(A/N Takes place during the final assault on Feinster, the breaching of the castle wall, and the taking of the last stronghold in the city. Eragon is at this point inside, deep in combat with the shade. If you like it, I encourage you to Rate, Review, and give feedback.)
Jarvis kicked a pebble in frustration. It skittered down the deserted street and came to a rest at the wheels of an abandoned cart, making a distinctively unhelpful clack that carried above the distant sounds of battle. They were lost.
"This is ridiculous"
Arien was providing little input at this point. Her face was grey and uncharacteristically ashen. There were streaks of dirt running down here face where ashes had collected in her tears and solidified. The whole thing was sort of surreal. They had been wandering for minutes around the city streets, trying to find a way out.
"Maybe we should just make for the front. Someone has to have a map of this place."
His words were met with silence and her turned to face the elf in frustration. His expression grew somber when he saw her face. Her eyes were distant and unfocused, lips were slightly parted, like a sleepwalker.
"Hey, can you keep it together for a little longer? I need you here, with me."
Arien shook her head as if clearing it and nodded. The haunted look did not leave her eyes but she was at least acknowledging him.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize."
The pair drifted silently through the road, Jarvis making a silent decision to head for the main battle. Better to be found and in danger than lost and ambushed. The ring of swords grew closer and he could see the inner castle jutting up just a few blocks to their right. At last a patrol, late to the conflict, came marching around a corner. The assassin called out to them, raising a hand.
"Ho there! Are you with the Varden?"
A burly man clad in mail halted the group.
"Aye, I trust you are as well?"
"Yes. Actually we're a little lost, can we join up with you?"
The man considered the two for a moment and then nodded.
"Alright, stay to the back though, my men need plenty of room to swing."
Jogging along with the rest of the soldiers they cut down another street and emerged onto the cities' man thoroughfare. The sounds of fighting grew nearer and nearer and they saw men on all sides, most wounded, being dragged away from the frontline by their comrades. A solid seething wall of fighting men stood just a block away, the screams and clangs ringing close at hand. The group of men Jarvis was travelling with sped up and they barreled into the melee, spears thrusting and axes swinging. Jarvis stuck together with Arien, skirting the clash and jumping in to help where ever he could. A friendly soldier was being driven backwards by two pike men, Jarvis jumped in behind them, cut their hamstrings and stabbed them both once in the stomach. Arien parried a jab from a dismounted cavalryman and gave him a slash that extended from his shoulder to his hip. The man gasped and collapsed writhing to the ground. The elf coldly finished him with an underhand stab. Another soldier's sword connected with the wards on her back and she staggered. Jarvis barged through to her, kicked the man in the fork of his legs and took his head off with a blazing two handed stroke. After that the battle faded into red. Hacking and slashing, elf and man stood back to back, simply trying to stay alive in the midst of the brawl. Slowly the din subsided, and at last the rest of the enemy disengaged and sprinted back towards the palace gates, which opened briefly to admit them and then slammed shut again. The Varden soldiers were too exhausted to give chase, and the remaining infantry that were still standing advanced slowly up the street, eyes scanning the inner palace wall and entrance that lay in front of them, large enough to fit four horses riding abreast. Once they reached the wall the platoon halted and orders were relayed to a runner. Jarvis withdrew his waterskin and drank some, then offered it to Arien who shook her head.
"You sure? You look pale."
"I feel pale."
Her voice was a weary rasp, made hoarse from the ashes that swirled around their feet. The city was a hellscape, fires raged in almost every quadrant, with no one to put them out. Buildings lay destroyed or broken, looking like odd empty dollhouses, cut away to show the inside. Bodies had been piled to the side of the road, both friend and enemy sharing a final resting place, small rivers of blood coating the cobbled streets in a grotesque film that made men slip. After a few minutes a group of magicians from the Varden appeared back with the runner and took positions in front of the gate. There were shouts and the men readied themselves again. Assassin and elf stood, taking up a position next to the doorway. For a whole minute there was silence, save for the magicians, who were muttering something in the ancient language, their hands pressed against the door, eyes closed as if trying to recall a distant memory. At once their eyes flicked open and they scattered back from the door, which burst open with a tremendous bang, shards of smoking wood propelled far and wide. The Varden charged through the gap and into the courtyard.
It might have been a beautiful place once, but it certainly wasn't now. High stone walls ringed the enclosure, the castle and towers nestled against the back wall. Gardens of flowers had been trampled underfoot by men and siege engines, statues lay smashed, their white marble faces looking mournfully up at the smoky sky. The remaining garrison of Imperial soldiers charged them, morale replaced by a desperate drive to survive. High on the castle ramparts, a group of archers pulled back their drawstrings and released them, sending the shafts hissing through the air. Jarvis saw the cloud of arrows a split second before they hit. Arien threw herself down to the ground, but the assassin was not nearly so quick. A shaft penetrated the front of his tunic and buried itself halfway into his stomach, sticking out at an odd angle and missing his spine by inches.
Shock.
Jarvis gasped and clutched at the black-feathered arrow, an overwhelming haze of pain threatening to send him to sleep. He fought it, knowing to sleep would mean death. Arien looked up from the ground and screamed, but her voice was sucked away by the cacophony of battle. Jarvis collapsed to his knees, eyes shut tight, teeth bared in a grimace. Blood trickled down the corners of his mouth, and he tasted copper. The elf jumped up and put her arms under his armpits, dragging him towards one of the white stone mausoleums that housed the royal dead. Swords clashed and men fell all around them as she ran, arrows clinking off of shields and burying themselves into the ground. Jarvis's sense of time slowed and the pain began throbbing, each pulse of overwhelming agony draining him of strength, deadening his limbs. Arien reached the entrance and pulled him inside, laying him against the catacomb wall. Her tear stained face came to him faintly, as though far away. Black ate at the edges of his vision. She did not attempt to heal his wounds, as they were too great for her alone. Realization hit home and he opened his mouth, his voice coming in a whisper.
"I'm afraid to die."
Ariens voice drifted across the air to him.
"You're going to be fine, okay? Fine! The battle is going to end, and the magicians will come and help me heal you, okay? Just stay wi- Jarvis! Look at me!"
"It's so hard, I just want to sleep..."
"Don't do that, stay awake Jarvis, STAY AWAKE!"
Slowly he pulled a hand to his face, finding it slick with his own blood.
Am I really bleeding that much?
He should do something, say something. The void beckoned. Maybe dying wasn't so bad after all...
His eyes closed slowly, and he drifted into sleep.
***
His thoughts came to him through a fog.
Am I dead?
An old voice, tired but kind drifted to him from close by.
"Not yet."
Jarvis realized he was sitting on the edge of a cliff, his legs dangling over. His old nightmare seemed more real than ever now, the dark clouds swirling around beneath him.
"But you could be."
Jarvis turned and saw an old man with a white beard sitting next to him, dressed only in a grey robe, the hood drawn over his head. A strange power seemed to emanate from him. Ancient. Old beyond words. Wise and terrible. Jarvis shuddered.
"Should I be dead?"
"That is the question"
"Who are you?"
The old man laughed, an odd ringing sound that seemed to echo off of invisible walls.
"You know who I am, Jarvis. You know very well. I am Angvard. Sentinel of death itself."
Jarvis did not speak. A shiver again ran through him.
"There is no need to be frightened, you have a choice in this, and that is more than most can say."
"What choice is that?"
"Life, or death."
The old man stood and to Jarvis's amazement walked out onto thin air, turning to stand before him. Angvard extended his sleeve and a pale hand of bone protruded out, palm up.
"Many is the life you have ended. Many is the soul that was sent my way because of you. Now I am giving YOU a choice. You can take my hand, and come with me into the void."
"Or?"
"Or you can continue. Your life is far from over. A long march of time awaits, and I am not unwilling to let you have another chance of it. There is always time."
Jarvis looked out across the gap, the skeletal hand extended to him. What if he took the hand? A release would be... Indescribable. Life was weary. On he sat, and pondered. The old man didn't seem to mind in the slightest. It would be so easy. Just take the hand and be rid of it all. Know all the truths and care about none of them. The manacles of life would be cut away and he would be free from everything. That's what he had always wanted right? Freedom? But the more he thought upon it the more the choice he had to make became clear to him. Slowly, he stood.
"I will go on."
Angvard smiled.
"The harder choice, yes. But fear not, we will meet again, when the time is right, rest assured of that."
Jarvis nodded, turned away from the hovering Death and walked away from the cliff. He had never turned around before. In his nightmares the cliff had always dominated his view. It was actually quite nice. A rolling green plateau folded away before him. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky and he could see a few houses in the distance. They looked oddly familiar. Jarvis walked towards them and they grew close at a rapid rate, as if he were sprinting. He stopped in front of the front door and it opened. In the doorway stood a smiling woman, still fairly young, her black hair tinged with the first streaks of grey. She beamed and Jarvis realized with a jolt who it was.
"Mom?"
He was about to run and embrace her when his eyes flicked open and the dream was smashed.
Slowly his body assailed his brain with complaints. Pain in his stomach, a horrible dull ache. His head throbbed and his eyes would not focus, not that there was much to focus on. The white linen of the tent was glowing with afternoon light.
He was alive.
(A/N Remember to put in your two cents with a review)