disclaimer: anything you recognise from Eragon isn't mine, including but not limited to Alagaƫsia, Eragon, Saphira, Murtagh, Ajihad, Gil'ead, Carvahall, Du Weldenvarden, etc.

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a/n- this story is set a long time after the first book.

Great big thank-you's to the following people. This is the most-reviewed fanfic I've ever written.

Silver Spell- it's alright that you forgot....just remember, what goes around comes around! heh heh heh.....j/k :P Sixteen in four days! woo hoo! ~_^ yeah.....real big achievement.........lol...

dracokyn88- Eragon definitely needs its own section! We need to protest....or something....

that's it? two? ah well. REVIEW, people!

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They had done it. Galbatorix was defeated.

Eragon and Saphira flew over the battle, the Final Battle, that waged below. He felt oddly removed, as though he were merely an onlooker of an event of long ago. The huge armies had been split into skirmishes, only half of which were visible by the torches and fires strewn about the plain. The flickering firelight tainted Urgals, men, elves, and dwarves. The light occasionally caught the undersides of evil creatures that had developed in the dark, unknown depths of the earth as they flew overhead.

Eragon had never before seen such creatures. They had tough, leathery skin and wings like a bat's, each with a claw at the joints. Two large, thick lower legs trailed behind them as they flew, as well as a long, thin tail.

Undersized deformed mockery of a dragon, Saphira had said when they had first spotted one.

The swift movements of a sword reflecting firelight caught his eye. Murtagh fought bravely, nearly outnumbered, from the back of Tornac. Although his movements were swift and his blade accurate, Eragon knew that his friend was weary. They all were; the battle had waged for nearly four days.

Saphira curled her upper lip in a snarl, small tendrils of flame escaping her nostrils. Eragon turned his attention back to the wretched man and his dragon. The creature, huge and formidable, hovered about a hundred feet in front of them. Every square inch of both Shreikun and Galbatorix was covered in thick, black iron armor, except for the dragon's wings.

The king clenched the knuckles of his right hand, which grasped the hilt of his deadly sword. Small plates of armor had been formed to overlap one another, allowing his hands free movement. Despite the staggering weight of both his armor and that of his rider's, the dragon's wings beat little and smoothly, as though he were flying freely with nothing to hinder him. He and Saphira circled the battle slowly to maintain altitude. The king's huge, ominous black castle loomed several hundred feet to the north.

Suddenly, Eragon's mind nearly exploded as someone forced entry to his mind. Some of the invaders' emotions flooded into his subconcious, clouding his concentration. Overwhelming fear and panic threatened to consume him as a female's voice, normally recognized as calm and melodic, half-shouted to him in his mind.

Eragon! she said. It was Arya. I need you and Saphira! We are outnumbered!

He impulsively shot a sideways glance at his airborne enemy. Galbatorix moved his sword in small circles, anticipating his next move.

Saphira, Arya needs us. Should we help her? he asked.

It may not be wise to turn from Galbatorix. The powerful sparkling blue neck in front of him turned to glance in the direction of Arya. Shreikan saw this break in concentration and lunged toward them, his huge, dripping fangs bared as his powerful wings propelled him toward his target. His fiery red eyes narrowed, the claws of his powerful upper arms clenched tightly.

Saphira, watch out! Eragon called to her as he gripped the leather saddle tightly. She lifted her wings and beared right, sweeping her wings downward, thrusting them upward and out of the reach of Shreikan's jaws. Saphira curled her upper lip into a snarl and snorted out small curls of flame and smoke. The shadow dragon shot below them, his long neck twisting to glance up at them, his fangs bared in pure hatred. Saphira took advantage of the few seconds it would take the dragon to reposition to fly toward them once more. Shreikan blew a short burst of flame in irritation as the two fled. Galbatorix laughed maniacally, his deep voice echoing through Eragon.

"Is poor little Eragon afraid of the big bad dragon?" he said tauntingly. "Is this all he and his little hatchling can come up with?" His words tore through Eragon like a razor. He set his jaw and prepared to turn Saphira back toward him.

No, Eragon. Let it go, we must help Arya! Saphira urged him. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, but vowed revenge for the insult Galbatorix had made to both he and Saphira.

Saphira flew as quickly as she could, but she had only made it a few hundred feet when Shreikan and his evil Rider approached them quickly from behind. Eragon, concentrating only on finding Arya, did not notice the looming form behind them. Saphira caught sight of them in the corner of her eye.

She pulled up, beating her wings in front of her to slow herself down. She twisted her body around just as Galbatorix's blade lunged foreward.

Saphira! Eragon screamed as his magnificent dragon plummeted to the earth, the huge blade embedded in her chest. He could sense the excrutiating pain tearing through her mind, seconds before her form slammed into the ground, pinning him and several Urgals underneath her. An intense ringing filled his ears as the breath was knocked from his body, and he slipped into unconciousness.

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Arya walked anxiously back and fourth. Her creamy skin was even paler than usual with worry. She had bags under her eyes from a severe lack of sleep. There had only been one thing on her mind for three days and nights.

The elf glanced anxiously at the door, her face sober. The sadness and loss in her heart was overwhelming. It took all of her will to hold back the sorrowful tears which threatened to fall.

She ran her fingers through her long midnight air, all of her attention was on the door in front of her. The healers had been attending to Eragon and Saphira since the end of the battle, tending the fatal wound inflicted by the sword that had been driven into the gallant dragon's heart. Eragon was in extremely critical condition; he had been found crushed under Saphira, the left side of his chest was completely caved in. The situation was tedious; if one was lost, they both were. She prayed to the gods that they survived.

She glanced at the door as it slowly swung open. Her immortal heart froze for a few moments. Her soft blue eyes widened and a single tear trickled down her smooth, pale face as Angela and the other healers stepped out.

Angela had a sober look on her face. Arya feared the worst and believed that the fearless dragon and her courageous rider had been lost. A few people gathered around her and Murtagh walked slowly over to stand next to her. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder, but Arya tore free, backing a few steps away. "No!" she cried out in anguish.

"He's not dead yet," said Angela in a grave voice. "But he's in a comatose state right now, he may not make it."

She was both relieved and frightened to hear this. "Let me through!" she demanded. He tried to make her way through the healers, but Murtagh grabbed her shoulder and the Elven healer, Silban, held up one hand.

"Entering now will neither help him, nor harm him," warned Silban. "You would be better off waiting here."

"Let me through," said Arya in a cold, emotional voice.

Silban shook his head sternly. She seemed to shrink as she silently admitted defeat.

"What of Saphira?" she asked quietly, her voice dull and unemotional.

"The blade narrowly missed her heart. It is taking some time and much skill, but she will hopefully survive," Angela said gravely.

Arya nodded and allowed Murtagh to direct her toward a soft armchair. He sat in another chair next to her, brooding silently. He, too, was concerned for his friend's well-being. Ajihad joined them for some time, then left. Occasionally, Angela or one of the other healers would come out of the room for a brief time to rest and give comfort to them. Though their words were kind and helpful, they did nothing to ease the knot that had formed in the pit of her stomach.

After what seemed like an eternity, though it was really only three or four hours, all seven healers exited the room. Their faces were taught, their eyes showing their weariness, as well as the bags under their eyes. They were expressionless as they approached the two.

Arya stood and strode over to them. Her breath was caught in her throat as she awaited the news that the healers had brought. Murtagh, too, stood behind her. The first light of dawn shone through the room's only window, illuminating the golden wood floor, the soft, thick carpet that covered the center of the small room. Angela stood in the front and center of the healers, her _expression grim. Arya's eyes widened and the knot that had been steadily forming in her stomach lodged in her throat, and she once again feared the worst.

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maybe a cliffhanger will encourage reviews....

death threats, health threats, money threats, theft threats, threat threats....chaos, destruction, maniacal confusion........

sounds like fun! FLAME MEH, OH MIGHTY FLAMERS!!!

lol.......i'll seriously be ok someday........i think...........i hope.....

seriously though. Flamers, reviewers...i don't care i just want FEEDBACK.

so please use the little button down there and tell me what you thought of it. i promise i won't bite........

hard.

~_^ j/k