Into the Wilds

by NymeriaBjartskular

Before establishing the Riders, Eragon sets out to explore the lands surrounding Alagaesia. When Saphira spots thousands of urgal-like creatures marching to war, what will Eragon do when he sees that their destination is a castle of men, elves and a dwarf? Will he help destroy the forces of evil or will he turn his back on war? ERAGON/LOTR

14. Chapter 14

AN Thank you so much! You got me to 50 reviews! Here's the battle! (mildly gory)

Chapter 14

Eragon dreamt he was in Ellesmera, walking through the great forest, carefree, with a smile on his face and joy in his heart. Slowly, a persistent buzzing filled his head. He pushed it away, and for a minute, all was calm. The buzzing returned, stronger and louder. Eragon shook his head, trying to get rid of it. Again, it disappeared.

There was a sharp pain in the back of his skull, like someone had poked him with a stick. Again. Again. Poke. Poke. Poke.

Wake up… he heard faintly. Eragon… wake up…ERAGON!

He shot up, fully awake, expecting someone to be attacking him. Instead, he found a bright blue, cerulean eye staring into his face.

Saphira, did you wake me up?

Yes.

Why? He asked, exasperated.

Because, Gandalf wants to talk to you. Something is happening in the city and he couldn't get through your barriers while you were asleep.

Eragon jumped up, gathering his belongings even as he searched for the wizard's mind.

Gandalf! Saphira said you wished to talk to me.

Yes. Come as quick as you can. Meet me at the front gates.

Okay, Eragon said, as he belted Brisingr to his side. He gave Saphira a kiss on the snout and cast the invisibility charm over them both. He continued the conversation with Gandalf as he hurried through the city.

What's going on?

Faramir is preparing to leave the city. Denethor ordered him to retake Osgiliath.

What?! exclaimed Eragon, aghast. That's madness! They'll be slaughtered before they get near the city!

Denethor is mad. Eragon could feel the wizard's anger through the connection. He is trying to manipulate his son – for what reason I do not know. This can only end in death.

Eragon was running now, trying to reach the gates before Faramir did. He was taking the side streets, trying to avoid the crowds that had gathered on the main avenue. He skidded into the courtyard just as Faramir reached the end of the avenue. He quickly jogged over to Gandalf and took in his surroundings.

Lining the courtyard and avenue were women and children, many holding flowers and all with tears streaking down their faces. Taking in the procession behind Faramir, Eragon saw hundreds of soldiers, all of them mounted and all of them wearing their finest armour. Every one of them had a look of utter despair upon their faces, including their Captain. They were riding to their deaths – and every person in Minas Tirith knew it.

"Faramir," Gandalf appealed to the young man, "Do not do this. Do not throw away your life so easily."

"I must," the Captain replied gravely, without hope. "I must protect these people."

Anger filled Eragon. Anger which he had not felt for a long, long time. He stepped away from Gandalf's side and into Faramir's path, blocking his way to the gate.

"Stop," he commanded. Faramir ignored him. Eragon accessed that part of his mind where he held his magic. He let it wash over his body, infusing him with power and energy. "Stop," he said, the word full of power and command, of knowledge and wisdom, his magic projecting his voice for all to hear.

The horses stopped in their tracks, and not one person in the courtyard dared to breathe too loudly.

"What are you doing, Faramir? Why are you doing this?"

"The Lord Denethor – " he started.

"The Lord Denethor is mad, Faramir. I am sorry. Your father is mad. The only person in charge here is you. You are making this decision. You are making the decision to throw away your life, to throw away your men's lives. If you ride out that gate, none of you will return. You know that. I know that. Your men know that. You will not get close enough to swing a sword. They will not give you the chance. You will be cut down by arrows like birds in flight."

He watched Faramir's face. It was pained. Faramir knew Eragon was right, had known it himself before he got up on his horse.

"We will be slaughtered if we do nothing."

"I never said we wouldn't do anything. But if you ride out there, you throw away any hope of winning this battle. You will doom your people."

Faramir looked Eragon in the eyes, and Eragon could see that he knew the truth.

"You think there is no hope for us. There is. Rohan is coming." A murmur went around the people lining the courtyard. "We do not have to defeat the orcs outside these gates; we merely have to hold them off until help arrives. And that we can do. Minas Tirith is a fortress. It was built to be defended."

There was silence in the courtyard for several moments, until Faramir said, "What would you have me do?"

Eragon resisted the temptation to breathe a sigh of relief. "Return the horses to the stables – but leave them tacked; we might need them later. We must move all these people," Eragon gestured to everyone in the courtyard, "to the higher levels. They are in too much danger here. After that – "

Eragon, Saphira interrupted, Look.

She showed him what she was seeing. She had taken flight while they were talking to get a better view of the two cities. Eragon could see through her eyes the movement in Osgiliath. Platoons of orcs were still crossing the river, and he could see completed instruments of war and siege engines scattered on the plains around the ruins.

They are preparing to march, Eragon said, and soon. They will be here by evening.

I agree, Little One. You had better get those soldiers moving.

The whole conversation took less than a second, and Eragon didn't think anyone noticed his momentary lapse.

" – we must move quickly. The orcs will be here by evening."

"Beric, Olsun, Jared, Donal, Gart!" Faramir called. The five men Eragon had seen earlier trotted up.

"My second-in-commands," Faramir informed Eragon. Turning back to the men he had called, he said, "Beric, Olsun, get your units to dismount and give their horses to a soldier from one of their units," he pointed at the other three commanders. "Then start moving people into the fifth and sixth levels. I want every level below that to be empty. The people are allowed to bring food and some clothes – but not much. And I don't want to hear complaints from those higher up – just get it done." Turning to Jared, Donal and Gart, he said, "Your units will bring the horses to the stables. You heard Eragon – keep their tack on. Give them food and water. When that's done, Jared, I want your unit to help move the citizens. Donal and Gart, report back here with your units. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," they replied together.

"Good. Dismissed."

Faramir turned back around to Gandalf and Eragon, and the planning began.

By early afternoon, the lower city was empty except for the soldiers. Eragon had set many of them to work, blocking off the back streets.

"If they break through," he explained, "they'll go the way we want them to. Otherwise they could flank us." In the same way, they had formed walls on the inside of the main gate, so that any orcs who broke through would be channelled in a certain direction. "It'll pack them all together," Eragon said. "Their numbers will slow them down, and our archers," he gestured to either side of the courtyard, "will cut them down."

The gates at the entrance to each level were double and triple-checked, and reinforced if they needed it. Pots of pitch and tar were placed above each gate, just waiting to be heated. Catapults were given every available piece of rock and rubble. Every arrow in the city was gathered and checked. Most were given to the archers on the outer walls and in the courtyard, but quivers were also left on the roofs of buildings at each level, in case of a retreat.

By late afternoon, all possible preparations were completed, and the soldiers stood in the courtyard in front of Eragon, Faramir, and Gandalf.

"Soldiers of Gondor!" Faramir shouted. "The time has come to defend what is ours! To protect our people! Our families! Our homes!"

The soldiers cheered back at him, banging their swords against their shields.

"That army," he said, pointing behind him, "Have no mercy! They have come for one reason! To destroy this city! They will kill your wives, your children, destroy your homes!" He paused, looking around at his men. "But we will not let them!" he shouted, his voice growing both in volume and rage. His men responded, becoming louder and more worked up.

"We are MEN! We will not stop! We will NOT give up! We will fight until there is no breath left in our bodies, until we do not have the strength to lift a sword! Until every last orc – " he spat on the ground, " – is dead!"

The stone under Eragon's feet was vibrating with the noise coming from Faramir's men.

"For Gondor!" he bellowed.

"FOR GONDOR!" they roared back at him.

"TO YOUR POSITIONS!"

They turned and marched away, ready for battle.

"Quite a speech," Gandalf said to Eragon.

"Indeed. His men will follow him to the end."

"Many of them will." There was a pause. "Come. Let us go to the walls."

Walking up the steps beside Gandalf, Eragon ran his hands down the armour he had been given. Faramir had found him a chainmail shirt, a helmet, greaves and braces. While Eragon was insistent that he would have no need of the armour, he had given in for Saphira's sake. She felt much more comfortable when Eragon had physical protection.

Yes, I do. You never know when a ward will fail.

I know, Saphira. How are your scales?

Spotless, she relied smugly. Saphira had spent the last few hours preening and cleaning.

Dragons are so vain, Eragon chuckled.

We are allowed to be vain. We are the most beautiful creatures in the land.

And you are the most beautiful of them all.

I love you, Little One.

I love you too, Saphira.

Eragon's vision allowed him to see the approaching army well before anyone else in Minas Tirith, but as the day wore on the soldiers around him grew nervous as their foe came into view. A few hours before sunset, the enemy stopped just out of reach of their catapults.

Saphira, flying high up above, showed Eragon what she could see – and it didn't improve his mood. The army was the width of the mountain-city, and it stretched on and on, filling half the plain between Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. One hundred thousand at least. Eragon could make out clearly now the hundreds of siege engines they had brought with them – catapults, towers and ladders. Try as he might, Eragon couldn't pick out a battering ram – even though he knew they had to have brought one…

In these last few moments before the battle began, Eragon just wished he was able to use the spell Oromis had taught him so long ago. He could wipe out the entire army without breaking a sweat. But even that spell had its limitations. It required intimate knowledge of the anatomy of the being he was trying to end – whether this knowledge was gained from personal experience or it was passed on by someone else, it didn't matter. Eragon knew how to kill orcs with his sword, but he lacked the time to study one in the detail he would need to have to perform the spell.

A horn sounded ahead of them, and the army moved off, slowly lumbering towards the city. Eragon did a quick check on his wards. He had placed the usual ones on himself and Saphira, but he had also placed protections on Gandalf, Faramir and Pippin – even though it was unlikely that the little hobbit would be doing any fighting – as well as some enchantments on the gate and catapults.

Eragon, Umaroth said, startling the young Rider, We will sustain your wards, draw energy for your spells from the gem.

Yes, Master, Eragon agreed. He silently berated himself. He hadn't forgotten that the Eldunarí were with him, but he had forgotten to include them when making decisions.

Do not question yourself Eragon, Umaroth chided. If you had needed our advice, we would have given it. But you have not. We agree with every choice you have made. Now concentrate. War is upon you.

Eragon noted the position of the orc army in front of him. They had moved into range of the catapults, but not yet of the archers. A few more moments.

"Nock!" Eragon said, his voice magically projected. He was commanding the soldiers manning the catapults as well as the archers.

The army crept closer.

"Draw!"

They were now in range.

Ready, Saphira?

I am always ready, Eragon.

For Alagaesia, he said softly. She growled in his mind.

"FIRE!"

A thousand arrows leapt into the sky, cutting through the air, searching for a place to find their mark. As they reached the apex of their flight, for a moment, time seemed to slow, the arrows hanging gracefully against a cloudless backdrop. Then the world sped up again, and the arrows began their deadly descent.

"Thrysta," Eragon whispered at the last moment. The push of air gave the arrows enough momentum to plunge through the crude armour of the orcs, and they nearly all found their mark. Hundreds of orcs dropped to the ground, stone dead, and a cheer went up from the men on the wall. Eragon watched as the boulders thrown from the catapults smashed into the orcs below and then kept rolling, crushing tens more.

Under Saphira's direction from the skies above, they repeated this for an hour or so, killing a couple of thousand of the enemy. As dusk was falling, Saphira sent Eragon a mental picture of enemy catapults, which were now within range of the city. Also approaching were towers used for accessing the walls. Even as he watched, Eragon looked on in horror as the catapults fired simultaneously.

Twenty or so huge boulders were hurtling towards the city. If they hit, they would kill many soldiers and cause serious damage. Making his mind up quickly, Eragon dipped into the energy held within the gem and barked, "Jierda!"

One of the more central boulders shattered into smaller pieces.

"Thrysta," Eragon said. The small pieces hurtled in different directions, each now on course to smash into one of the ever-approaching boulders. Eragon kept feeding the small pieces energy, willing them to gain the momentum they needed. Finally, they collided.

One by one, the boulders exploded. As the last one broke apart, Eragon once again said, "Thrysta." Using small pushes of air, he changed the previous course of the boulders. They whizzed by in different directions, some going over the city and some going around it. Slowly, they arced back, gaining speed.

"Gánga," Eragon whispered. "Gánga, gánga!"

The rocks hurtled back the way they came, many smashing orc heads, but most destined for the catapults.

Eragon watched in satisfaction as the wooden catapults were ripped to shreds, like a leaf in a storm. Many of the wooden towers had been destroyed too.

As soon as the rocks had reached and destroyed the catapults, Eragon cut off the energy to them. They dropped, raining death on those below and killing more of the enemy.

Well done, Little One. I am proud of you. But you must be careful. That used a lot of energy.

She was right, as the gem had been slightly drained by his endeavour.

I will, Saphira. But at least the catapults are no longer a threat.

Eragon looked around him, only to find the soldiers – and Gandalf – staring at him in awe.

"Did I say stop firing?" Eragon yelled. "NO! Nock! Draw! Fire!" They quickly turned back and resumed their defence of the city.

Many of the wooden towers Eragon had seen were destroyed along with the catapults, but several hundred still remained. Most were still out of reach of his magic, but some had crept closer to the walls.

Saphira allowed him to see what he could not. The front, top and sides were protected from arrows, but the back was open. It was a wooden tower on wheels, and it was pushed by what looked like a giant orc. A troll, Gandalf informed him. Trolls, Gandalf said, were slow and stupid, but very dangerous. They had thick skulls and strong necks, but were easy to injure and confuse.

The tower had multiple levels, with ladders linking each level and another reaching the ground. If the tower reached the wall, an endless number of orcs could clamber up and over it.

So, Eragon concluded, the towers are not allowed to reach the wall. Easy peasy, he added sarcastically.

Night finally came, and so did the dragon.

Eragon and Saphira had agreed beforehand that until it was dark, Saphira would remain a look-out. When night fell, she would attack the orcs while still remaining invisible. Hopefully this would terrify them a bit.

And it did.

The first time the orcs encountered the unknown terror, a tower was seemingly ripped in half by nothing. Again and again, towers crumbled before their eyes, the orcs inside screaming as they were crushed to death. At other times, a row of armoured orcs would go flying into the sky, only to fall lifeless to the ground, their bodies crumpled. It seemed that those around the edge were most at risk, and this occasionally caused a stampede to get away from the thing.

Saphira enjoyed destroying her enemy, and she also enjoyed the terror she was causing them, so she decided to stay silent and keep her flames inside her belly – for the moment.

The enemy was close enough now to fire arrows over the wall, so the defenders had to alternate between holding their shields over their heads and firing back. So far, a few soldiers had been injured, but no one had been killed.

Yet, Eragon thought darkly.

He noted that Saphira had taken care of many of the towers, but she couldn't get too close to the city or she risked being hit by friendly fire from the catapults and the archers. That left about forty towers for him to deal with.

He couldn't set them on fire – that much Eragon found out very quickly. The outer wood must have some kind of fireproof coating on it. That left the only weak points as the wheels and the trolls.

He reached out to the nearest tower and searched for the mind of the ogre. He found it, but was shocked. The ogre's mind was empty. Completely empty. It was a mindless shell of a creature. Eragon had intended to take control of the troll and somehow sabotage the tower, but he couldn't do that if the troll had no mind to control. It was like a puppet, but Eragon couldn't find its strings.

That left the wheels. To completely disable the towers he'd have to break two wheels on each. Eighty wheels. Too many.

Looking around him, Eragon called to the nearest soldier.

"Sir?" he asked, panting slightly. Eragon grimaced internally.

"I need you to go up to the soldiers operating the catapults. Tell them to aim at the towers approaching from the north-west. All of the catapults. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Go."

Eragon turned back to the task at hand. Starting with the nearest tower to him, he probed the wheels. They were strong, he'd give them that. He would expel a lot of energy over the next few hours trying to break the rim of the wheels. So, he decided, he wouldn't break the rims. He'd break the spokes.

With the spokes broken, the wheels would lose most of their support, and then (hopefully), the weight of the tower would crush the unsupported rims. To work properly though, he had to make sure that he broke the spokes on both wheels at the same time. This would ensure that the weight fell evenly.

Well, Eragon thought, here goes nothing.

"Jierda du rothsaí!" he cried. With two snaps, one after the other, Eragon heard the wooden spokes splinter into pieces. This was followed by two dull crunches as first the front right wheel collapsed, followed by the back right. The tower swayed, and finally stilled, leaning precariously. Just for good measure, Eragon shot the troll through the eye as it lumbered out from behind the abandoned tower.

The next four towers Eragon attacked ended up in much the same way, but on his next attempt, the wheels cracked at exactly the same time, and the tower toppled sideways, crushing many orcs beneath it as well as those inside.

Technique perfected, Eragon had steadily decimated eighteen towers, and was making short work of the nineteenth when he suddenly heard screaming and swords clashing.

Looking to his left, he saw a tower against the wall with orcs swarming out of it, two more towers about to join it.

Setting off at a sprint, he contacted his dragon.

Saphira, can you finish these off? he asked, sending her a picture of the towers he hadn't reached yet.

Of course. Go. And be careful.

It only took him a few seconds to cross the distance to the soldiers fighting to the orcs. Just before he entered the fray, he spotted Gandalf and Faramir in the midst of the fight.

He leaped, clearing a row of fighting soldiers and drawing his sword mid-air. He swung Brisingr viciously, and as his feet hit the ground, so did several orc heads, the bodies following with a dull thump.

Eragon fought tirelessly, slicing through enemies all around him. He was soaked in orc blood, the black stuff obscuring his vision and causing him to slip more than once. Finally, he caught a breather. Or at least, he thought he had. In fact, he was surrounded on every side. A ring of orcs four deep had caged him in. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Faramir and Gandalf still fighting, trying to get to him. He raised his sword, preparing for a long, bloody fight, when suddenly a deafening roar silenced the battlefield.

Eragon took advantage of the orcs' confusion, many of whom had looked out over the palisade. With speed only an elf could match, he had beheaded half of them and was in the process of beheading the other half before the orcs realised what was happening. Within three seconds, Eragon was standing at the centre of more than fifty headless bodies.

It had been a bloody fight, he thought humourlessly, just not very long.

Thanks, Saphira, he said gratefully.

You are welcome, Little One.

He wiped his brow and surveyed the scene. The first tower to land against the wall was still standing, only now, instead of streaming out of the tower, the orcs were standing in the entrance way, unwilling to go any further. They weren't particularly eager to join their headless comrades on the ground.

Quickly glancing around him, Eragon saw that there were still plenty of archers lining the inner walls of the courtyard.

"ARCHERS!" he bellowed to draw their attention. Once he had it, he pointed at the tower with his sword.

"NOCK!" Eragon gave the orcs a feral smile.

"DRAW!" He bared his teeth at them, trying to provoke them to run out. They did.

"FIRE!" Arrows whizzed past him even as he ran, felling orcs either side.

"FIRE AT WILL!" Eragon bellowed again. He ran straight into the tower and brought Brisingr around in a deadly slash, halving the enemies surrounding him. He kicked the ladder down the hole, preventing any more orcs from clambering up.

"Brisingr," he whispered. A ball of blue flame appeared in his palm. He fed it energy until it was twice the size of his head and white-hot. "Thrysta," he said. The fireball surged down through the hole and into the depths of the tower, where it exploded. The towers were most definitely not fireproof on the inside.

Eragon leaped out of the burning tower onto the wall, walking away even as the screams began. The inferno raged on.

An hour later and the other two towers had been disposed of in much the same fashion, although it came at a high price. More than thirty soldiers had been killed, with many more wounded. Hundreds of dead orcs lay strewn about the wall, their blood running through the cracks in the stone.

For the moment, there was a lull in the battle. While both sides were still firing arrows, the towers had been destroyed.

Faramir was trying to reorganise his soldiers after the fight.

"Take the wounded to the healers. Place the dead in guardhouse," he ordered, pointing at a building in the courtyard below. "Tip the orcs over the side."

They set to work, Eragon busying himself by disposing of the orcs. It was messy, bloody work, but it had to be done. They needed the ramparts to be clear. In the back of his mind, he could sense the mayhem Saphira was causing on the battlefield.

About half the orcs had been dumped over the side when the shouts went up.

"A ram! They have a battering ram!" Eragon heard a soldier yell.

Eragon dropped the body he was holding and ran towards the voice.

"Where?" he asked the soldier. The man pointed, and Eragon was shocked not only at the size of the contraption, but also to see that the ram was nearly at the gate.

Barzul!

How did it get so close? Saphira asked. How did we not see it?

They must have put some kind of glamour on it to hide it, Eragon said angrily.

The ram was huge, as wide as one of the trees in Du Weldenvarden, with a metal wolf's head attached to the front. It was suspended by chains from a frame as tall and wide as the gate itself. The frame had wheels, and was moved by ogres even larger than the ones in the towers. It also had platforms to either side of it, with scores of orc archers already firing into the city.

The wolf's head had a fire in its jaws, and when Eragon probed the ram with his mind, he immediately withdrew. It was full of dark magic.

It will cut right through the enchantments I placed, Eragon realised. It is strong. Too strong. Even the gates of Minas Tirith cannot hold out long against this.

Eragon, Umaroth interrupted, we will watch the gates. We will tell you before they fail. Until then, return to your work. There is nothing more you can do here.

Yes, Master.

"Heat the pitch and tar," Eragon ordered the soldiers above the gates. Then he returned to his work.

A few minutes after he had resumed dumping bodies over the wall, Eragon heard a boom, and felt the walls shake. The battering ram had begun its assault.

For an hour, Eragon worked to the sound of the gates taking a hammering. Finally, he threw the last body over. He stepped back and searched the courtyard below, looking for Gandalf.

He spotted him, and just as he opened his mouth to call to the wizard, a piercing shriek cut through the night. Eragon gripped his head – it felt like someone had driven a bolt through it – and resisted the instinctual urge to scream. Saphira felt his pain through their connection and momentarily lost her concentration, falling a few feet.

Eragon! What's happening? she cried, worry lacing her voice. Are you okay?

I'm…fine, he forced out, his teeth gritted from the pain.

All around him, the soldiers of Gondor were holding their heads, shouting, some falling to the ground.

I…don't know what's making…the noise…AAGH! he shouted, as another shriek pierced his skull. Suddenly, just as the noise faded, a row of soldiers were slammed by a black tail. They fell screaming off the wall and landed with a sickening crunch in the courtyard below. The screaming stopped.

"Nazgul," Eragon gasped aloud.

A whoosh of air was Eragon's only warning to duck, the tail missing him by inches. The soldiers around him were not so lucky.

Saphira!

I'm coming, Eragon. But you need to get higher.

The beast screamed again, and Eragon clutched at his ears. He took off running, even as it raised its voice once more.

"Letta du guth!" he shouted. There was a sudden silence as the beast's screeching was cut-off. He kept running, and leapt off the wall on to the roof of a building in the courtyard. Leaping from roof to roof, Eragon was soon high enough to see the entire orc army stretched out before him.

Finding a flat bit of ground, Eragon waited for Saphira.

I'm ready, Eragon.

He ran. He ran until he reached the edge, and then he jumped, trusting that Saphira would catch him.

And of course she did.

He removed the charm keeping her invisible and strapped himself in.

Let them see us, he growled.

Even voiceless, the Nazgul and its beast were terrorising the soldiers. From his high perch, Eragon could see the broken bodies of Gondor's defenders lying scattered in the courtyard.

He let his rage fill him.

Saphira let loose a bone-shaking roar, more primal and terrifying than anything the over-sized bat could offer up. She roared once more as she slammed into the beast, raking her claws across its side and drawing blood.

They were too high up for the soldiers to see Saphira, but nevertheless, Eragon could hear them shouting in fear, until a voice – Gandalf – drowned them all out. "IGNORE IT! OUR ENEMY IS AT THE GATE! TAKE UP YOUR POSITIONS!"

As Saphira grappled with the beast, Eragon got his first glance at the rider; the Nazgul. A creature wearing a black cloak, hatred rolled off it in waves, and Eragon spied a gruesome black sword in its hand.

Saphira pushed off the creature, digging her claws in again and causing big fat drops of black blood to fall to the ground below. As she turned away, Saphira bit off the last three feet of the beast's tail, trying to goad it into following her.

The enraged creature flew after Saphira as she led it away from the city. Once they were clear of the walls, Saphira changed direction and started flying upwards.

They are used to preying on those below, Saphira said in answer to Eragon's questioning thought, not fighting in the sky.

The she-dragon suddenly looped backwards, positioning herself right under the Nazgul. Before any of them could react, she bit off the creature's foot, flinging it to the fields below. The beast opened its maw in a scream of pain, but no sound escaped.

SAPHIRA! MOVE! Eragon screamed in her mind. The Nazgul had raised its deadly sword and swung it at her head. She darted sideways and it missed by a hairsbreadth.

Eragon was furious. How dare anyone try and hurt his dragon.

Saphira backed off and then came in for another pass. This time, Eragon swung at the Nazgul. Their swords clashed with a metallic grating noise. Disengaging, Eragon knew he had the upper hand. He could tell the Nazgul wasn't experienced at fighting while flying.

Saphira swooped in again, slower this time, trying to match the pace of the weakened beast. Eragon swung again, three hard blows, each blocked. The fourth slipped past the Nazgul's guard and slashed it across the chest. It screeched in pain.

Saphira was now flying directly alongside the injured creature.

"No man…can kill ussssss…" the Nazgul hissed at him.

Eragon struck faster than the blink of an eye, and stabbed it where the heart should be. It screeched again.

"I'm not a man," Eragon said. He pulled his sword out. "I'm a Rider. Brisingr."

The sword hummed in his hand, blue flames licking up its length. Eragon raised his sword…and plunged it into the gaping hole where the Nazgul's face should have been. It screamed, its body lighting up like an oil-soaked rag. Even as Eragon watched, the Nazgul disintegrated into nothingness. Saphira reached over and sunk her teeth into the neck of the Nazgul's beast. She shook her head viciously, breaking every bone in the creature's neck. She let go and the lifeless body fell. When it hit the ground, it crushed many orcs beneath it. Those left standing looked to the skies in terror.

The Rider and his Dragon hovered in the sky for several moments, taking it all in. Looking to the horizon, they saw that dawn was only a few hours off. Hopefully, Rohan would come with it.

Eragon, Saphira, Umaroth interrupted. The gate is very weak. They will break through in the next few minutes.

Wordlessly, the pair flew back to the city. At Saphira's request, Eragon hid her from view again. As they flew over the walls, they saw that the gate was indeed splintered and cracking, armoured ogres and trolls ready to burst through.

Eragon leapt from Saphira's back as she swept over a building. As he landed in the dust, she whispered, Be careful, Eragon…

He ran, drawing Brisingr and grabbing a fallen spear as he raced to the gates. He skidded to a stop in the courtyard just in time to see the wolfhead sticking through the gates. It was pulled back, leaving a gaping hole, and Eragon knew he only had seconds.

"SOLDIERS!" he bellowed. "PICK UP YOUR SPEARS! ARCHERS! READY YOURSELVES! FOR GONDOR!"

"FOR GONDOR!" they roared back. The gates burst open, and heavily armoured trolls stormed into the city, swinging their deadly maces from side to side. The walls they had earlier built hampered the enemy, the trolls having to go in twos.

"HOLD!" Eragon commanded. They needed to wait, wait until they were all trapped, wait until –

"FIRE!"

Hundreds of arrows and spears embedded themselves in the trolls, killing them. Instantly, orcs were climbing over the bodies, scampering into the courtyard.

"FIRE!" Eragon bellowed again. "FIRE AT WILL!"

The archers were felling orcs by the hundred, but thousands were pouring through the breached gate. All around him, soldiers were fighting, but the enemy numbers were just too great.

"PITCH AND TAR!" Eragon shouted. The soldiers stationed above the gate dutifully tipped the pots of boiling death. The orcs below screamed miserably as they died, but Eragon refused to feel sorry for them. They earned a few seconds of respite.

He heard Faramir calling from behind him.

"Shields! Shields! Form a wall!" The soldiers lined up in rows, ready to face the next onslaught.

They fought bitterly, desperately, but every minute they were pushed back a step backwards, purely by the sheer number of orcs facing them. If a man in the front fell, a soldier from the row behind would step up and take his place. The system was good, but they were losing too many men.

Eragon hurled a spear at a troll who had just smashed three soldiers into a wall, and watched with satisfaction as it went straight through its neck, killing it stone dead.

They were halfway down the avenue leading to the next level, and finally came the shout that Eragon had been expecting for a while.

"Retreat! Retreat to the second level!"

The soldiers never turned their backs, but they picked up the pace in their backwards shuffle.

Eragon, in the leading line, was constantly repelling attacks, and for a moment was confused when several hundred orcs in front of him dropped dead.

"Run! Run to the gates!" came a voice from behind. Eragon obeyed, surprised to find that he was only twenty paces from the entrance to the second level.

The gates slammed shut seconds after he ran through, and seconds later they were being hammered on from the other side, the orcs howling.

Soldiers who had fought constantly for the past few hours suddenly collapsed to the ground, energy and courage gone. Others sagged against nearby buildings, seemingly small injuries now taking their toll. Eragon took all this in, and was glad. Many soldiers were still alive, and that meant they still had hope.

As Eragon looked at the scenes around him, the first fingers of dawn touched the city.

For an hour, the soldiers managed to get some respite. They ate some bread, and each man got an apple. Mead was handed around in small amounts, to raise spirits as much as to quench the soldier's thirst. Eragon healed those he could, even returning to the healers' building.

Through all this, the archers continually fired into the horde of orcs pounding on the gates, although it didn't seem to make much difference. The enemy couldn't bring the battering ram they used on the main gate through the city, but they didn't need it. The gates for each level were significantly smaller than that in the outer wall. An hour of being hammered on by trolls had left it weakened and creaking.

Saphira's raids had significantly reduced enemy numbers, but there was only so much she could do without revealing herself.

Eragon! Saphira said excitedly. I can see the Riders of Rohan on the horizon!

What? That's great! Eragon exclaimed. How long do you think it'll take them to get to the city?

An hour? Maybe less. They're travelling quickly.

Keep me updated. Saphira sent him the mental equivalent of a raised eyebrow. Please, he added hastily.

Of course, Little One.

Eragon searched for Gandalf and Faramir, and found them talking together further up the street. Jogging up to them, he saw the grim looks on their faces and knew what they were thinking.

Faramir turned to him. "It is hopeless, Eragon. This battle cannot end in any way but with our deaths!"

Gandalf put a hand on the young Captain's shoulder. "You are starting to sound like your father, Faramir. It must stop!"

The man calmed himself, and Eragon prepared to share his news, but before he could, Faramir started speaking.

"I sent some men a while ago to check on the state of the enemy during daylight," Faramir started, "and they found something interesting."

Faramir had Eragon's attention.

"It appears that the orc army is three quarters the size it was at the start of the battle. And most of their losses are not through our doing."

Ah, Eragon thought. That.

"While our archers and catapults did their fair share of damage, it appears that around the edges of the army, the orcs have nearly all been killed. Was this your doing?"

Eragon was pondering his answer, and had just opened his mouth to give an answer when Gandalf cut across him.

"I told you that Eragon is a traveller, Faramir. Well, he did not travel alone. He came with a companion. They have been through many battles together – and won them. In their land, they were leaders. And they came here together. To Minas Tirith."

"Well where is this companion of yours?" Faramir asked, turning to Eragon. "Where is he?"

Gandalf answered again, leaving Eragon quite bemused. "She," he corrected. "Eragon's companion is a she. And she is out there," the wizard said, pointing out over the ramparts.

Before Faramir could form a reply, Gandalf finished, "Her name is Saphira. And she is a dragon. Eragon is her Rider."

Faramir was stunned into silence. "Lies," he finally rasped. "The dragons are all dead."

"Not in my home," said Eragon, stepping forward. "In my home, Dragons and Riders are the guardians of the land. We defend the weak, help the sick, protect the good from the evil."

"But – " Faramir protested.

"We do not have time for this," Eragon said impatiently. "Saphira spotted Rohan's army. They are less than an hour away."

Gandalf clapped his hands together in delight, but Faramir's face was torn, and Eragon could read it like a book.

"You don't know whether to believe me. I understand. It sounds ridiculous. But have I done anything for you to lose your trust in me?"

"No."

"Would a dragon explain the losses your men saw to the orc army?"

"Yes." Faramir sighed, and wearily rubbed his face. "I do not know what to believe. But I trust you." He looked at Eragon, eyes bright and clear.

They made their plans.

The idea was simple. The arrival of Rohan meant that the orcs would have to turn their attention away from the city. Many of the orcs in the city would be drawn outside its walls into the battle. The orcs left in Minas Tirith would pose little threat.

Every able-bodied soldier was mounted on an armoured war horse. The men had been split into two groups. One group, led by Eragon, would race through the city when the gates opened and ride the remaining orcs into the ground. The second group, led by Faramir, would follow closely behind, finishing off any survivors. While Eragon's group would continue out on to the plains, Faramir's would stay inside the city to secure it.

The soldiers were lining the avenue that wound through the city, the horses standing three across. They were nearly silent, waiting for the horn that would signal Rohan's attack.

Eragon was standing with the archers, three spears in his grasp. The trolls were still pounding on the gate. It was splintering and would soon give way.

Eragon watched through Saphira's eyes as Rohan's riders stopped on a hill overlooking the city. He heard their horn blow and he sensed the soldiers behind him shuffle and whisper, then fall silent again. He watched as Theoden rallied his soldiers, heard the horn blow again and then they charged.

He heard an orc horn blow one, two, three times and Saphira looked over to the city. Orcs were streaming out, just like they'd hoped. They were desperately trying to form a line facing the oncoming riders.

Eragon watched as the orcs fired arrows at the mounted warriors, taking down some, but not enough. They realised too late that the horses could not be stopped, and Eragon looked on in satisfaction as the riders ripped through the orcs as if they weren't there.

He came back to himself and signalled to the archers around him.

"Risa," he whispered. The three spears left his hand and went to hover over the gate. Eragon raised his hand above his head, and as he brought it down quickly, he whispered, "Thrysta." The spears shot downward, each finding their mark. At the same time, the archers fired, cutting down the orcs outside the gate.

Eragon raced back to his horse at the front of the column. Once in the saddle, he brought the horse to a trot, and within a few seconds they were galloping. The gates opened so slowly Eragon feared they would crash into them.

Galloping through the gates, Eragon got a quick glimpse of the three trolls with spears buried in their brains. The archers had done a good job of clearing the space in front of the gates, and the horses were going so fast they simply ran over the first orcs they encountered.

As they raced through the city, the first few horses knocked the fleeing orcs to the ground, and the rest of the horses in the column trampled them to death.

Saphira, could you get the walls?

He sensed her flying back towards the city, and a few seconds later;

The walls are clear. The courtyard too.

Thank you.

Eragon? I think they need to see what a real dragon is.

He lifted the charm on her, and he heard her roars of delight at the same time as he heard the orcs' screams of terror. To their credit, the soldiers behind him never panicked.

As the avenue opened out into the courtyard, Gandalf – to Eragon's right – raised his hand. The trolls blocking the gateway were flung to one side just as the column rode out of the city.

They quickly made two lines, and they picked up more speed in the open plains. With more space between the horses, Eragon was able to draw Brisingr. He saw soldiers all around him doing the same.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Saphira's scales sparkling in the morning sun. She was roaring and burning hundreds of orcs to death, making sure to stay well away from all of the riders.

"IGNORE THE DRAGON!" Eragon yelled at his soldiers. "SHE'S ON OUR SIDE! FIGHT THE ORCS!" He knew they all had heard him; whether they believed and trusted him was a different story.

The orcs never knew what hit them. Facing Rohan's riders, Eragon's force hit them from behind and cut more than a thousand down before they were noticed. Even then, there wasn't much the orcs could do about it.

The riders from both Rohan and Gondor rampaged through the enemy, decimating their ranks. Of course, they also sustained losses of their own, but compared to the orc army, they were minimal at best.

Eventually though, the horses slowed, and the orcs closed in. The fighting became bloodier and much more deadly for the defending forces. The orcs hacked at the horses' legs, and when the poor beasts went down, they then hacked at the riders.

Eragon was trying his best to keep his horse and himself from harm, slashing this way and that, when he heard a shriek that made his ears scream in protest. Several horses dropped from the sky just in front of him, the riders still in the saddles. Twisting around, Eragon saw a Nazgul and its mount swooping away, two more in the distance.

Saphira?

Yes Little One? Eragon caught an image of her biting several orcs in half.

Would you care to join me for a spot of Nazgul hunting?

I would love to. She growled. I'll meet you away from the horses.

Eragon looked around, searching for something. It didn't take long to find it.

Spotting a soldier whose horse had just been cut out from under him, Eragon barked out, "Jierda!" The orcs who had been advancing on the downed soldier dropped to the ground, screaming in pain. As Eragon arrived, he hopped off his horse and finished them off. Done, he turned and helped the soldier to his feet.

"Here, take my horse. I have no need of him right now."

"But Lord Eragon," the soldier protested. Eragon grimaced. "What about you? What will you do?"

"I have some business to take care of. Now up." Eragon waited until the soldier was seated in the saddle, and then said, "Now listen to me. I want that horse back after the battle. So stay alive, soldier."

"Yes sir!"

Satisfied, Eragon turned and ran to Saphira. His speed and proficiency with a blade meant no orcs could touch him as he flew through their ranks, a line of dead and fatally wounded the only indication he had ever been there.

Saphira, for her part, instead of flying to meet Eragon, had decided to leap. Each of her leaps could cover a couple of hundred feet, and when she landed, she used her tail to batter scores of orcs into the void. In this way, it was only a few minutes before the two met in the middle of the battlefield.

As soon as Saphira's feet had touched the ground in front of him, Eragon sprung up her back and into the saddle, strapping himself in. She took off immediately, winging her way towards the Nazgul and beast that were terrorising soldiers.

As they drew closer, Eragon once again shouted, "Letta du guth!" The terrible screeching was cut off, and Eragon watched as the Nazgul atop the beast's back turned its head, searching for what had silenced its mount. When the eyes of the Dark Rider landed on them, Eragon refused to acknowledge the chill that went down his spine.

The Nazgul steered the creature towards them, flying fast. What it did not realize, or perhaps care about, was that Saphira was a dragon. A dragon that was no longer trying to keep itself hidden from those below. And if there is one thing that every creature in every world knows, it is this; dragons breathe fire.

The oncoming black beast was engulfed in the fiery blue inferno that erupted from Saphira's maw. A high pitched screaming came from the flames. Knowing that it couldn't be the beast, Eragon realized it was the Nazgul itself.

Acting quickly, Saphira changed course and turned 180 degrees, so that Eragon's head was now pointed towards the ground. She raked her claws along the belly of the beast, rivers of black blood flowing out of the wounds. She snapped at his tail, and while nothing came off, half of it was left dangling, the bones destroyed.

She did a half-loop, and, still upside down, Eragon found himself now directly above the flaming Nazgul. Without hesitation, Eragon thrust Brisingr above his head, burying the sword in the Nazgul's skull. The screaming intensified, until it suddenly stopped, the Nazgul disintegrating.

Already weakened by Saphira's flames and attacks, the Nazgul's beast could do nothing as the dragon bit down on its neck, her powerful jaws and wickedly sharp teeth tearing through flesh. There was a sickening crunch as she sliced though the bones, and then the head separated from the rest of its body. The two, now separate pieces, raced each other to the ground a thousand feet below, becoming unrecognisable when they collided with the orcs below.

Saphira righted herself, but the pair had only a few moments of rest before two more Nazgul were upon them.

Saphira bathed the two beasts in flame – it seemed an effective way of keeping them at bay. Eragon silenced the creatures but it didn't stop the faint screaming of the two Nazgul. They wordlessly decided to incapacitate one of the beasts so they could take on the other.

Saphira chose her target and positioned herself. Flying fast just to its side and slightly underneath, she snapped off the lower third of its tail. Continuing her path, Eragon raised Brisingr and sliced at the creature's foreleg. The severed limb came cleanly off and disappeared below them.

Confident that the beast would not attack them, Saphira shifted her attention to its kin. She breathed flames on it again, blinding it to her movements. She chomped down on a wing, ripping the delicate skin and breaking bones. She used her claws to inflict maximum damage as she latched on to its side, allowing Eragon access to its rider.

Eragon exchanged several blows with the Nazgul, each time increasing his strength. He finally battered away his opponent's sword and slashed his chest twice in quick succession. The Nazgul howled, its robes in ribbons.

"No man…" it rasped at him.

"Yes, I know," Eragon said. "Unfortunately for your foul self, I am a Rider."

Eragon swung Brisingr once again, and lopped off the head of the Nazgul. Both the body and detached head instantly dissipated into the air.

Saphira tightened her grip on the dying beast, crushing its body. She let go and darted her head forward, clamping down at the base of its skull. The now lifeless creature dropped soundlessly in the morning light.

One more, Eragon said to his partner.

Let us finish this.

The Nazgul and its badly injured mount had dropped well below the Rider and his sapphire Dragon. Saphira spiralled down to them and announced her presence by trying to turn them to ashes.

The burning Nazgul was flailing and screaming – apparently they didn't like fire. Eragon knew he only needed one chance to end this, and Saphira gave it to him. She clamped the neck of the fell beast between her jaws, immobilising it. This position would have left her vulnerable if she didn't have someone watching her back. But she did. Eragon struck faster than the fastest of elves, stabbing the Nazgul through the neck and twisting his blade. Its scream died as it did, and Saphira quickly sent its mount into the void after it, crushing the beast's neck in her jaws and breaking its spine.

Saphira roared her victory to the world as the body hit the ground below, her triumphant bellow ringing in the ears of every soldier and orc on the plain.

The partners remained in the sky for many moments, taking in the battle still raging below and trying to calm their racing hearts. From their lofty vantage point, they could see how the battle had played out in their absence.

The orcs had been driven away from the gates of the city, the riders leaving thousands upon thousands of dead in their wake. Eragon guessed there to be perhaps thirty thousand orcs left, but finishing them off would not be easy. The riders had come to a standstill and now, instead of simply riding over the orcs, they had to fight them by sword. Their own dead were growing by the minute.

Before Eragon and Saphira could re-join the fray, a deep horn blew. Looking in the direction the noise came from, their eyes filled with both wonder and dismay.

To the east, approaching the city, were twenty huge creatures, each three times the size of Saphira. They were the strangest things Eragon had ever seen. Their skin looked like thick, grey leather, their legs the size of tree trunks. From their faces, they had a giant muscular limb where a nose should be, and two huge curving tusks.

The tusks were adorned with vicious spikes, and upon their backs were great wooden contraptions housing many warriors, all armed with spears and bows. Touching the minds of the great beasts – Eragon would later learn they were called oliphants – he found them to be crazed, driven mad by torture. He knew they could not be saved, but he hated those who had done this to them.

As they flew towards the oliphants, Eragon saw the orcs beneath them flee towards the newcomers. He and Saphira watched as the orcs regrouped behind the beasts, thinking themselves safe from the riders on the plain.

They heard another horn, and knew it to be that of Rohan. Eragon searched for a mind below, and when he found it he said, Theoden, it is Eragon. Do not charge yet. Your men will be cut to pieces. Saphira and I will disrupt the beasts' formation and then you can run the orcs into the ground.

Eragon sensed Theoden's feeling of acknowledgement and cut the connection.

As Saphira got closer and closer, the two formed a plan. As Saphira flew over the first of the oliphants, Eragon jumped. He landed lightly on the rump of the beast, and cried, "Jierda!"

The straps holding the wooden platform on to the beasts' back snapped with a loud crack. As it crashed to the ground far below, Eragon set it on fire. Bounding up the back of the oliphant, Eragon stood balanced on top of its skull.

Eragon mentally prepared himself and said a silent apology to the animal, then drove Brisingr downwards with all his strength. The oliphant stumbled as if drunk, and suddenly crashed to its knees, dead.

Eragon jumped off and ran to his next target. The wrinkled skin on the leg provided perfect handholds for climbing, and Eragon dispatched two more oliphants in this fashion.

As the third beast dropped to the ground, Eragon heard a scream. A woman's scream. Desperately searching, Eragon saw something he would never forget.

A soldier – Éowyn, he realised with a shock – hacking the head off a Nazgul's beast. He began to run. He didn't need to tell Saphira where he was going – she already knew. Eragon was now at a full sprint, but he knew he still wouldn't make it in time, and he watched the scene play out in front of him as if time had slowed.

A Nazgul approached Éowyn – the King of the Nazgul, wearing his dark crown. He swung his flail – a spiked metal ball on a chain – at Éowyn's head, and she just about ducked. Swinging it again, Éowyn fell to the ground and rolled out of the way. About to swing it for a third time, the Nazgul suddenly tipped back its head and screeched.

A very small figure – a hobbit, Eragon saw – had stabbed the Nazgul in the back of the calf. That same hobbit was now screaming and clutching his arm.

Eragon sped up.

He watched in morbid fascination as Éowyn stood up and picked up her sword. She stood in front of the Nazgul and, just as Eragon had done to the first Nazgul he had killed, she plunged her sword into its face.

Immediately she let go of her sword and dropped to the ground, writhing. The King of the Nazgul was convulsing, and slowly, he too disintegrated into nothingness, finally entering the void.

Eragon arrived seconds later and took everything in. Merry– Merry! – was lying curled on his side, completely still. Éowyn was in a similar position, unmoving in her apparent slumber. Eragon's eyes were drawn to what she had been protecting.

Theoden, the King of Rohan, lay crushed beneath his horse. Making his way over to the old king, Eragon saw that he was still breathing – barely.

"Risa," Eragon said, moving the horse off to one side. An unobstructed view of Theoden did not improve the situation much. His entire torso and upper legs had been crushed by the heavy horse. Eragon had to work quickly to save his life.

Eragon called some riders to him and had them form a protective ring around himself, Theoden, Merry and Éowyn. The healing process was long and complicated, and even then, Eragon was only focusing on the life threatening injuries.

Halfway through the healing process, Eragon felt a searing pain in his side, as if he'd been stabbed with a hot, metal poker. He struggled not to scream.

SAPHIRA!

I'm…fine… she grunted. The beast caught me…with its tusk.

Is it bad? Eragon asked worriedly.

It's deep…but nothing's broken…and it didn't hit any organs… I'll be fine for a while. Finish with Theoden…then heal me.

Eragon continued with his ministrations, but when Saphira landed nearby several minutes later, he had to pause for a moment to order the soldiers not to attack her. From the looks on their faces, they had no intention of it.

Eragon uttered the last words of the incantation, and the last muscle in Theoden's chest knitted back together. The elderly king lay on the ground in a deep sleep, chest slowly rising and falling.

Eragon stood up probed the minds of Merry and Éowyn. The two were in a deep slumber, but their minds were clouded by a dark shadow that Eragon could not shift. He let them be, intending for Gandalf to do his best.

Eragon ran to Saphira. He was worried before he had even seen the wound. For Saphira to admit that the wound was deep, it must be bad. As he arrived at her side, the first thing he saw was her blood soaked hide. Her scales were sticky with thick, dark dragon's blood.

The tusk had pierced her body just behind her left foreleg, going in four feet or so. It was the tusk's exit that had caused most of the damage and pain. Backwards facing spikes had been tied around the tusk, and when it was pulled out, it tore skin and muscle apart. The foot-wide hole was now clogged with semi-congealed blood and skin.

Eragon placed his hands around the wound and whispered the words of healing and restoration. A shiver ran over Saphira's body as skin, muscle and scales regrew and knitted together. Eragon stepped back and observed the shiny new scales.

Thank you, Little One. That feels much better, Saphira said gratefully.

Eragon sighed and leaned against her, tired from his spellcasting.

How many did you get? Before… he tailed off, gesturing at her side.

Ten. And a half. The last one gored me before I could finish him.

Thirteen and half between us then. Did you see what happened to the orcs?

They –

Her response was cut off by sudden screaming.

"Stay there!" Eragon shouted at the guarding soldiers. He leapt into the saddle and strapped himself in as Saphira took off. For a moment, neither of them could understand what was happening. Then they saw it. A green wave washing over the battle, coming from Osgiliath.

Eragon was preparing to do something – anything – against this new force, until Saphira said, Look.

The wave washed over the remaining oliphants, bringing them to their knees and leaving them dead. It swept through the riders and orcs, but only the orcs were felled. As they came ever closer, Eragon could make out faces among the green mist, figures sweeping along – no, over – the ground. They were gliding above the bloody battlefield.

Spirits?

They watched as a golden-haired elf slid down the trunk of the last remaining oliphant as it crashed to the ground, and their eyes were drawn to a dwarf and a man fighting the final few orcs left on the battlefield.

Aragorn! Eragon watched the man's head shoot up. Come quick!

Aragorn ran, Legolas hot on his heels and Gimli trying his best to keep up. Eragon led them through the ring of guards and to the three sleeping figures.

"What happened?" Aragorn asked, aghast. Eragon explained in as little words as possible.

"I need to bring Merry and Éowyn to the city. I can do nothing for them here. The King should be fine in a few days. His body just needs time to rest."

One of the soldiers gave Aragorn his horse, and then handed Éowyn up to him. Legolas simply picked up Merry, and the two left without a word, one by horse, the other by foot. Gimli trundled along after them, burying his axe in any orc that was still moving.

The riders around Eragon set about making a stretcher to bring the King up to the city.

The Rider and Dragon stood side by side, content simply to be in each other's presence. The battle was finally over.

AN It's the longest chapter I've ever written by far so I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought! Nym x