AN Thank you so much to everyone who has followed and favourited! I love you all! And special massive thanks to everyone who reviewed! *high five* Hope you like this chapter

Chapter 13

Eragon spent the night curled up under Saphira's wing, thinking about the battle that was soon approaching. The orcs that would soon be trying to break down the gates of the city would not be looking for them to surrender. They wanted to slaughter every man, woman and child it contained, and they would not stop until they had done so. This battle would be no place for mercy, Eragon resolved. Kill or be killed.

The following morning found him with Gandalf, talking to the city guard. Pippin had taken up his duties with Lord Denethor, and was with him in the Citadel.

The guard they were speaking to was in charge in Faramir's absence. Gandalf was unsuccessfully trying to convince him to move the people living in the lower levels to some place higher up in the city, where they would be safer.

"Listen to me!" Gandalf said angrily. "These people are in danger! When the city is attacked, they will be the first to suffer. There will be arrows, rocks, fire raining down! They will be killed! They need to be moved to the higher levels! NOW!"

The guard stood up straighter, and said sniffily, "You do not give orders here, Mithrandir," he added derisively. "In Captain Faramir's absence, I am in charge of the safety of this city. Not you. Now leave before I arrest you," he said stonily.

"Bah!" Gandalf said, disgusted. "You would let you own people die to keep your pride intact."

The guard stood there, silent and unmoving.

Gandalf turned heel and walked away, furious. Eragon glared at the guard until he dropped his gaze, and then followed Gandalf.

Neither of them spoke as they walked through the city. The street they were walking on ended abruptly, opening out into the empty area in front of the gates.

"I will admit," Gandalf said slowly, his voice considerably calmer, "that while during my many long years I have been in many battles, none of them have been like the one we are facing. In this case, I think you, Eragon, are better suited to plan for this battle than I."

Eragon stood for a moment, absorbing what Gandalf had just said. "You want my advice?" he asked.

"I do," said Gandalf gravely.

Eragon stood back and looked at the city as a whole. "This city is perfect for defending; it is tiered – and each tier can be defended, so even if they break through one level we can keep defending the next one. It has very high walls, which means they will be reduced to using catapults and ladders, both of which we can deal with. Most importantly, it only has one gate. That means the city only has one true weak point, and even that is strong." Eragon turned to face the gate. "That is where they will focus their attack." He sighed. "Do you know how large the army is?"

"Sauron will empty Mordor. He intends to once and for all destroy Gondor." Gandalf stared at Eragon. "I would guess there to be…more than one hundred thousand orcs in Mordor," he said grimly.

One hundred thousand! Eragon thought. "We cannot defeat one hundred thousand orcs with the number of soldiers we have," Gandalf nodded grimly again, "but we do not have to. We only have to hold out until Rohan arrive."

They continued talking about battle preparations for several hours. As morning became afternoon, Eragon went to check on the catapults, while Gandalf had gone to talk to other members of the city guard.
The catapults were all in good condition, strong, well-anchored and with a good supply of ammunition. As he was walking to inspect the last one, he wondered what Saphira was doing. That morning she had asked him to put the invisibility spell on her so she could fly if she wished. Suddenly, as if she knew he was thinking about her, she burst into his mind.

ERAGON!

Saphira! What's wrong? Eragon said desperately.

Look over the ramparts! Towards the river!

Eragon ran to the nearest battlement, trying to see what had got Saphira so worked up. Then he saw it. Riders. A couple of hundred of them. Fleeing Osgiliath. They looked like they were riding for their lives. Then he realised that they were.

Rising out of the ruined city came three black beasts, their wings flapping gracelessly as they chased the riders across the plains.

Eragon searched with his mind until he found who he was looking for.

Gandalf! Can you see this?

Yes, came the reply after a few seconds.

Saphira and I can fly out and meet them.

NO! Stay here. Do not reveal yourselves yet. I will take care of this.

Eragon lost the connection with Gandalf, and as he did he saw a white horse streak out of the gates, heading towards the oncoming riders.

What is he doing? Eragon cried. He'll be killed!

Give him some credit Eragon, Saphira said, but even she sounded worried. He knows more than you think.

What's happening? I can't see! They're too far away!

Let me show you.

Eragon's vision disappeared for a moment. When it returned, everything was tinted blue, but he could see in much greater detail. He could make out a figure sitting atop each flying beast, which had now caught up to the fleeing riders. They were terrorising the horses, picking them up in their claws and mouths and then flinging them at the retreating riders. The beasts suddenly reared back, screeching. A bright light was shining at them, a light, Eragon saw through Saphira's eyes, that was coming from Gandalf's staff. The great, flying bats wheeled away, retreating back to Osgiliath.

Gandalf joined the head of the column of riders racing towards Minas Tirith. Seeing that they were no longer under threat, Eragon left the rampart and ran through the city, arriving at the gates just as they opened. He spotted Pippin standing at the edge of the courtyard and carefully made his way over to him as the riders thundered through the open gate. They stood side by side, watching as the last of the riders entered the courtyard and the gates thudded shut.

Eragon scanned the mass of bodies in front of him, searching for a flash of white. He was startled by a voice behind him.

"So now you have seen the Nazgul," Gandalf said grimly.

Eragon whirled around, wondering how he had missed the wizard. "Aye," he replied. "The creatures they ride upon seem…formidable."

"They are, but they do not have minds of their own. They are controlled completely by their riders."

"The Nazgul."

"The Nazgul," Gandalf confirmed. "They are Sauron's most trusted servants. They have no mercy, no conscience, no soul. They are evil. Their blades were forged in dark magic. If it touches your skin, the spot will never heal fully, if at all."

There was silence between them for a few moments, until Pippin spoke up.

"Gandalf, what happened in Osgiliath?"

Gandalf looked down at Pippin. "I have an idea, dear hobbit, but I do not know exactly."

Gandalf looked up, his eyes searching for someone in the crowd. "Faramir!" he called.

Eragon followed Gandalf's line of sight, and saw a man with brown sandy hair look over at them. He turned back to the man he was speaking with and gave a final order. Receiving a nod of affirmation from the soldier, Faramir steered his horse toward them and trotted over.

Stopping a few feet away from them, Eragon got a proper look at the Captain of the Guard. He was holding his helmet under his left arm, the reins in his right hand. His armour was smeared with dirt and blood, the metal scraped and dented. There was a cut down the side of his face and he was holding himself rather stiffly in the saddle.

"Mithrandir," Faramir said. Eragon was surprised. His voice sounded young – it didn't match the haunted look in his eyes.

"I thank you for coming to our aid," said Faramir gratefully. "I fear that without you, none of us would have returned today."

"Indeed," Gandalf said gravely. "What happened, Faramir?"

Faramir seemed to slump in the saddle. "The city has fallen. The orcs used the fog to their advantage and a fighting force crossed the river during the night. We held them off, but more kept coming. They drove us back to the edge of the city and tried to surround us. I gave the order to mount and break cover. And then the Nazgul came," he shuddered. He recovered quickly and spoke in a measured voice. "Osgiliath is lost, Gandalf. Orcs are crossing the river in their thousands, led by the King of the Nazgul."

Faramir looked down at the ground and sighed. Eragon saw him wince and shift his position, trying to alleviate the pain in his back.

"Faramir," Gandalf said, interrupting Eragon's thoughts. The Captain looked up. "I would like to introduce my companions. This is Eragon Bromsson. He is a traveller from another land, and an accomplished warrior."

Faramir studied him curiously. "I am glad to make your acquaintance, Eragon Bromsson," he said.

"And I, yours," Eragon replied.

"And this," Gandalf said impatiently, "Is Peregrine Took of the Shire." Gandalf gestured for Pippin to step forward.

As Faramir's eyes landed on the hobbit, they widened in disbelief. He glanced to Gandalf, and then back at Pippin. "A Halfling," he muttered.

Gandalf – who had been studying Faramir's face – asked, "This is not the first Halfling to cross your path?"

Faramir slowly shook his head.

"Frodo!" Pippin cried. "Sam!"

"Yes," Faramir said, his eyes not leaving Pippin's face. "Those were their names."

"When Faramir? When did you see them?" Gandalf asked, eyes stormy.

"A week past. I found them on one of our trails in Ithilien. We brought them here, to Osgiliath and they took the tunnels out of the city. But Gandalf," Faramir's voice became serious, and it was tinted with something Eragon could not identify. "They were led by a creature. A small thing it was. Skinny. Sneaky. Full of hatred and malice."

"Gollum," Gandalf said in a low voice.

"Yes."

Gandalf cleared his throat. "Where were they planning to go?"

Faramir took a breath. "The Morgul Vale," he said grimly.

Gandalf inhaled sharply, his face going pale. "But that – " he started.

"I know," Faramir interrupted. "I talked to them, tried to get them to change their minds, but they said any other path would take too long to complete their task. And they are right."

Eragon watched the exchange with trepidation. Clearly something about the hobbits' chosen route was not good.

Faramir sighed. "I must return to my men. There are many wounded and the horses need to be taken care of. Then I must speak with my father."

Eragon thought quickly and came to a decision. "I would like to help, Lord Faramir, if you will allow me. I am an experienced healer, and I have handled many horses in my time." That last part was not completely true. Eragon had really only handled Birka – the old farm horse, and Cadoc and Snowfire. But he could communicate with the horses in ways that no other man could.

Faramir studied him for a moment, and said, "Your help would be most welcome, Eragon. We are rather short on healers these days. And I am no Lord. Faramir will do." Eragon nodded.

"Well," Gandalf said, "I must be off. I need to think. And Pippin here has duties to attend to, do you not?" he asked, looking down at the hobbit.

"Yes," Pippin answered. At Faramir's inquiring gaze, he responded, "Lord Denethor made me a Tower Guard.

"Did he?" Faramir laughed. "I thank you for serving Gondor." He sobered. "Be careful, Master Hobbit." With that he turned away, walking towards his men.

Eragon faced Gandalf and Pippin. "Well, that was interesting," he smiled wryly.

"Humph!" Gandalf snorted.

"How about we meet here at the same time tomorrow? It looks like we're all busy for the rest of today."

"Yes, yes," Gandalf said impatiently. "Now away with you, Eragon. You have duties to attend to as well."

Eragon grinned and loped away, quickly catching up with Faramir. He stood silently at the Captain's side while he gave out orders to the men.

"If you are injured," he said loudly, drawing the attention of all the soldiers, "Go to the healers. If you are not injured, help someone who is. Leave the horses here in the courtyard. Once you are finished your tasks, there will be a meal waiting for you in the hall. You," he said, pointing to a group of four, uninjured men, "Start bringing the horses up to the stables. Make sure they are fed and watered."

"Yes sir," they chorused back.

"Beric, Olsun, Jared, Donal, Gart. Report."

As the five men he had called started making their way over, Faramir dismounted and turned to Eragon. "I do not know you. You seem strange to me. I can see you are powerful, and that should worry me, but it doesn't. Gandalf trusts you, so I trust you. The healers are higher up in the city. Just follow those men," he said, pointing. "I beg you to do what you can, Eragon. We have many injured and too few healers, and I will need every last man in Minas Tirith before too long. The worst is yet to come." Faramir's head dropped.

"Hope is not lost, Faramir," Eragon said. He put his hand on the older man's shoulder. "Things are not as bad as they seem." He gave him a small smile and turned quickly, striding after the injured soldiers.

As he stood in the entrance to the healers' building, Eragon could only sense despair. Resolving to change that, he stepped inside. He had to stop for a moment and let his eyes adjust to the dim room. The windows were covered with drapes, casting a gloomy blanket of hopelessness across those inside. Looking around, Eragon searched for someone in charge. Spotting a figure bent over a bed, he made his way over. As he walked, he noticed that while all the beds were full, only a few patients were being attended to.

He came to a halt beside the healer. "Excuse me," he said. The healer slowly stood up and faced him. She reminded him of Aunt Marian, Eragon mused, or at least, what he imagined his aunt would have looked like if she had lived to be older.

"Are you injured, my boy?" she asked in a motherly tone. "Come, let's get you a bed."

"No, no. I'm not injured." She stopped her fussing and looked curiously at him. "Captain Faramir sent me."

She straightened up, her voice inquisitive. "And why would he do that if you aren't injured?"

"I'm a healer," Eragon explained. "He asked me to help you in any way I can."

The healer – Eragon did not yet know her name – stepped back to get a proper look at him. Hands on hips, she looked him up and down, circling him. Eragon submitted himself to her wordless inspection, knowing she only wanted the best for her patients.

She came to a stop in front of him. "What is your name?" she asked kindly.

"Eragon, ma'am."

"Eragon…unusual name. And what age are you, Eragon?"

He had to think about that one. He had never been particularly good about remembering when his birthday was, but with the war and then all the travelling, he had completely lost track.

Saphira? A little help please.

You are nearly 20, Eragon. Nineteen years and nine months, to be exact. Honestly, you should remember these things.

I love you, Saphira.

Hmm.

"I am nearly twenty, ma'am."

"Very young for a healer," she said, looking at him intently.

Eragon had to think. "Yes," he answered slowly. "But I had many great teachers, and a lot of practise. And I am not…ah…a conventional healer, I suppose you could say."

"What do you mean?"

Eragon answered a question with a question. "What is your name?"

"Jenny," she said suspiciously.

"Well Jenny, could you tell me what is wrong with this man?" Eragon asked, pointing at the man she had been treating.

"He was shot with a poisoned arrow. The wound is infected, he has a high fever and the poison is spreading faster than we can stop it." Eragon could see that she really did care for her patients, but she was wary as to where his line of questioning was headed.

I trust her, Eragon decided. "You asked who I am. In some ways, I am like Gandalf, but I am not from this land. There, I was a warrior, a healer, a leader, a friend."

"Wizard," she whispered.

"Magician," Eragon corrected with a smile. He allowed a few blue sparks to dance across his palm and Jenny gasped. "This man," he continued, "is in pain. You and I both know that nobody here can save him. The most you can really do for him, is allow him to die painlessly." She looked down at the ground. "I can save him," Eragon said. Her head came up, and she slowly nodded.

Eragon stepped up to the man's bedside. He sent his consciousness into his body, trying to find the source of the poison. He traced it back to the wound in the man's stomach. A tiny sliver of the arrowhead still remained embedded in his skin, causing both the infection and keeping the source of the poison alive. Eragon removed the piece of arrow, and then drew all the poison out of the man's body. It trickled out of the wound until eventually there was a pebble-sized sphere of dark, coalescing black sludge pulsating in the dim light. Eragon placed it in a metal bowl at the bedside. He did the same thing for the infection, removing all the pus and disposing of it. Once the infection was removed, the fever broke. Eragon cleaned out the man's body one last time and sealed up the wound. Finished, he opened his eyes to find Jenny staring at him with her mouth open. Wordlessly, she checked the man's temperature, not at all surprised to find it had gone down. "That was incredible," she murmured.

Eragon smiled at her. "There are many injured in here. We'd better hurry up."

So for hours Eragon healed and healed. Jenny brought him to those with the most serious wounds first. There were many more like the first man he had healed, and there were many who had limbs missing. As the day wore on, he came to those who had broken limbs and small infections. All were left in awe after Eragon had healed them. The last man Eragon healed had had his hand crushed by a mace.

"Thank you, sir! Thank you! Thank you!" he said.

"You are welcome, soldier," Eragon replied, "but I am not a sir. I am Eragon."

Finally, he was finished. The ward was empty apart from the different healers who had come to watch him work.

"Thank you, Eragon," Jenny said. "You saved many lives today."

"There's no need to thank me. I did what anyone would have done. Now," he said, addressing all the gathered healers, "I suggest you get some rest. This ward won't be empty for long." He smiled sadly, and he saw his expression echoed among those around him. He turned to go, when suddenly a thought popped into his head. "Actually, do you have any apples?" A bag of apples was produced, and Eragon said goodbye again and left.

Nearly dark now, Eragon cut the apples into pieces as he walked through the city. Arriving at the courtyard, Eragon saw forty tired horses still standing, with the four soldiers he had seen earlier preparing to bring some more up to the stables.

"Halt!" he shouted to them. They turned, and Eragon could see as he jogged over to them that they were in desperate need of food and sleep. "I'll take care of the rest," he said to them. "Go and eat."

"Are you sure?" one of the soldiers asked. His friend elbowed him and Eragon had to smother a laugh.

"I'm sure. Go."

"Thank you, sir!" Eragon was didn't bother to correct him.

Walking over to the remaining horses, Eragon could sense that they were tired too. He pulled out his bag of chopped apple and went along the line, feeding each horse as he did so. Now that they trusted him, he broadcast his thoughts to them.

Follow, he imprinted on them. He sent them an image of himself, followed by images of a nice warm stable, fresh hay and water. He started walking and after a few steps he turned his head – they were following like lambs.

Walking through the streets, Eragon followed the scent of horse to find the stables. He got some very strange glances from the people of Minas Tirith as he walked; a foreign warrior who was friends with Gandalf leading a line of forty timid war horses. Strange indeed.

They finally reached the stables, the horses placidly filing into their stalls. Eragon filled up the feed and water troughs for each stall first and then went around individually, taking the saddle and tack off each horse. When he was finished, he distributed the final bits of apple and did a quick check on the horses brought up previously. Happy that they were all content, he left.

Making his way back to Saphira, Eragon checked the energy-filled gem he had taken from Helm's Deep. Earlier, while healing the injured, he had drawn energy from it to supplement his own, and he feared he had used a lot of it. To his delight and surprise, he had barely scratched the surface! It was incredible!

It was late night when Eragon snuggled into Saphira's side. He had removed the invisibility charm on her, and when she asked why, he simply said, I want to see my great blue dragon. She had hummed in satisfaction at that.

Now, Eragon fell asleep knowing that war was on their doorstep.

AN I know I know, no battle… sorry. But hey, I wanted to give the battle its own chapter – for it shall be epic (I hope). Anyway, my goal for this chapter is to get eight reviews. Why eight? Cause then I hit FIFTY reviews! So pleaseee do it! For me? I love you more than Saphira loves beer xoxo Nym