But her brother's soul was on the line.

There was no other way.

His Name had to change for him to be free.

No other in the world held the power over Murtagh that she did.

The two of them had been everything to each other for so long after Selena had abandoned them. She could see how much he cared for Nasuada in the way he kept glancing over at her, the way he had kept himself between her and the King. She knew he could love her, given enough time. And Galen could see that Nasuada cared for her brother. She could see it in the Varden leader's wide, tear-filled eyes, the way she stayed at the farthest reach of her chains, straining to reach him.

But Nasuada did not know Murtagh.

Galen knew her brother inside and out, as he did her. Try as Galbatorix might, he would never be able to break the bond that they had. Nor did he want to, for he knew what the repercussions of that would be on Murtagh's Name and he needed the son of Morzan to stay chained in his service. There were many aspects that made up one's True Name. Galen was the one part of Murtagh's that had never changed, as he was in hers. They were constant, always there for each other no matter what the circumstances.

To force a change in his Name, she would have to remove that constant.

She felt the faintest flicker of fear from Eragon and knew she was running out of time.

So she took a deep breath and made her move. Murtagh spun low and slashed Za'roc towards her legs and she planted the point of her sword in the floor and watched with grim satisfaction as Za'roc rebounded violently. It was all Murtagh could do to hold on to the blade. Before her brother could recover from the jarring impact, her foot lashed out, connecting harshly with his left hip. Shock flashed across Murtagh's face as his leg folded, bringing him down hard on his right knee. Galen swung her sword up with two hands and let it fall towards the crown of Murtagh's head. He spun out of the way on his knees, as she knew he would, and lunged towards her, Za'roc leading the way. Normally, she would have twisted to the left and brought her blade up horizontally, catching his strike.

She felt her tears overflow as she turned—but she did not bring up her sword.

She saw Murtagh's eyes widen, his mouth fall open as he realized what she had just done, heard Elva wail, Eragon scream and Saphira roar and Islingr howl, but it was too late to stop it now.

Za'roc tore through her armor as though it were made of parchment, plunging deep into her chest and protruding from her back.

Time seemed to freeze.

Murtagh stood as still as stone, his face whiter than death, horror and guilt and terror screaming in his eyes. Galen's breath hitched, her tears falling like rain as she met his eyes without looking away. The others all fell silent, staring in horror at the macabre embrace the twins were locked in.

Galen's sword fell from her numb fingers, clanging harshly on the floor. She swayed, stumbled, a weak cry spilling past her lips as her legs gave way beneath her. Murtagh surged forward, leaving Za'roc where it was so as to not cause more damage, throwing his arms around her and lowering her swiftly to the ground, cradling her against him.

Galen could hear Galbatorix laughing and saying something and Eragon shouting at him, but all of her focus was on her brother.

"What have you done?!" Murtagh choked. "Why?! Why?! What were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking," she rasped, tasting copper on the backs of her teeth, "that your Name had to change. I am the only constant still in your life, brother. This was the only way."

"No," he whispered, rocking her back and forth. "No, no, no! I was…I was changing it already, it had started…"

"Nasuada," she whispered, managing a weak smirk at him. "I saw. But was it enough?"

He hesitated.

She smiled at him, raising one trembling hand to press to his cheek. "You are free," she whispered. "Save Eragon. Protect him. You two are all each other has, now. The last members of our family." She jerked, coughing harshly. Blood spattered from her mouth, staining her brother's armor.

"No, no, stay with me, Galen!" he said frantically. He drew Za'roc free with one hand, the other pressing to her wound as his mouth opened, no doubt an attempt to heal her, but Galen shoved him back.

Eragon's voice had risen to an echoing thunder, but the words were not his. There was a great magic welling in the back of her mind. The Eldunari were doing something.

But the King was still warded.

And Murtagh knew it. He stared at her with agonized eyes as another harsh coughing fit brought more blood up. Tears spilled down his cheeks and a shuddering cry worked its way out of his mouth. Her sight was dimming, and she knew he could feel her failing.

But then it happened. She felt the shift in her brother's mind as his Name changed.

"Go," she whispered, smiling through her tears and pressing all of her love into this last goodbye.

Murtagh pressed their foreheads together for a single heartbeat, his love sweeping through her mind. He laid her carefully on the floor, then spun in place and shouted a Word. It seemed to steal all the sound from Galen's ears and she closed her eyes. The pain in her chest was growing worse and she could feel her breathing growing steadily weaker.

Islingr was furious and hurting as he, Saphira, and Thorn worked in tandem to bring Shuriken's head down. She felt the very walls of the palace tremor and began to collapse when the massive beast hit the ground, dead at last.

She felt the swelling of magic from the Eldunari and she reached out, pouring what strength she still had into it. She felt Eragon and swept into his mind, pouring her love and her rage and her pain into his, combining them, and throwing it all into this last spell, this last work of the War that had raged for so many long years.

She heard Galbatorix began to fail and stagger and scream.

She tried to open her eyes but could see nothing. She realized dimly that her chest was no longer rising and falling. There was a faint roaring in her ears.

She felt a tug on her body, sliding across the floor, but it felt distant and far away.

And then…

And then, she knew nothing at all.

Nasuada did not know what Galen was planning, but there was a look in the Silver Rider's eyes that she did not like.

Watching the twins fight was akin to watching the sun and the moon try to kill each other. It was fundamentally wrong in every way. Murtagh and Galen were practically the same person. Nasuada had never met a set of siblings that loved each other the way those two did. And the way they cherished Eragon, and how he adored them in turn…it was enough to warm hearts of stone.

But this…

This was wrong.

Their fight took place at impossible speeds, and they moved with the fluid grace of two dancers that had been practicing for this very moment their entire lives. Every single step seemed known by the other, every move, every blow. There was never a moment's hesitation at any point in the battle.

They were moving so fast that Nasuada could barely keep track but all of a sudden Galen swung her blade up high and brought it down, two-handed, towards Murtagh's head.

And then Elva screamed.

Nasuada's heart plummeted.

Murtagh easily wove around the attack and launched one of his own and then time seemed to slow as Nasuada realized in one horrific rush what Galen had just done.

As Murtagh's crimson blade sank into his sister's body, Nasuada screamed.

Galen was the one constant in Murtagh's life. She was woven into his heart and soul like no other save Eragon. To lose her…would be to lose a part of him. It would alter everything about him.

Including his Name.

Which Galen would have known.

Nasuada fell to her knees, tears blurring her vision as she watched Murtagh cradle her body to the floor, heard his voice choked with grief, watched her blood stain his armor and pool on the floor below her.

Watched them say goodbye.

She knew the final battle was occurring before her, but she could not tear her eyes from Galen. Her eyes had fallen shut but the daughter of Ajihad could still see the shine of tears at her temples. She was dying, but she would not die with no one to see. Nasuada would make sure of it.

Islingr screamed.

She did not know what Eragon had done, but Galbatorix was reeling about like a drunkard, screaming, and Shuriken had fallen at last. Elva shrieked and passed out and then Eragon shouted something and everyone, dragons, elf, Riders and all, were dragged across the throne room towards Nasuada. Galen's limp form came to a rest at her feet. She did not move. She had left a trail of blood across the floor.

There was an earth-shaking boom, and everything went dark and dusty.

After what felt like an eternity, she heard Murtagh staggering to his feet. "Galen?!" he half-screamed. "Eragon, did you—?"

Nasuada screamed through her gag as loud as she could. A moment later, Arya's hand cut through the dust around her face and sliced the foul thing off.

"Here!" she screamed out. "She's at my feet!"

Several hissed words from the others cleared the air around them and Murtagh fell to his knees with a broken cry, cradling his sister in his arms. Her eyes were closed, and she did not move.

"Oh, little sister," Murtagh whispered, his tears cutting tracks through the dirt on his face. "Why did you do this?"

Arya cut through the rest of Nasuada's bonds and she fell to the floor, reaching a trembling hand to rest on Murtagh's shoulder as Eragon, his face white and his eyes full of tears, rested his fingers against Galen's neck.

"No heartbeat," he gasped, strangled. "She does not breathe."

Islingr's head rested at his Rider's feet, and Nasuada realized the high, thin wail she had accredited to a simple ringing in her ears was actually the dragon's all-encompassing grief, seeming to fill the partially destroyed chamber. The cry went on and on, echoed by Saphira and Thorn.

"We—we must go," Arya said, her mouth pressed into a tight line and her eyes too-bright. "This place is collapsing."

They slowly gained their feet, Eragon hoisting Nasuada up on Saphira's back and handing her Elva before he sprang up behind them.

Murtagh staggered up, Galen still held tight against his chest. Her blood ran in rivers down his armor. Islingr carefully boosted the children of Morzan onto Thorn's back. Perched sidesaddle and clinging to his sister's limp body, Murtagh's eyes were distant and unfocused, staring straight ahead without seeming to see anything before him.

The silver dragon shuddered, a sharp cry seeming to pierce the air. Thorn's great head lowered over Islingr's, curling tightly around him as the crimson dragon shared in his pain.

As swiftly as they were able, their beaten, weeping, and bloody group made their way towards the front gates of the palace.

Blodhgarm came stumbling out of a side passage halfway to the gates, looking utterly bewildered as to how he'd gotten there. As the sad procession passed, the powerful elven mage went very, very still as his eyes alighted on Galen's bloodied form and Murtagh's broken look.

Islingr lowered his head and clearly said something to the elf, for his face twisted in grief and he pressed his forehead to the dragon's. The rest of his spellcasters were not far behind him, and two of them were bearing a chest that almost made Arya smile: the last of the four eggs Galbatorix had kept in his treasury.

Blodhgarm snapped an order to his people in a hoarse voice, and Islingr took the four injured elves on his back. The others formed ranks around them as they continued to make their way out of the palace.

Nasuada tilted her face up as they passed through the dark arches and the sun fell on her skin.

The war was won and Galbatorix was defeated, but when she closed her eyes all she could see was her father's blank eyes and Galen's bloody body and all she could think about was what they had lost.

Roran was probably not supposed to be up and about, but the elves had more or less healed him, and he was desperate to find his cousins.

Nothing had been heard from Galen or Eragon since they had entered the citadel, and that explosion had been…

Well.

Large.

It had leveled part of the city.

Roran was terrified that he might have lost what precious little family he had left.

When the cries began that the Riders were returning, he broke into a dead run, pushing past all the others in his way. Several turned on him in anger until they saw who it was, and it was not long until he was allowed to the front of the throng.

The first thing he saw was Eragon, tall and strong and alive astride Saphira. Nasuada was before him, Elva in her arms, and Arya was perched behind his cousin. They were beaten and bloodied, but they were alive.

Islingr was next, and on his back were four elves, all of whom looked decidedly worse for wear. The other spellcasters kept pace at his side, and as the two mighty Skymasters halted in what remained of the courtyard, several other elves ran forward and began to help them dismount.

But Islingr just lowered his head and laid it on the ground, a long, low wail of grief seeming to pierce the very air.

Roran's heart began to pound.

He could not see Galen anywhere.

Then Thorn stepped out of the gates, and Roran dimly heard his own grieved cry.

Murtagh's face was whiter than death and silent tears were flowing from his eyes.

In his arms he cradled Galen.

She was still and silent.

The great crimson dragon lowered himself to the ground and Murtagh slid off, stumbling to his knees on his landing.

Eragon all but fell off of Saphira and staggered his way to his brother, falling to the ground beside them and hiding his face in the older boy's shoulder.

Thorn let out a low cry, his head lowered to press against his Rider's back, but Murtagh merely bent over, pressed his face into his sister's hair, and screamed.

The raw, primal howl of absolute and utter grief was not something Roran ever wanted to hear again.

It seemed to multiply around them, filling the very air with a heavy, heartrending sense of loss, of devastation so deep words could not suffice, but the suffering was so great that it could not be kept silent.

Islingr raised his head and opened his mouth and the sound that poured from him had Roran and countless others falling to their knees, tears falling down their faces. Roran had heard Islingr scream before, on the Burning Plains.

But this…

This was a grief that went beyond human comprehension. This was a bond of ancient myth, of magic and dragons and Riders and it had been severed before its time and it had left a wound that would never heal.

Murtagh's hoarse cry broke into sobs and his whole body shook with the force of his devastation. Roran reeled across the courtyard until he reached them, running his fingers through Eragon's hair as he knelt, tugging his youngest cousin into his chest with one arm as his other reached out to brace across Murtagh's shoulders.

The dark-haired warrior did not even look up. He rocked back and forth, face hidden in his sister's hair, wailing his grief to the cold, distant sky.

Roran's heart twisted when he looked at Galen.

Her face was peaceful, but dreadfully pale, and she was far too still.

She was never still.

She was always running off to do something—spend some time with her dragon, helping in the healer's tents, assisting the cooks, sewing with Katrina, eagerly listening to any tales about Eragon's childhood that she could convince their old neighbors to tell. She always had her nose in a book or was curled up in some out of the way corner with a pen and inkwell and blank pieces of parchment, half completed songs and stories spilling across the pages. She was always running and playing with the children, singing at the campfires after supper, dancing in the rain.

Galen was always smiling, always laughing. She was good and kind and bright and…

And her shining eyes were closed now.

They would never open again.

Roran held his cousins as tightly as he could, as though he could hold them together.

The war was won.

But this did not feel like victory.

No.

The war may have been won, but when he closed his eyes, all Roran could think about was just how much they had lost.

As the broken cries of the shattered hearts surrounding them seeped into their awareness, something happened that had not happened in many lifetimes of men.

Valdr's voice rang out clear and strong and inexorable.

This.

Cannot.

Stand.

A time for beginnings, this is. Not ends. Not goodbyes. A new world cannot rise from broken hearts. The sun cannot reach through the shadows of such sorrow, and the stars cannot shine through such clouds of pain.

No more words were spoken, but the fires of determination were lit once more in the ancient souls of the long-gone Skymasters. As one, they reached across the stormy seas to their kin, in their hidden sanctuary under Vroengard.

They did not share words, but more memories. Of a hazel-eyed Rider, laughing with her brothers, her indomitable spirit giving them the strength to go on. Of a crimson Knight, fighting not only to be free, but for the freedom of the ones he loved. Of a young farm boy with a crooked smile, whose great heart was matched only by his great sorrow. Of a young silver dragon, bright and mischievous and broken by grief. Of a great crimson beast, bound by loyalty and love to a life of blood and pain. A magnificent sapphire Skymaster, fierce and gentle and kind and unable to heal the wounds of war dealt to those she called her own. And the weight of the world that rested upon the shoulders of them all.

Those that dwelt still beneath the ruins of Vroengard reached back to them. They joined all their power, of one mind and one soul and one purpose.

And then the true magic of the dragons flowed. Their cry reached to the moon and the stars and the sun and down deep into the sea and the earth and Alagaesia heard them.

Their cry was answered, and their gift was granted.

Their gift of life.

Galen's gasp of breath seemed to echo in the air.

Yeah, I really like this one. It makes me happy.

For anyone who cares, that last little set of moves Galen employs actually does work.

It's kinda funny, because the day I wrote this chapter I was finishing up right around one in the AM, but I needed help with the action sequence because I SUCK at those and my sweet brother is a total expert on all things weapon and fighting. He is also the one who introduced me to this book series, so I knew he was familiar with the scene I was writing.

So at about 1:30 I literally dragged Taegalad out of bed (I don't know why he puts up with me) and explained what I needed the end result of the fight to be, and ballparked a couple of ideas. My ideas were horrible, because I know nothing about fighting with swords. So my brother got out his machete and I got out mine (calm down, we use them for yard work...usually) and he showed me why my ideas didn't make sense in reality. And then we choreographed some moves until we struck on a sequence that ended where I needed it to.

And then we got into an hour-long argument over some semantic detail in the last couple of paragraphs, only to realize that we actually shared the same opinion. We were both just so tired and sleep deprived that we couldn't articulate it in a way that made it sound like the same opinion. We laughed ourselves to tears and almost fell asleep sitting on my bedroom floor.

It was so much fun.

Yeah, out of everything I've written, this is definitely the chapter I had the most fun writing.