It's been a long time since the last one.
Disclaimer: I really don't think I need to write this. So here – In this and the rest of the chapters, I don't own Eragon.
Nasuada ground her teeth as she was forced to hear the screams of a dwarven child being slowly tortured to death. Standing on top of the makeshift wooden wall that had been constructed was a smiling Imperial soldier.
It had been a week since the beginning of the Battle of the Burning Plains. In that week, the situation had gone from bad, to better, to worse. The elves had taken Gilead with no resistance, and sent huge quantities of food, water, and weapons to the Varden. Eragon, Roran, and Saphira had come back from Hrothgar's burial with his casket. They had rushed through a brief explanation of why before dragging Nasuada off to Tronjheim. So now she was here, talking to an Imperial while the setting sun beat at her back.
"Welcome, Lady Nasuada, to Tronjheim. As you can see, it has been taken by the Empire. I trust you like what we've done to the place. Just look at our wall!"
Saphira, who had been standing next to Nasuada, roared, fierce and feral, and knocked the soldier down. Roran and Eragon sat on top of her, while Orik stood next to her. They were flanked by a hundred or so Varden and dwarves, the rest had remained in Surda.
The soldier got up, his helmet dented, and said, "Anyway, you know our demands. One dwarven citizen will be tortured to death for every our the rider and the dragon are not in our hands. If you attempt to take back the citizens by force, we will execute every single one of them."
He turned and walked back inside the mountain.
Nasuada turned away from him. She faced Eragon, looking haggard and weary with her messy, unkempt hair.
"Eragon. We have to speak, privately. Please come with me."
She walked to a small, isolated corner near the edge of the lake.
"I think I should thank you for taking me here. I would, too, but all this does is hurt the situation. I don't feel that I am responsible enough to tell you to give yourself up to the Empire or not, so you'll have to make that decision yourself. I know that this will require hard thought, but you must think fast. The soldiers will kill-"
"I know, I know." Eragon cut in. "Please let me think in peace."
"Fine. Think carefully, though, the lives of hundreds of innocent dwarves lie at your feet."
She walked away, back to the small camp that had been set up in front of the mountain.
Eragon allowed himself to fall into the reeds and grasses by the lake, where he lay and thought.
The full force of what he had to decide on hit him in that one, single moment.
He had to either let hundreds, if not thousands of people die in painful, cruel ways, living their last moments in fear, or give himself up to the Empire. If he did that, the only ways he could avoid being taken to Galbatorix were suicide or escape, the second of which was impossible.
He couldn't think clearly about it, all he could think about were the dwarves in the mountain.
Eragon pictured an old dwarf woman, huddled against a cold, stone wall, hugging a baby to her bosom. They were in a dark, dirty room along with many hundreds of other dwarves.
Two armed Imperial soldiers slipped in, pushing aside the small figures of dwarves who shivered with cold fear. The woman stared at the soldiers; eyes wide open with anxiety, praying that they did not take her. The Imperials walked right up to her, cruelly smiled at her, and pointed at the baby.
They took the newly born dwarf away from her even as she pleaded with them not too, all in vain. She could only weep as the soldiers took her child, her beautiful young child she had loved so much, carried her to the top of Tronjheim, and slowly roasted her.
Eragon found himself crying uncontrollably as he got up off the ground and walked back to the camp. He did not care that he felt weak and vulnerable. He did not care about the fact that he was in full view of the Varden. All he cared about was that dwarf women, real or not.
He stepped into the tan, sand colored tent that Roran and he shared and noticed him sitting inside, apparently waiting for him.
"You okay?"
Eragon could not reply with words. He shook his head quickly. He knew he needed some rest.
Roran had the respect and care for his cousin to leave him be. Saphira did not.
Eragon! What are you doing? You're going to sleep while dwarves, innocent dwarves who have never done anything to the Empire, are going to be tortured? Shame that you call yourself a Rider! You must help the dwarves!
He didn't say anything for a moment. Then:
Please, Saphira, I don't want to argue with you. You know how I'm feeling, I just can't think straight. I need rest to clear up my head, then I'll think.
Don't you realize that while you're taking you're little rest, dwarves are being killed?
Yes, I know, but what do you want me to do about it? Give myself up or-
Get inside and rescue those dwarves! You can do it! You are a Rider!
Eragon had considered the possibility of a quick extraction of the hostages, but he knew it was impossible.
They have security in that place you know! I can't just stroll in, take the prisoners, and stroll out!
Then use stealth! The dwarves know this mountain inside out; get Orik or someone to help you! You can't just sit here while dwarves get burned, stabbed, tortured, and killed right in front of you! Help them!
Look, Saphira, I'll consider it , but right now I just can't think straight, okay! Give me a break and then we'll talk about it.
Eragon, if you rest now-
Saphira! Listen! I can't think straight right now, I have to sleep! Give me time to clear up my head and I will talk about what to do next, okay!
Through their mental connection, Eragon could tell that Saphira was calming and taking breaths.
Okay, fine. Rest for the night, Little One, and we'll talk in the morning.
That's all I ask. Good night.
Roran looked up from his bed.
"Were you just having an argument with your dragon?"
Eragon nodded. "Her name's Saphira, remember that. And how'd you know, anyway?"
"You kept making these weird faces like you were constipated or something."
Eragon glared at him. Then he settled down to sleep.
That last line Roran said was lame and not funny, I know.
I just felt like giving him something to say after talking to Saphira.
Anyway, I feel like I dodged a bullet with this chapter.
I kept trying to write a scene where Eragon goes back to the Burning Plains.
After many rewrites that didn't work, I gave up.
Please read and review as always.