(A/N): So you're probably wondering why this chapter took so long. Well, I'll tell you. This is the last chapter of Eldest.
"But wait!" You say with a heavy frown as you slam a fist down onto the keyboard. "How can this be the last chapter? What happens to Murtagh? Nasuada? Lorgainne and Katrina? What about the siege of feinster? Does Killian ever return from the new world? And for the love of all that is good and holy, WHAT HAPPENED WITH ARYA AND ERAGON?"
Relax, ok? This is the last chapter because I don't want the chapter count to be over one hundred. This chapter will be super SUPER long so all of the loose ends that need to be tied will be. Then, after this, BRISINGR! But after a three week hiatus. What I really want to do is expand on the wiki and everything, so if you need a refresher you don't need to go searching through the fanfiction posts. Also, Brisingr will have titled chapters. Eldest has been a blast, and I cannot believe that I already finished the second rewrite project. I'm going to be really sad once it finally ends . . . but until then, I hope everyone has enjoyed this. With 48.5k views, it is SO awesome to almost be at half of 100,000 views. Tell your friends about the rewrite, and once the wiki is finished, send that to them too! Any fan of Eragon will be interested in this. So without further ado, here is the last chapter of Eldest.
(the chapters will be cut in two xD, and posted a few days apart so each one can get some views. So yeah. Okay don't be mad this one is super long as it is.)
ELDEST: THE FINAL CHAPTER PART I
SAPHIRA flexed her newly feathered wings against the might of the wind. After a short struggle, the leathery skin that was found underneath the blanket of azure feather caught on the current of air, allowing her to glide effortlessly above the ground, resting on the air itself. She turned her long snout sideways and eyed the ground below.
This is the farthest I have ever flown. She thought to herself. Saphira was above Ellesmera, the Laen Elf section of Du Weldenvarden. In the time that Eragon has been training, she too, had been taken under the literal wing of Glaedr. He was an old dragon, much older than Saphira herself, and his size boasted of that fact. As she flew, she could easily picture the golden mammoth, a dragon that rivaled mountains. Every time Saphira was with Glaedr, she was unable to fathom his vastness. He was of the same rare sort of dragon that Saphira was- possessing four legs and two wings. Even now, her mind shuddered at the image of him. He was powerful and wise, and she hoped she would never have to face him on the field of battle.
Saphira allowed the air current to lower her from the high heavens, passing through misty clouds in the process. She reveled in the cool that passionately rubbed over her skin as she broke through the nimbus, putting her directly in the glare of an afternoon sun. Her heart jumped again, despite the bright glare that threatened her vision. She felt invincible now- she was a dragon!
But she knew the feeling was fleeting. Soon, she would have to return to Ellesmera- where she would be adorned with armor and then marched off to fight the Sealed Elves. Their massing army devastated the land of the Xoshan Elves, and she, along with Eragon and their allies, were all that stood in the way between victory and defeat. If they beat the Sealed Elves, she and Eragon would be able to fly to Feinster with a small contingent of elves to assist Orrin. After losing the North, a loss at Feinster would spell doom to the Varden's cause. But that thought brought another to Saphira's mind.
What is the Varden's cause?
The humans wanted more power. The dwarves and the elves wanted revenge. Galbatorix, in his own right, had been able to keep the peace for nearly one hundred years. In fact, it was Orrin who started this war of reclaiming a throne that his predecessors had lost. She was told she was fighting a war for justice, one that would alleviate the suffering of millions under the Empire's heel. But she realized then that all of that were things that she was simply told, not something she knew. Above all things, Saphira wished for the truth. The dragon turned in the air, her spiked tail drawing a line across the belly of a nearby cloud. She pressed her wings to her sides as she made her descent towards the ground. Slowly, through a thinning field of white, the shining buildings of Ellesmera came into view. Many things could be said of the Elves, but you could not possibly call them fools. The vast districts of Ellesmera were all organized, paved, and spaced appropriately between wooded areas, which were also maintained in beauty. Artificial lakes glimmered under the eye of the sun, while carved oak statues danced along cobbled pathways leading to different cities. Above all, however, was Gillendel. Even from her vantage point, the statue on Aryan's hill seemed to absorb light from the sun, shining with a golden gloss. Below him, the royal chambers of the queen's household stood, and finally, below that, the city itself. As she drew closer to Gillendel, she could begin to feel Eragon's thoughts within her own mind.
Saphira! Eragon's mind seemed excited, not only due to her, but for some other reason. Saphira herself allowed her own consciousness to drift into a more intimate contiguity with Eragon's, in an attempt to find out the reason behind his strange feelings. She jolted as he drew his mind quickly away from hers, just as she began to circle around the royal chambers of Gillendel. Below her, sharp eyes spotted Eragon himself, standing with Arya, Aerion, Orik, and Oromis. The statue-covered courtyard grew larger in size as Saphira slowly descended, before finally alighting on the ground with a click of her claws.
"Saphira, I welcome you. I imagine that your training with Glaedr has gone well?" Oromis greeted almost cheerfully. Saphira bowed her head, responding with her true voice, which was a deep yet beautiful rumble from within her throat.
"Glaedr is a good instructor. I believe that once Eragon and I strengthen our bond, we will be a formidable opponent for the Sealed Elves." Eragon approached Saphira, his boots scraping on the cobbled courtyard floor. She was larger than him now, her head a foot and a half above his own. Awed, he ran a hand down the front of her wings, touching each feather delicately.
"These are new," He said with a small smile. Saphira lowered her head and nudged his neck.
"And so are you. The turmoil in your body is gone. The Spirit . . . "
"Is still within me. I . . . I have controlled it, thanks to Oromis. In time . . . I believe I would be able to speak with it. To find out what it knows." Eragon wrapped his arms around Saphira's long neck, pressing his check against her scales. His skin was cold, but there was a companionable comfort to it. She had missed him.
"You have grown larger Saphira." Eragon said conversationally. His mind was still distant from hers, hidden and blocked behind the walls of his consciousness.
What is he hiding from me?
"Glaedr placed Saphira in the same world that we were in. Within that realm, as you know, time was distorted. That is why Saphira is larger than when you last saw her." Oromis approached him, his gilded armor clicking. The Dwarib Prince Orik snorted as he eyed Saphira.
"Whatever was done, it worked. She looks large enough to ride." He stated, to which Arya nodded.
"She will be magnificent. For the first time, we shall truly see Eragon become a real Rider."
"Then they must begin their final training. Two days hence, we will fight the Sealed in open combat." Oromis looked up at Saphira, and then down at Eragon.
"You must be ready. Or you will die."
(Line break)
"Avela is going to Feinster." Morzan answered brusquely as Murtagh frowned into his father's back. He hated the man, and hated Galbatorix even more for turning him into Morzan's possession once more. Every time Murtagh saw Morzan's face, his old scars seemed to reopen, seeping with warm and bitter blood. The sun shone from a window backed by an iron tracery, causing light to fall onto the dark floor in serrated slices. Among the two men sat another, a being that had chosen the name Thorn. It was Murtagh's dragon, but due to the restoration of its Eldeena blood from the Eldunari, it had the appearance of not a winged creature, but rather a young man. Straight red hair fell over one red eye as the rest of Thorn's locks ran down the back of his neck. He was of slight build, arms folded across a slim chest as he sat on the floor, leaning himself against a heavy wall. Shadows moved freely over his person, and the only thing that betrayed his impression of dull disinterest was the sharp shine of his blood-colored pupil, which followed Morzan and Murtagh closer than any artist attempting to capture the moment ever could.
"Avela will need my assistance. I told you: The Varden has a Rider." Murtagh pressured. Morzan turned his face half-ways towards his frowning son.
"The information gleaned from your brother Hagganthil and Caomhim have told me as much. I suppose I should inform you of another fact: That rider is your brother as well."
Murtagh's face froze.
Both of my brothers . . . they live . . .
"I'm sure Selena would be happy. The man that birthed her children only succeeded in killing the mother."
Morzan roared has he turned to attack, drawing a blade from his black armor nestled between long robes. Murtagh jumped backward as the tip of Morzan's blade nearly caused him to lose his nose. Before Morzan could ready a second attack, Thorn was between them. Growling, the clothing Thorn wore on his back was torn, a scaled vermilion wing forming a shield from Morzan as the dragon eyed Murtagh's father over the tip of his clawed bat-like forearm.
"Galbatorix will not have any violence within these walls between his own." Thorn's voice was light and raspy, while Murtagh could feel the heat coming from Thorn's back. His dragon may be in his human form, but there was no mistaking Thorn's true nature.
Morzan's face regained its composure, and he stepped away from them as he sheathed his blade. Black hair ran from both sides of his forehead and down to the point of his chin, while green eyes seemed to glow in amusement.
"You have your own things to attend to. The girl you seeded . . . the child she bears is not a normal one." Morzan stated almost conversationally, as if he had not tried to murder Murtagh not moments earlier.
"She will be taken care of soon enough. One the baby is born . . . she will no longer be my concern." Murtagh said with a shake of his head. Thorn's wing slowly regressed, sliding back into his body as muscle melded into skin, until finally nothing was left save for a large hole that exposed his scapula.
"You truly believe you will be able to end the girl's life?" Morzan said with a sly grin. Murtagh frowned at his father.
"Of course." He said quickly.
"You still love her, however." Morzan smiled fully at Murtagh, white teeth gleaming.
"All of my love for the bitch was lost when she betrayed me." Murtagh answered with a snarl. Thorn stepped forward, ready to attack if need be.
"Then why did you not kill her right away? You murdered her brother easily enough . . . though it could be argued that he was less guilty of betrayal than she. You plan on raising the child you both created . . . you may kill her, but the fact remains you still have feelings for this Nasuada. I wonder how that will come into play with Alauinel."
He knows? But how . . . Murtagh brushed away his thoughts as he ran a hand through his hair.
"Alauinel is my trainer. Nothing more." He lied. Morzan gave him a comical glance.
"I knew once you grew older she would take you. You exist in my likeness, regardless of how much you detest me. However, I had hoped you would be stronger than that. You may have inherited my face, but the workings of my mind seem to have passed over you." Murtagh saw Alauinel in his mind then. When he was in her bed, when she was in his arms. It was different from when he had been with Nasuada. Alauinel . . . he was an object to her. Something to fulfill her own desire, her own infatuation with Morzan. To her, he was not even a living being. He was just a tool of gratification. Nasuada . . . she . . .
Loved me.
"If you wish to go to Feinster . . . I will not stop you. I do not know if Rahadon will be present with the Varden's forces. According to Caomhim's memories, the boy is among the Laen Elves of Ellesmera." Murtagh shook himself from his thoughts and focused in on his father's words.
"Rahadon will be among the Varden's armies. They will not pull any stops in order to capture Feinster. If they fail, their entire offensive will crumble apart."
Morzan smiled yet again.
"The Elves will have their own war to fight. I am sure Alauinel has told you about how she assisted the Sealed Elves in reviving their god."
Murtagh remembered. He knew of her plans . . . before, he had not cared. He was fine to see the world burn, un-bothered by the sights of destruction and death. But Nasuada's resurgence . . . the fact that she carried his child . . . Murtagh knew at that point he did not want the world to be turned into a hellish realm at the whim of Golhlobor.
"This is why you called me here, isn't it? You want to stop the Sealed Elves. Stop Alauinel." Murtagh said quietly. Morzan's somber green eyes locked with that of his son's.
"You are not as foolish as I thought. The Varden is still our enemy . . . but the battle with the Sealed Elves may halt Golhlobor's ambition."
"What could either of us do? Your face is infamous among the Elves. And I myself cannot be seen. I will be mistaken for you." Murtagh looked past his father, and to the window beyond. They would have to leave the Varden to their own devices . . .
"I would not call myself a Warlock, Murtagh." A female voice answered. Stunned, Murtagh's eyes shot again to that of his father. Thorn, usually composed and calm, stood with his mouth agape.
Morzan continued, "But I have the powers of transmutation. It is a hefty spell, and difficult to maintain. However, with this we will be able to help the Elves fight the Sealed."
Morzan had the face of a handsome woman, and her wrists were circled with thick and knotting scars.
(line break)
Elva watched as siege machines were pieced together. Dust rolled by on the sandy ground, which was sprinkled with thickets of yellow grass. Beside her, Solembum rested; his black fur shining as his stomach slowly rose and fell. In the far distance, she could see the towering citadel of Feinster. It seemed so far away, but she knew that soon battle would grip the land. Shouts and directed orders filled her ears at equal intervals between the cries of thousands of birds that had recently flown from the east. She could sense the fear from them, and with her magic, she could discern their thoughts. They fled one thing, one word that was repeated again and again within their tiny brains.
Death.
In a turn of grim fortune, they had met death here as well. Many of the magic-users had taken to killing mass amounts of them so that they could be roasted and eaten. Bird meat made a small meal, but barrels of freshly cooked fowl were soon passed around the camp. Food was plentiful, and the creatures of the sky seemed content to keep flying towards them. Angela said it was because birds loved to be eaten, but Elva recognized a hollowness in her blue eyes. A faint wave of fear was about Angela's person, and while it was barely recognizable, the emotion was so uncharacteristically un-Angela that Elva found herself staying away from her eccentric master.
"Are people dying yet?" Solembum asked dully as he yawned. His feline mouth pulled back to reveal sharp fangs that shone like bleached bones. Elva smiled as she reached out and stroked Solembum's head.
"No, not yet. They're still building the siege weapons." She giggled as Solembum purred.
"This is why war is so boring. There is all of this talk of vengeance and blood and victory and spoils, always with the damn spoils." Solembum had been annoyed ever since they had been forced to listen to Orrin's speech the night before. The young King had talked for what seemed like hours, and Elva had made a game of it to count how many times he spoke of riches and spoils. They both sat atop a craggy hill, and below them the scattered camp of the Varden circled. At the foremost of large circumference, patrols constantly rode back and forth, watching faraway Feinster. Closer, men sawed and nailed and hammered large blocks of wood in order to create towering machines that battered walls, hurled stone, and carried soldiers to the tops of battlements. The area around Feinster was arid and nearly treeless, but the oak had been retrieved from the bountiful forests that lied outside the watery grip of the vast swamps in the lands of Aroughs. Solembum rolled onto his stomach and rested his head on black forelegs.
"I wonder what it will be like. The last time I was in battle my circumstances changed quite dramatically." Solembum said conversationally. Elva herself thought the same thing. If they lost this war . . . what would be there for them? In a way, she was confused by Angela. Throwing all of their lots in with Orrin just to create a united force to combat Golhlobor seemed almost childish.
"Do you think Angela knows what she is doing?" Elva whispered. The fact that she, for the first time in her life, questioned Angela's motives scared her. Solembum rose his head and looked at her. He licked his lips, and then his paws, and yawned. Finally, he spoke.
"Well, if she is wrong and this was all one big mistake, she is only responsible for a few thousand deaths." He said cheerfully. Elva gave him an annoyed smile.
"I don't know if I should hug you or make your fur light on fire."
"You can do that now? Why does a girl like you need to know how to do such a thing?"
Elva shrugged and grinned.
"Angela said it would be useful."
"To witches, turning princes into frogs is somehow useful." Elva rose from her seated position among the dirt and rock, brushing off her clothing.
"We don't turn princes into frogs. But we do turn panthers into cats." She laughed as she reached for Solembum. Faster than light, he evaded her and made his way down the hill. Elva chased after him, her mind forgetting the stress of her current predicament as she wove past men building tools that would carry them to their deaths.
(line break)
Danziig lifted his eyes from the burning bodies of Xoshans. Behind him, black embers still crackled as Golhlobor's flames dwindled and died. He had fed well in the previous battle, and with that victory, they would soon be able to conquer Ellesmera. But tradition got in the way. The Spring Fertility was an event that could not be ignored, and for a days upon end the Sealed Elves gave into their lusts, procreating amongst the dead. But finally, it was over. Soon, their armies would mobilize again, and they would be on the march. Above, Letherbalka circled, cawing and whispering. Danziig watched as groups of Raz'ac stalked between decomposing bodies, plucking eyes from corpses and popping them into their mouths.
"Kuroein (General) Danziig." The Sealed Elf turned around to find his captain, Juhol Blois, standing before him. Juhol had bright-white blond hair and two mismatched eyes- one was yellow, the other was blue. His skin was as dark as night and smoother than polished wood, and his body was sculpted and hard. On his back two swords waited, and over his chest he wore a molded leather hauberk. A belt separated this dressing from holed trousers, and his feet were clasped in little more than rags. Yet, despite this, Danziig himself saw Juhol fell an Xoshan bear-clan member, the gigantic beast dressed in wood and metal, with large horns curving from its furred head.
"What is it, Juhol?" Danziig asked.
"The legions are ready to march on your command."
The time has come.
"Have you received word from my father?"
Juhol shook his head. "Herzig is still communing with the other shamans. Our god has returned to us. It will not be long." Danziig smiled. He shared Juhol's excitement.
"There will be much death, soon." Danziig walked then, Juhol taking up step beside him. They climbed up a large hill, bodies rolling backwards under the kick of their heels. As they moved, they could hear the legions howling, until finally the came to the top of the bloodied hill. Danziig spread his arms wide as he saw the one million strong Sealed, the forsaken Elves raising weapons as they shouted his praises. Letherbalka squalled in the air, joining in with the bedlam. Danziig filled his lungs, and shouted into the crowd.
"In two days . . . Ellesmera will burn."