Chapter 27: Finally Complete.

In the days leading up to the Agaeti Blodhren, a most interesting change occurred in young Eragon, or at least Oromis noticed and made note of such a change. Whether it had truly occurred or was simply a 'phase' that the young Rider was presently going through was unknown to him at this time.

Eragon became a willing, cooperative, and engaged student.

Perhaps he should count his blessings instead of questioning it, but the change was… odd, to say the least. Eragon listened attentively, did any and all work Oromis asked of him in his own time, and more, and he strove to grasp the full meaning behind every lesson, asking a thousand questions and committing each answer to memory.

Before Eragon had been snarky, uncooperative most of the time, and thoroughly uninterested, though not an inept student, but now he wasn't. He had an insatiable craving for knowledge, they often worked through lunch and far into the evening, sometimes into the black of night. It was quite tiring in truth, as Oromis was not as well as he might appear on the surface, but he strove to match his students commitment with his own and succeeded for the most part.

He failed but once, managing to become so exhausted midway through the week that he almost collapsed. On that day Glaedr picked up the slack. He learned later that Glaedr had brought his lesson back to the Crags, had Saphira take Eragon and they flew. Glaedr fought with Saphira, exchanged worthwhile information with Eragon, attacked Eragon, and exchanged worthwhile information with Saphira.

One thing never changed, despite Eragon's sudden devotion to learning. He always seemed so very tired.

After some prying Saphira revealed he was having difficulty sleeping, after some more she revealed that he wasn't, wasn't sleeping at all, hadn't since the start of the week at least. This was worrying, but in the time he didn't spend sleeping Eragon read. All those dozens of scrolls Oromis had provided the young Rider finally put to good use, Eragon perused and memorised them, all of them, for hours on end he simply read.

It was a good use of time, but Oromis knew the human mind, heck even the elven mind, could only take so much, eventually one needed rest. And yet Eragon denied himself this, for reasons that Saphira was unwilling to divulge and he dared not ask Eragon for fear of driving away his suddenly devoted student.

He noticed other things too, such as the increase in attacks from Eragon's scar. And the increased effects of these attacks. None were terrible, but it took Eragon several moments to recover, and each time he looked even more tired than he had done before. It was all very worrying, but the Rider showed no signs of any other problems, no more outbursts, and Legion never awoke, so he decided on a course of inaction.

Perhaps the Agaeti Blodhren would ease Eragon's mind, it was a festival after all, an occasion of great joy, of drink, of good cheer, and after such a celebration even the elves were pacified, if you could believe such a tranquil group could become yet more content and calm.

He'd bring up the issue after then, if it still needed bringing up.

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She watched him work, with a knife he had stolen from someone, possibly Rhunon, on a block of wood that he had also stolen from someone, probably not Rhunon this time, she rarely used wood in her works and when she did she'd sing it into shape, not carve it.

Eragon could not sing the wood into shape, so instead he carved it, or perhaps he wished to carve instead of sing, yet the wood was still alive, if she understood correctly, or he was keeping it alive. It was confusing, and she truly did not understand the elves obsession with preserving life, even Glaedr did not fully understand it, he grasped not causing unnecessary harm, and was outspoken in his following of such a doctrine, but trees? Plants? Insects? The elves loved and preserved all of these things with a religious fanaticism, not one she understood, and one Eragon practically, and vocally, despised.

So it was understandable when she queried as to why he needed the wood to still be alive as he carved it.

"Because they wouldn't accept it otherwise" he said.

She considered that a minute as Eragon got more wood shavings and chips on the bed that he hadn't slept in in four days 'So that is your offering' that was the only conclusion she could come to after that line. She considered the formless block, slowly being molded by Eragon's knife work into… something 'What is it supposed to be?'

He sent her a tired grin "Wait and see."

Saphira rolled her eyes, but supposed that was fair enough. She had not told him of her gift, so why should he tell her of his. She watched him work a while longer, he was very careful with his work but not terribly adept, twice he had to 'heal' a piece of wood back into place, or repair a cut he didn't intend to make..

It was as it began to take form that her eyes grew weary, too weary to keep them open, she gave up on finding out what his present would be, and let herself fall asleep. When she woke the next morning Eragon was still there, still working, but stood next to him were ten completed works.

'Those are…'

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Oromis called the lesson to a close shortly before midnight, well an hour or so before, and after dressing in a far more grand clothing of red and black, and failing to persuade Eragon to dress in anything but his travel worn clothes, he climbed aboard Glaedr and, along with Eragon and Saphira, headed to the Menoa tree.

There they met with Orik and Arya, though also gathered here was a crowd of elves, almost all possessing silver or black hair. It was quite boring, in fact Orik was an actually interesting visual figure amidst this set of practically perfect people, their uniform perfection making them so very boring to look at. Eragon spied Lifaen and Nari and Vanir and Islanzadi in the throng. The elf queen spared him a single glance, nothing more.

Arya excused herself and disappeared into the crowd, causing Orik to shoot Eragon a glance.

"I didn't do anything" he said defensively.

"Uhuh" Orik didn't sound convinced

Arya returned shortly leading a rather grumpy looking elf, who gave Eragon a snort in response to his greeting, nodded politely to Saphira, and, upon noticing the dwarf, greeted him in dwarven. Eragon's dwarven wasn't up to snuff, but it was decent enough to tell that she was speaking rather politely, and invited him to view her work and discuss metallurgy. Orik was in for a long hell, no matter how much the dwarf might enjoy smithing, Rhunon loved it far beyond him, of that much Eragon was sure. She had bored him one night, and he had already been pretty fucking bored.

Orik came away looking awed however, returning to stand next to Eragon, who was leaning heavily against Saphira "She first learned her craft from Futhark himself" he told Eragon, when the Rider teased him about the pleased looked on his face "One of the legendary grimstborithn of Durgrimst Ingeitum. What I would give to have met him… and she did!"

He chuckled tiredly.

Concern crossed Orik's face "You look unwell brother" he spoke in dwarven, it took Eragon a moment to translate it in his head and then another to figure out what he should respond with.

"I am not at my peak, it is true" he confessed "But I am fine, brother, your concern is unnecessary, though… pleasant?"

The dwarf chuckled "A better response would be" he returned to the common tongue, and then promptly returned to dwarven "Your concern is appreciated but not necessary."

The Rider shrugged.

He sat, knotting grass, while around him the elves bustled quietly. Arya stood alongside him and Orik and Saphira. Arya spoke to him once, Orik four times, neither time did he respond. He was bored.

At some point, his attention was called upwards by the crowd stirring, but after whatever occurred had occurred.

"It is begun" Arya told him with a laugh, placing her hand on his shoulder and tugging him gently to his feet. Her fingers came beneath his chin and directed his face towards an orb of light in a hollow of the bark of the Menoa tree "It will end when there werelight expends itself" after a moment her fingers fell away from him.

He watched as the elves split into small camps throughout the clearing and a little ways into the forest that surrounded the tree, though there was much exchange between groups, some merged then shortly after split. Some fetched and other sang tables then brought out fantastical dishes, more a product of magic than cooking skill, that were hidden in the woods or from further afield, none of it really interested Eragon who remained where he was until Orik grasped his hand and started leading him to where Rhunon was "I will not stand unsociably about this night, and neither will you" he said firmly.

He greeted Rhunon and asked if he might be permitted to join her, she snorted and waved away his concerns "You may go where you wish, within reason, do what you wish, within reason, eat what you wish, within reason, drink what you wish, within reason" she rolled her eyes at the 'ruleset' of the evening.

"Fuckin' elves" Eragon muttered, earning him a laugh from the elderly elf.

The elves sang, numerous songs, but all merging into a larger, grander piece that Eragon recognised as an enchantment over the night. It heightened senses, removed inhibitions, and that was where he stopped bothering to listen. If they wanted an orgy just have a bleeding orgy, there was no need to dress it up as a celebration of the dragon pact.

'That is not all they sing of' Saphira told him 'It is no simple spell, it is a song.'

She wasn't wrong, they sang of great deeds, of adventures, quests, exploration, and beauty most of all, the beauty of all things. The dragon even hummed along. Eragon couldn't help but feel like he didn't belong, like it was wrong of him to be here. He entwined his fingers and brought picture perfect images of scrolls to mind, reciting in his mind their contents almost perfectly.

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'Is this your night?' Eragon opened his eyes at his words. He was sat alone, though Saphira was not far away. Glaedr had sat himself close behind him though, though his immensity, or rather Eragon's minisculity, meant that he could look at the Rider face to face. Eragon casually leaned against the older dragon, a very bold thing to do, at least by elven standards, though they would consider merely touching him to be an affront to his pride. Glaedr cared not 'Will you not enjoy yourself? There are many pleasures to be had here, drink, food, song, do none of them interest you?'

'Not really' he said, his eyes heavy, and slowly closing. With a start the Rider sat upright, and rubbed at his tired eyes.

That lead perfectly into a question Glaedr had wanted to ask for a rather long time, and also a matter his Rider was curious of too 'Why Eragon? You are not the type to do something like this without reason, why do you deny yourself rest?' the dragon asked solemnly.

"Worry about yourself" Eragon told him, standing and brushing grass from his clothes "Will you make it through the night, old man?"

The dragon snorted at the obvious attempt to divert his attention, but let the Rider go, despite his worry. His back arched as the Rider stumbled, a quiet cry of pain escaping his lips 'Eragon?!' he asked, rising.

"I'm fine!" Eragon's teeth were gritted, his fists clenched. He stalked back, struggling the entire way, and hooked a cloth sack around one of Glaedr's teeth "Give that to Oromis. I'm done here" with that the Rider left, his movements unsteady. He was called out many times, elf men and maids approaching him, some touched him, others beckoned him to touch them, many invited him to eat and drink and sing, he ignored them all.

Glaedr watched, a cloth sack hanging from one of his teeth, worry in his eyes.

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He stumbled to his knees, letting out a cry of pain, far louder than the last. Pain seared along his arm, his entire body tensed, his muscles becoming painfully tense. As his hands shook and he struggled to regain his balance, he heard laughter and merriment, and found a group of elves playing a river.

Eragon wondered how long he had been sat there, his eyes closed, with information floating about his head, given that half of them were naked, and one pair was already rutting on the river banks. How much of the night had already passed?

But then, what did it matter, there were three whole days of this crap to get through.

The Rider forced himself to stand, his legs shaking, and moved away from them, heading deeper into the forest.

He walked until the sounds of merriment had faded entirely, and kept walking. Then started running. Sprinting. Pain tore at him, making him stumble, but he kept going. Blood poured down his back, but he kept going. He felt a vague query from Saphira, but she was too caught up in the merriment herself and he had gotten skilled at keeping his pain from her over the past days, she didn't know and let him go after the slightest excuse.

'ERAGON!'

'Eragon.'

'Eragon?'

'EraGOOOOOOOON!'

'...Eragon.'

'Eragon…'

'Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon, Eragon.'

Maniacal laughter sounded in his mind, a thousand voices screaming at him, raging, shouting, crying, screaming, begging, pleading, taunting, debasing. Eragon roared, as he ran, he screamed to the sky as loud as he could, until his throat hurt, and then some more.

After a mile his legs finally gave out and he feels heavily to the ground, his arms just managing to stop him from hitting the dirt face first. He screamed, the pain grew and grew and grew, until it consumed every conscious thought.

He heard the sound of crumbling rock.

'ERAGON!'

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'The walls have fallen' he glanced to the side, at Whitey who stood there, armoured in dull metal that stood in stark contrast to his incandescent white scales. It was very similar to the armour Saphira had worn in Farthen Dur, perhaps it was based upon it, his mental image of the armour that is, but looked more worn, older even, and far less beautiful, but practical and protective.

"That… is not good" he murmured tiredly, rising to his feet.

'We aren't ready, it isn't time yet' Whitey exclaimed, his claws digging into the rock flaw, tearing up chunks. The worry was clear in his voice.

Eragon laughed "And yet the time is upon us" he said, opening his arms wide, as if greeting the enemy. He could hear them, their screams as they charged through his castle, burning, looting, raping and pillaging, but heading towards him most importantly of all, above all else. He could hear them still calling his name, beckoning, begging, bargaining… hating, hurting.

Screaming.

'We aren't…'

"No… we're not" he interrupted the dragon with a smile, a grim one. He knew full well their situation, and it was not an advantageous one, indeed it was distinctly disadvantageous "But we'll manage."

Whitey considered him for a long time, then bowed 'I'm sorry.'

The Rider laughed "You shouldn't be" the dragon didn't meet his gaze, that just made him smile all the more. He sat back on his throne, his sword drawn and laid across his lap awaiting the coming foe "Tell me."

Whitey sent a questioning thought his way.

"Tell me about your birth, how you were made, I'm curious. I have ideas of course. I know what you are. But I don't know how you are."

'I…' he was hesitant.

"We are about to face the greatest enemy we have faced, at the height of their power. We aren't ready, it's too early, so tell me this, Whitey. Tell me the truth of you… you might not get a second chance."

It took him several moments to begin.

'In the beginning there was chaos' as he spoke Eragon found images working their way into his mind, chaos, panic, confusion, desperation 'There were so many of us, and such confusing feelings. We do… we did not feel as you did. So your emotions confused us, they drove us insane, that madness… the madness Legion is afflicted with…' Whitey shook his head 'I would not wish that upon anyone.'

It hurt, that was the feeling Eragon could properly decipher, his feelings hurt them, agonisingly so. Was that why Shades were always insane monsters? Because the spirits could not understand human emotions, and exposed to them they were driven to madness? Angela told him only evil spirits sought to possess people, but nothing was truly evil, he knew that much to be true, nothing and no one was 'evil'. It would make sense for the spirits to be driven to insanity, and therefore be perceived as evil, and though it was no fault of the humans, it was also entirely their fault.

'But a few of us… three of us, we found something to cling to in all that madness. Something in your mind that was solid, relatable, understandable, even familiar. Something ancient and old, something of such power…'

Eragon nodded, he had assumed as much "That's why you look as you do, you took the form of a dragon, because you took the… the dragon in me, took after it at least. Hmm."

'It is not…' Whitey struggled to explain '...not a dragon, in truth. It is… complex. Like memories, only not yours, something instinctual, powerful, but faint. When Saphira arrived, that part of you was bolstered, that was when we found it, or when it became a valid strategy, when we choose to become as it was, to emulate it, emulate her. Before then we were just part of the horde.'

"Why only you?" he queried, it seemed odd "Just three, there are… so many. Why did they pick… madness, as opposed to whatever you are?"

Whitey laughed a long growling laugh 'It was not… pleasant, to become as we are, indeed it was less pleasant than the madness that was you, if you can believe that. It changed us, in a way that was permanent, and… well, as I said, it was not a pleasant change. We can no longer claim to be spirits, as Legion can, we can never return to that, even if you were to die, we would not be free. We cannot even claim to be 'we' anymore. We are something… else. Something abnormal. A freak, even amongst freaks.'

He spoke of Eragon and of Legion, and that made Eragon himself laugh "Thanks for that" he teased, smirking softly. But despite the causal and mocking nature of the remark, he truly meant it. Without Whitey, he would've lost that first time, and would've been overwhelmed before Oromis and Glaedr got him the second, and he had stood with Eragon all this time, every time Legion assaulted them, and he stood with him now, at the end. The grand black wood doors of the throne wood shuddered, sending wood dust from the door to the floor as something hit it with great force. He let out a sigh and stood "And so it begins."

Whitey rose, his armour clanking.

Eragon grasped the helm on the arm of his throne, and placed it down on his head.

Clad all in plate, pitch black, with fully armoured fingers, and heavy armoured boots, the helm was beastial in nature, more a dragon's head than anything else, but wilder, darker, more vicious and less noble than any dragon, it covered his face entirely. Behind him flowed a cloak of pure sapphire blue, the end was ragged and torn, and an emblem of a golden flame was emblazoned in the centre of his back.

He took Durza in hand, and held it ready. Why did this sword appear in his hand here, and not Zar'roc? He had used Zar'roc just as much, it was as much his sword as Durza was, more so even. Perhaps it was because he had earned Durza, while Zar'roc had been given to him. Or was it that Zar'roc belonged to Eragon from before, while Durza had been claimed by him, was his, not just an… heirloom, he supposed was the correct word, from the him before.

He shook his head, it hardly mattered. The battle would be long and hard. Could he win? He knew the answer, they both knew, deep down. They weren't ready, it wasn't yet time. They couldn't win.

The door shuddered again as he padded down the steps leading up to his throne. Whitey strolled forwards with him, but stayed a step of two behind.

Was it his imagination or did the distance between the door and the throne grow? It seemed before like the door was so close, he could see every particle of dust the ramming shook free, yet now they had so much space, a hall larger than the clearing around the Menoa tree, large enough for an army of many hundreds to stand before him.

Large enough for a Legion.

Pain wracked him, but he forced himself to remain standing, while the throne room cracked, and pieces of the ceiling crashed to the floor.

The door shuddered again.

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She danced with an elven man with silver hair, and an elf maid who matched him exactly in appearance. She drank from goblets made of water. Ate off platters of crystal, and silver, and wood, and wicker. She listened to poems sung by great artisans, and read her own to a waiting audience, not showing her immense embarrassment.

Many complimented her work, but she knew it to be merely average, at best.

One person was lacking, and she found herself… missing him. She had expected a mocking remark, a flirt, some kind of comment at least, but he wasn't there, hadn't listened. And, on that line of thought, she realised she had not seen him for a long time and, with that in mind, began seeking him.

Saphira was playing with a group of elves, exchanging riddles, breathing fire for their amusement, and occasionally attempting to bite them, roaring victoriously when she caught one in her jaws before releasing the elf. The elves who were caught were all gracious losers, despite their wounds and broken bones, laughing and smiling as they were freed and healed.

'Saphira Bjartskular' she greeted with an extravagant bow, and a smile on her face.

'Arya Svit-kona' Saphira responded as best she could, with her own thoroughly exaggerated bow, which looked rather ridiculous on the dragon and sent several elves to the ground in laughter 'What do you desire of me?' Saphira asked in good cheer, snapping at another elf as he darted past her face.

She laughed as she watched the game continue, but focused on her task "Have you seen your Rider around?" she looked about, as if he might be hiding behind Saphria back, before realising how stupid that was and stopping in her efforts.

Saphira sobered up, almost suddenly and Arya felt the dragon's mind search 'He…' Saphira pulled a face, that Arya would guess was a frown 'He is away. Sleeping I believe.'

"Ah" Arya nodded "I see."

'What did you desire of him?' Saphira asked in an amused tone, a teasing smile appearing on the dragon's face. That was an expression Arya could recognise on the dragon, even if it looked more threatening than teasing, with those sharp, pointed, ivory white teeth.

Arya chose her next words carefully, aware that although the elves around did not look as if they were listening at all, they were all listening intently to the exchange "I merely wished that he enjoy the celebration, instead of remaining cooped up on his own."

Saphira barked out a laugh 'Yes, my Rider is most unsociable' the connection grew closer, and private 'He would like your poem.'

"T-that…" Arya stuttered, and paused, flustered "You are most kind, Saphira Brightscales" she performed her bow again "Fare thee well."

She continued her search, wandering past many a wonder. She paused to listen to a singer and an elf playing reed flutes. She spoke to Oromis a while, and Glaedr of course, queried Lifaen and Nari, who Eragon seemed to get along with far better than he did the rest of her race, but they knew nothing. She found Rhunon engaged in smithing talk with Orik, arguing over the best way to treat metal. Their conversation would've been interesting, had she an interest in metallurgy.

As it was she struggled to get a word in, and found neither knew where Eragon was only after several minutes.

It was around this time that Glaedr moved to the centre of the clearing with Oromis. Oromis opened the bag and presented what lay within. Sixteen wooden carvings, no masterpieces by any means, but their subject of much interest.

Three elves, a male, a female, and a child. Three dwarves, the same. Three humans, again the same. Three urgals, which many elves took an interest in, viewing the urgal child and female with interest, many having not witnessed their kind before. Three dragons, who were far larger, grander and more detailed than the rest. And finally two werecats, a male and a female, and she recognised both, they were clearly based upon Solembum and Maud.

Glaedr did not explain, though Oromis stated that this was Eragon's offering, and that his student was indisposed at the moment, but would return to the celebration as soon as he was ready and able.

Arya knew this to be a lie, or at least a distortion of the truth, as she had spoken to him, and he had stated that he was unaware of Eragon's present location. She supposed neither statement was contradictory, he could not know where Eragon was but know what he was indisposed and would return soon.

For a while, many examined the statues, even Arya spent a few moments viewing them, they were fairly well carved, and a good likeness of the races they intended to depict, and the wood was alive. The elves planted them around the Menoa Tree, burying the circle of wood below each figure halfway in the dirt and dancing merrily around them.

She spoke with many elves, some were so strange even she felt they were alien, not of her race, but she knew they all were, just changed so much they were barely the same. Elves had the power to mutate their own bodies, most used this to beauty themselves, to achieve their own ideal of beauty, which was often a very similar ideal. With time intensely transformative acts could be performed, making them into something else entirely, another species even. But such changes were costly, the body was taxed by this, as was the mind.

But such were the lengths they were willing to go to to achieve their ends, to achieve their ideal of beauty, to adapt to their environment. Whatever their purpose, she could respect their decision, even if it was not something she herself would do.

She met a woman who was more spirit than elf, who so loved spirits, considered them such an ideal, that she practically was one, her form loose and barely tangible. But throughout what was surely an interesting conversation, she found herself thinking of Eragon. What this woman would think if she met him? Would she loathe him, or love him?

Eventually she found herself face to face with her mother, who looked so beautiful this night, her face in a genuine smile, unguarded for a change "Arya" she had said softly, taking her daughters hands "Come" she had let herself be taken, dancing with her mother for a time. But, although she affected it, her good cheer had faded, and she soon excused herself, politely of course, and only after spending a fair amount of time in her mother's company.

Arya made her way to the other side of the Menoa tree, and only there did she remove her own false cheer and let a solemn expression take over her face. It bothered her, it truly did.

She considered the branches of the tree, high above, rustling in a nonexistent breeze.

Where was Eragon?

Did she care anymore?

Why did she?

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Eragon laughed, coughing out blood.

His armour was rent and rended, though parts remained on his form, more was lying haphazardly on the ground. His helmet was shattered, a thick shard of it stabbing into his skull. Only one of his legs remained armour, the other being unprotected and damaged beyond belief. The bottom of his foot was practically just bone and a few stray pieces of flesh. His sword was lying a few feet away from him, as he sat on his throne.

He turned his gaze to Whitey, who lay broken and defeated on the ground, its white scales dripping with bright scarlet red blood, and smiled a soft sad smile, silently thanking his companion for his service.

Around them lay the corpses of hundreds of demons. The same demons they had fought each and every time before. Ripped, rended, torn, broken, bloodied. Limbs and bodies, brains and heads, legs and arms, they were in pieces and thoroughly murdered. He wondered why Legion never came… in person, so to speak. Instead all the demons were set free, but the full Legion was only used as a messenger.

He spat blood to his left, a tooth flying out with the blood. It had been such a long battle, all he wanted to do now was sleep.

"Ha… haha… hahahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!" the laughter grated on his nerves, and Eragon turned his head to survey the one laughing. The corpses were gone, replaced with a figure being forged from their blood "I win, Eragon" Legion smiled at him, its hands twitching "I win" its smile was wide enough to split its face, indeed its cheeks were bleeding where the flesh had torn "I WIN! HeheHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!"

Eragon spat his next glob of blood in Legion's direction.

That made the being stop laughing, and frown "Why do you still resist? Don't you get it? We win, it's our victory, that means you are ours now!" Legion stalked forwards and grabbed Eragon's face "We get to be one, Eragon" his grip was so tight it hurt "We can finally have you!"

"G…" Eragon wheezed. Had a rib pierced his lung? He was having real difficulty breathing, but struggled words out all the same "Go…" Legion leaned forwards to listen, its eyes bright with tears of joy "Go fuck yourself."

Legion stood upright, pulling away, from Eragon, wrapping its arms around itself, hugging itself tightly "Eragon, oh Eragon, my dear Eragon, my beloved Eragon" it came back down, and wrapped its arms around him "My dear beloved lovely wonderful beautiful Eragon. Oh how I love you, and loathe you!" its grip tightened painfully, but quickly loosened "Oh, Eragon."

He heard a faint growl, and witnessed with tired eyes Whitey struggling to stand.

"STAY OUT OF THIS!" Legion roared, and the dragon collapsed. It didn't have the strength to stand, never mind take on Legion. Legion was not uninjured, true, but they… they were defeated.

Legion turned its attention back to Eragon, holding him tighter, but not painfully so.

Eragon glanced down, and realised its chest wasn't solid, it had become liquid, and it was dripping into Eragon. Its entire body was pouring itself into him. He looked up at Legion, as the being smiled at him, and threw up all over his face.

Burning acidic liquid forced itself down his throat, into his eyes, through his eyes sockets, up his nose, into his ears. He felt nauseous, but couldn't throw up himself. He wanted to cry, but the reverse was happening. It felt like his ears were bleeding, but liquid was going in not out. It going up his nose was the worth, that felt really uncomfortable.

"You are ours" Legion's voice echoed through his entire mind, sounding louder than an earthquake, shaking the remains of the castle to dust, shaking his throne to rubble, as Legion merged with him, as they became closer and closer, until the line distinguishing them was barely even there "You are ours."

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Red eyes opened and looked around, surveying the world now before his eyes.

The world was lit by moonlight so bright it was blinding, blood poured from his back freely pain feeling so fresh and viscious it was beautiful, and from his ears, and his nose, and his eyes. He threw up, but laughed all the same.

Forcing himself to his feet, he opened his arms wide to embrace the world, and heard it recoil in fear.

It made him laugh, laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh, even while he was throwing up blood, even with his throat so raw it was bleeding, he laughed and laughed and laughed.

He fell to his knees, and hugged himself, bringing his knees up to his chest "Finally, finally, finally, oh, finally, Eragon, oh Eragon, oh my dear Eragon" he smiled up at the sky, staring through tears and blood, his red hair shimmering and shining like wet blood in the moonlight "It's ours… finally. Oh Eragon. Finally" Legion laughed "We are finally complete."


So that's that then.

Which part of this chapter did you guys enjoy the most? Really quite curious. The most fun part for me writing where Whitey backstory, which I've been waiting to get off my chest for a while, and funnily enough the Arya scene (where's she enjoying the celebration), I had genuine fun writing that scene. Still, I'm interested in what you enjoy if anything.

Toodles.