As the dragon surveyed the battlefield, he noticed that quite a few soldiers had turned their eyes toward him, including the elf. He snorted. The only elf he liked was his rider, who was killed by Galbatorix's blade. The rest of them, for a reason he did not know, continually hunted him whenever he neared their forests. But this one was different; the dragon could feel it in his bones. Perhaps their beliefs had changed, or they forgot why he was persistently pursued by their kind. The elf spoke to him, and the black dragon listened, though he kept his guard up at all times.
Greetings to you, mighty dragon. Said the elf in the Ancient Language. My name is Mandrake, and I honor both you and your kind, and wish you no harm, provided you are not allied with Galbatorix. If I may be permitted an answer, what may I call you?
Though the dragon was not schooled for long in the elvish tongue, he understood the gist of the message. He could tell that the elf respected him, and would do so even more once he learned that the dragon was no longer a friend of the king.
I am known as Iormungr said the dragon to Mandrake, just as it happened. The cries and anguishes of the dying soldiers crossed his ears, and he was immediately reminded of the horrible night where all of his children were slain before him. Their deathly cries still rang in his ears to this very day, constantly reminding him of that which he failed to protect. Iormungr let off a violent roar, then leapt down onto the remaining soldiers of the Empire.
Burning and tearing through their armor with ease, he continued his rampage regardless of the many small injuries given to him. One fateful man sliced Iormungrs leg, and the dragon retaliated by tearing him in half with his mighty jaws. Arrows pierced his wings, magic burned his scales, and spears and swords cut across his limbs, but the dragon didn't care. Galbatorix and his minions would die, and they would do it soon.
The Varden's warriors quickly retreated from the dragon's wrath, but most of the Empire wasn't so lucky. Those that remained were trapped between Iormungr and a large burning pit. The soldiers cowered, and tried to get as far as possible from the rampaging dragon, but they didn't want to fall in the pit behind them. They trembled even more when Iormungr paused before them, growling fiercely.
Bring your king tidings of his doom said he to the soldiers, intense feelings of vengeance flowing through his voice. Then he retreated well away from the carnage, and proceeded to nurse his wounds, knowing full well that none would dare to approach him.