Chapter 15

AN There's no real excuse for how appallingly late this is so I'm just gonna say sorry and leave it at that.

Eragon spent hours on the battlefield. He wandered, healing those that he could, but for the most part, helping soldiers to enter the void as painlessly as possible. He happened upon the occasional orc that was still breathing, but he spared them no mercy.

Saphira had begun the long process of separating the dead. She created a large mound of dead orcs, picking them up from around the battlefield and dropping them together. The large mound would become a small hill very soon.

The light was fading when Eragon began the walk back to the city. There was no more he could do until he had slept and eaten. His body needed to rest. He walked slowly – for an elf – thinking back on the battle. It went as well as he could have hoped, Eragon concluded. Of course, soldiers had died – it is inevitable when fighting a war, but their losses could have been far worse.

Saphira? What will you do?

I too, need to rest. My body is weary. I will finish soon and then eat. I will not let those tusked-creatures go to waste.

Eragon could feel her hunger through their link. He sent her his love and affection, keeping their link wide open. As he strode through the city's ruined gates, the soldiers still milling about in the courtyard fell quiet.

"Hail, Eragon," someone said. The words were taken up by the crowd, echoing in his mind as he walked through them. It faded as he continued his journey, his path taking him higher in the city. He stopped as he stepped through a doorway.

"Lord Eragon," Jenny said as she rushed up to him. "Are you injured?" the healer asked.

"No, I came to see how Éowyn and Merry were doing. A woman and a halfling," Eragon said, seeing her blank face.

"Ah! Yes. Follow me." She led him through a maze of rooms to two beds beside a window. Touching the minds of the bed's occupants, Eragon found them sleeping peacefully.

"It was a miracle," Jenny said in a hushed voice. "Lord Aragorn used kingsfoil – a weed! – to heal them. He fed them a poultice and their breathing eased and they fell into a deep sleep. He said they would stay like this for a day or two because their bodies need to heal."

"Thank you, Jenny," said Eragon softly. "And what of King Theoden?"

"Sleeping too," she said simply.

He turned to leave. A voice stopped him.

"Will you help us? There are many injured, and there is only so much we can do for them."

"I will, but in the morning. I promise. My body needs to rest. If I try to help now, I may do more harm than good."

"I understand," Jenny replied. They walked together back to the entrance.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jenny."

"Yes. Goodnight, Eragon. And thank you."

He smiled at her and left.

The dead had been cleared from the streets, but signs of battle were still evident. Broken arrows littered the ground and blood slowly trickled through the cobbles. Doors were hanging off their hinges and many of the stone buildings had scorch marks and scratches on the outer walls.

The further Eragon walked, the more people he saw – not only soldiers, but the regular people of Minas Tirith. The lower two levels were still closed off, so Eragon had to slowly work his way through the crowds. He listened to the whirlwind of thoughts and voices surrounding him, trying to pick out what he wanted to know.

" – and Mithrandir – "

The King of Gondor!

"Captain Faramir was…the citadel…"

Eragon pushed on through the crowd, now with a clear destination in mind. He caught a glimpse from Saphira of the oliphant as she landed beside it, ready to fill her belly.

As Eragon walked through the final set of gates that opened on to the seventh level of the city, silence fell upon his ears. The noise of the city below faded to nothing as the Lead Rider strode over to the citadel. He nodded to the soldiers each side of the door as he entered.

The citadel reminded Eragon of the cathedral in Dras Leona. It was cavernous, gloomy, and had a hopeless air to it. Eragon walked through the dimness to the far end of the room, his footsteps echoing loudly. As he approached the figures clustered around a large throne, he could hear them muttering quietly.

The voices stopped as Eragon entered their midst. Gandalf, Pippin, Eomer, Faramir, Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn stared at the new arrival.

"It is good to see you are unharmed," Aragorn said to him. "I have been told that without you, we may have been too late to help."

"We did everything we could," Eragon said honestly. "Even still, your arrival made all the difference." Eragon noticed a new sword strapped to Aragorn's hip, much longer than his old one. It looked newly forged, but Eragon could feel an aura of power and history radiating from it. He looked around at the assembled group. "Where is Lord Denethor?"

Grim faces met him, and Faramir hung his head. It was Gandalf who answered. "Dead." Eragon stared intently at the old wizard. "Pippin came to me during the battle," Gandalf said, squeezing the young hobbit's shoulder. "Lord Denethor threw himself from the top of the city to the streets below."

Aragorn cleared his throat, disturbing the silence that had fallen on the group. "We were just discussing what do next, before you arrived," he said to Eragon. "We know, thanks to Faramir, that Frodo and Sam took a route to Mordor that brought them through the Morgul Vale. We have to hope that they are still alive, and have not been captured."

"How can they not have been?" Legolas asked. "The plains between the Vale and Mount Doom are filled with orcs. Thousands of them. They have no hope of making it across without being seen."

"Unfortunately," Gandalf said, "Legolas is right. Unless the orcs clear those plains, the Ring will never be destroyed."

Eragon stayed quiet. He knew as a last resort that he and Saphira could try and find the hobbits, but in all likelihood Frodo and Sam would flee at the sight of the dragon, not to mention that Eragon really didn't want to come anywhere near the Ring. He held his tongue, hoping that one of the others would come up with something.

"We need to clear the plains," Aragorn started. "We need Sauron to move his armies."

"We've already established this," Gimli said gruffly. Aragorn gave him a look.

"Sauron will only move his armies if he feels threatened. So we need to threaten him. We need to march on the black gate."

Incredulous faces looked back at the Ranger. "Attack the black gate?" Eomer asked in disbelief. "No army has ever done that in all of history. And even if we did, and we had all of our soldiers, who's to say that Sauron would come out. He could sit behind his black walls and wait until we starve."

"He will come out," said Faramir quietly. "He will see it as a chance to once and for all destroy the race of Men."

No one said anything. They had no other plan.

"So it is decided," Gandalf announced. "We march on the Black Gate."

Aragorn stood up straighter, looking at each of his companions. "Tonight we rest. Tomorrow, we prepare. In two days, we march."

There were mumbles of agreement, and the group went their separate ways.

"Eragon!" Pippin called, the hobbit running to try and catch up. "Faramir has given you a room to stay in, if you wish, now that you don't have to hide. I can take you to it."

"Thank you Pippin. A bed would be most welcome," Eragon said gratefully. He slowed his steps so that Pippin could keep up. The two walked in comfortable silence, Pippin leading the Rider through a series of corridors until he stopped outside a door. "This is yours. Myself and Gandalf have rooms just up the hall. If you want to change out of your armour, I can bring you to get some food. I'd say you're hungry," he said mischievously, the hobbit's eyes lighting up at the thought of food.

"Starving," Eragon said, laughing. He entered the room and changed quickly, removing his armour and placing it on the bed. He kept Brisingr belted to his side however – he never knew when he'd need it.

Pippin once again led him through the halls, but this time they ended up in soldiers' mess area. They were each handed a bowl of stew and an apple, and the pair of them found some seats at an empty table. All was quiet except for the sounds of eating as the two eagerly tucked in to their food. It was only when the bowls were finally scraped clean that they spoke.

"Do you think Merry will be ok?" Pippin asked quietly.

"Yes," Eragon answered honestly. "He was asleep when I saw him. His body just needs to rest."

"Oh," said Pippin, relieved.

"He'll be up and about soon. You'll see." Eragon smiled.

Pippin looked down at his hands, and then back at Eragon. "Do you think…do you think we'll see Frodo and Sam again?"

Eragon sighed. "I hope so. I'd very much like to meet them. That's why we're marching. To give them a chance. After that, we have to hope for the best. Come on Pippin," Eragon said, seeing the hobbit's downcast face, "Tomorrow will be a long day. We'd better get to bed."

They walked back through the city, now unrecognisable from the previous night. It was dark when Eragon got back to his room. He said goodnight to Pippin and closed the door. Eragon slumped down on the bed, physically and mentally wrecked. He knew he had to do one more thing before he went to sleep.

He got to his feet and grabbed the small hand-held mirror he had spotted earlier. Collapsing back onto the bed, he reached inside himself until he felt his magic, and said the words.

The mirror shimmered like water, the fluid surface flowing into recognisable features. A bed. A desk strewn with papers. Some plants sung into the shape of glyphs. An elf.

"Eragon." She sounded surprised. "I did not expect to hear from you for a while yet."

"I know. I just wanted you to know that we won the battle."

"I am glad," she said, although she didn't show it. "And you are both alright?

"We are now."

"But you are not coming home."

"No. Not yet." Eragon sighed. "The war here is not over. And we cannot leave until it is. In two days, we're marching for the final battle."

"Please, be careful Eragon. You need to come home."

"We will. You know me, Arya. I'm always careful." He grinned.

"I mean it, Eragon."

He sobered. "I know. We'll come home." He could feel himself tiring. "I have to go. It's been a long day. I apologise for waking you," he added, noting her night clothes.

"You did not. I woke up a few minutes ago with the dawn."

Interesting, Eragon thought to himself. It is a different time here than in Alagaesia.

"Well then, we both have things to do."

"Indeed," Arya said, a hint of a smile gracing her face.

"Well then, have a good day, my Queen." Eragon returned her smile.

"Goodnight, Eragon."

The mirror rippled again, and Eragon was left staring back at his own face. He placed the mirror on the stand beside his bed and kicked off his boots. He rolled over and reached out with his mind.

Goodnight, Saphira.

Goodnight, Little One.

And with that, the Rider shut his eyes and fell into his dreams.

The following day was spent organising armies and preparing provisions. Eragon spent much of the morning healing those who needed it, and the rest of the day was spent digging graves and burying their dead. Men of Gondor and of Rohan were buried side-by-side, songs of mourning sung as the earth took them. The orcs were thrown onto the pile Saphira had started, and when they had all been gathered together, she bathed them in fire, holding her flames long enough that they reached the centre of the enormous mountain of bodies. When she snapped her jaws shut, the raging fires kept burning, and three days later when they finally went out, all that was left was a pile of ash.

At first light, Aragorn had sent out a hundred men to butcher one of the oliphants, both for the march and to feed the people in the city. It was hours later and they were still slaving away.

Aragorn and Eomer were organising their respective armies. It was decided that Faramir would stay in the city, ruling until Aragorn returned. Eomer would take Theoden's place, the old King still recovering in the healers' buildings.

Merry woke late in the afternoon, and while the young hobbit was clearly tired, Pippin was doing his best to cheer him up.

Dusk was falling as Eragon walked over to Saphira. She had moved from their hiding place to the grassy square in front of the citadel. Eragon removed her saddle wordlessly and sat against her belly. They hadn't had much time to themselves in the last few weeks, and with another battle looming, they were both tense.

After this Eragon, we must go home. We have to choose a new home for the Riders and Dragons. The dragons in those eggs have been in there long enough. It is time for them to come out.

I know, Saphira. I know. Another couple of weeks, and we'll be heading back.

Neither of them mentioned their darkest fear – that one or both of them may not go home.

As the sun rose over the horizon the next morning, a man with long dark hair and a crown led a column of nine thousand soldiers through the gates of Minas Tirith. Overhead, a blue dragon glittered in the dawn light, and if one looked close enough – perhaps with the eyes of an elf – they might just make out a figure on the dragon's back.

From high above, the Rider and Dragon watched as the army snaked across the plain, marching past the burning orcs and towards Osgiliath. It took several hours for the all the men to cross the river – with the bridge destroyed, they had to be ferried across in small groups by boat. When finally they had all crossed, the march resumed.

At every crossroads the army came to, a herald proclaimed that the King of Gondor was rightfully taking back the lands of his people and Gondor's flag was planted.

Eragon was impressed at the speed of the army below, considering that all of them had fought only two days before, and many of them had been injured and then healed.

The march continued until dusk, with the soldiers only getting a couple of brief respites during the day. As the men started to set up camp, Saphira spiralled down to join them.

For four days the pattern was the same. Eragon and Saphira stayed together while the army marched below. On the fifth day however, Aragorn asked them to stay close – the Black Gate was only a few hours away.

The morning wore on, and soon Gandalf bade them to land. Saphira did so, and Eragon hopped off her back before joining the others at the front of the column as she walked alongside them.

The Black Gate finally came into view, and a shiver went through the army. They kept marching until Aragorn raised his hand, and his captains quickly got their soldiers into rows.

Aragorn rode over to where Eragon was standing.

"Come with us," he asked. "We are going to the gate."

"No," Eragon answered firmly. "This is your land. It wouldn't be right for me to go."

Aragorn gave him a strange look. "Very well. Good luck, my friend." He turned his horse and went back to the others.

Eragon watched as Pippin was placed on Gandalf's saddle, and Merry with Eomer. Legolas and Gimli were already on their horse. The companions set off, riding for the gate.

Eragon let his attention drift to the looming structure before him. A gigantic wall spanned the width of the valley they were in, with two enormous gates in the middle. As the riders got further and further away, it became clear just how big the gates were.

The soldiers watched as the gates opened a crack and a figure came through them. Eragon could see the messenger talking, and then he threw something at Gandalf. One of the riders – Eragon thought it was Aragorn - began to move his horse around the back of the figure, and then suddenly he swung his sword at the messenger, parting its head from its shoulders.

The gates started to open wider and faster. The riders turned and galloped back towards the soldiers. Eragon watched as the headless body behind them slowly toppled off the horse into the dust.

Thousands of orcs streamed out of the gates. Clearly, Sauron hadn't emptied all of Mordor for the assault on Minas Tirith, as Gandalf had believed. He had kept a significant army in reserve.

As the gates opened fully, and Eragon saw the full extent of what they faced, his eyes landed on the tower. And on the Eye that was watching them. He shivered involuntarily. At least we have its attention, Eragon thought. That was the point of all this.

Aragorn reached the soldiers and saw the same fear in their eyes that Eragon did. He ignored – for the moment – the orcs that were now circling them, blocking off any hope of escape, and raised his voice. "Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan! My brothers. I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

The soldiers cheered as Aragorn dismounted, standing along with his people. The orcs had finally stopped moving, and the army was now encircled. Aragorn took a few steps forward and bowed his head. He looked back once at his friends, and said, "For Frodo!" before raising his sword and charging.

Eragon heard more shouts, and watched as the two young hobbits ran after him, swords aloft. He raised his own and joined them, picking his first target.

I love you, Saphira, he said fiercely.

I love you too, Little One.

The two forces smashed together, and Eragon heard Saphira roar. He used his shield to batter the first orc down and he quickly slashed at the ones surrounding him. As the soldiers arrived behind him, Eragon was left to concentrate on what lay ahead of him. He cut, stabbed and hacked his way through the horde, the never-ending, seething mass of orcs throwing themselves at him, only to be met with the shining blue of Brisingr.

Eragon!

As Saphira's shout echoed within his mind, a scream of another kind assaulted his ears. Looking up, he saw the four remaining Nazgul on their Fell Beasts, fast approaching and all angled towards Saphira.

The partners, on opposite sides of the battle, now tried to reach each other. One took giant leaps of a hundred feet at a time, crushing the enemy beneath her when she landed, and the other left a path of destruction in his wake, a bright flash of blue steel now and again the only indication of what was causing the mayhem.

As the pair united, Eragon leapt against Saphira's leg and kicked off, propelling himself on to her back. He had only just secured himself into the saddle when she rocketed skywards, her powerful legs launching hem into the black sky of Mordor.

Their connected minds were pierced by a fresh wave of torturous shrieks, Saphira's concentration momentarily slipping and causing them to drop a few feet in the air.

"Letta du guth!" Eragon shouted, and as they had done in Minas Tirith, the beastly screams were cut off. Unlike in Minas Tirith however, where the most Nazgul they had fought at a time was two, they now had four coming straight at them.

Their tactics were not of attack, but of survival. Even for a dragon of Saphira's size, strength and skill, four against one are never good odds. She weaved through the air, avoiding claws, teeth and swords from every direction. Eragon managed to draw blood several times with a few well-aimed swipes of Brisingr, but before he could deliver a serious blow, he would be forced to dodge an attack from another angle.

Saphira didn't come through her acrobatics unscathed. Eragon tried as best as he could to defend his partner while she concentrated on keeping them airborne, but he couldn't be in four places at once. She had gashes on both sides of her belly and a hole in the end of her tail where a tooth had gone straight through. These injuries – especially the one in her tail – were gradually taking their toll. Saphira was slowing down and could no longer make the tight turns she was capable of when she was uninjured.

Finally, Saphira bettered their chances. As one of the beasts came in close, she darted her head sideways and snapped her jaws around its neck. She shook it like a terrier would a rat, and the bones in its neck shattered.

While Saphira took care of the mount, Eragon dispatched of its rider. The Nazgul, not expecting Saphira's attack, was even more surprised to find Brisingr buried in its chest.

As the Nazgul disintegrated, Saphira flung the lifeless corpse away from her. Their joy was short lived. The other three Nazgul were hurtling down at them from above and Saphira was forced into a steep dive. Harried on every side, she was unable to turn away, and just as Eragon though he was about to be ripped from her back, they heard thumps behind them and loud screeching.

As Saphira pulled out of her dive just above the heads of the soldiers, Eragon heard their shouts. "The eagles! The eagles are coming!" they cried.

The pair glanced upwards and were met by one of the strangest sights they had seen in their lives. Giant eagles – about ten of them – were attacking the Fell Beasts. Although only a third the size of Saphira, the eagles were working together to distract the beasts. They pecked at the faces, blinding them, and they tore chunks of flesh from their tails and sides. The Nazgul could do nothing but watch.

What the eagles couldn't do, however, was actually kill the creatures.

Saphira powerfully beat her wings, driving herself towards her nearest victim. As she approached, the eagles attacking the Fell Beast flew away towards one other creatures.

The Nazgul's mount, bleeding and blinded, could do nothing as Saphira latched onto its side. Eragon traded blows with the Nazgul, its hatred almost overpowering as it rolled off it terrible waves. Brisingr sliced through the air, and as the blue sword arced downwards a black hand and a cursed sword came with it, tumbling through the dark sky until they disappeared into the melee on the ground. The Nazgul screamed hideously, but Brisingr brought silence once more.

Saphira crushed the chest of her weakened enemy in her claws, and contemptuously let it fall.

They took a moment to rest. The eagles were keeping the remaining two Nazgul occupied, and Saphira was beginning to really struggle with her wounds.

We should finish them now. They are badly wounded.

So are you Saphira.

They are worse. I can last for a while longer.

Well –

A deep boom came from beyond the black gate, and all heads turned towards Mordor. Orcs began to flee – not towards the black land, but away from it. Eragon noticed in the distance that Mount Doom had lava spilling out the top.

As if time had slowed, the tower of the Great Eye started to crumble. It fell in on itself, breaking apart from the inside. As the eye collapsed, Eragon saw it desperately searching, searching for something. For the Ring. The Nazgul and the Fell Beasts broke away from the eagles and began flying furiously toward Mount Doom.

The disintegrating tower exploded outward, the shockwave passing over them and continuing for as far as he could see – perhaps over all of Middle Earth. Below Eragon and Saphira, the ground under the orcs started to fall away, disappearing into the earth and taking the orcs with it. The soldiers of Gondor and Rohan were grouped together and remained unharmed, the land beneath their feet staying firm. The Men started to cheer, wide smiles on their faces, but their joy was cut short.

Mount Doom exploded, the top of the volcano blown off by the force of it. Lava was shot hundreds of feet into the air, molten rock raining down for leagues. The cheering had stopped, and Eragon knew why.

His heart was heavy. The tower only fell for one reason; the One Ring had been destroyed. Frodo and Sam had completed their quest. They had thrown the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom. But it was hard to see how any creature could have survived that explosion.

An eagle swooped past them towards the ground and Gandalf leapt onto its back. It rose and turned towards the burning mountain, two of its fellows joining it. Eragon watched as they receded in the distance. He could just make out the two remaining Nazgul circling the volcano, and he took small pleasure when first one, then two, were hit by burning rock and killed.

As the eagles disappeared from view, Saphira brought them slowly to the ground. Before she had even touched down, Eragon had unstrapped himself and hopped off.

What hurts the most?

Tail, she responded curtly.

He made his way to the offending limb and assessed the damage. It was worse than he'd first thought, but he kept that from Saphira. There were actually two holes in her tail, where two fangs had gone straight through. The part of her tail that was bitten was as thick as the length of Eragon's arm from wrist to elbow, and you could see daylight through each hole. One of her tail bones had been grazed, as well as muscle sliced apart. Eragon set to work, healing his partner as was a Rider's duty. It took a while, but finally the skin closed over and Saphira breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank you, Little One. That feels much better. She gave her tail an experimental wiggle.

You're welcome, Saphira. But I'm not finished yet. He healed both of her sides in turn, the cuts and grazes painful but shallow, and quick to heal. She nudged him when he was finished, wordlessly showing her thanks. He kissed her snout, glad they had both made it through.

I need to speak to Aragorn, Eragon said to her.

Go. She nudged him again. I'll wait here.

Penned in by the newly-formed abyss on three sides, the soldiers were massed together and so it took Eragon a while to find the man he was looking for.

Aragorn was with Eomer, Legolas and Gimli, who was attempting to console Pippin and Merry, both of whom had tear-stained faces. The nodded to him, with the exception of the two hobbits, as he strode over.

"We are waiting for Gandalf to return," Aragorn said to Eragon, answering the question he had been about to ask. "And then we will go home," he finished simply. There was nothing more to be said after that. They stood together, waiting, searching the skies.

Eragon had his eyes closed momentarily, internally conversing with Saphira, when Legolas said quietly, "Look." Eragon opened his eyes to see the elf pointing into the distance. Following his outstretched finger, Eragon saw three dark shapes coming towards them.

"Where? I can't see anything," Gimli muttered gruffly.

"That," Legolas said, turning to face the dwarf, "is because you are not an elf." He turned his eyes back to the sky. "You will see them soon."

"Hmmph," Gimli grumbled. But Legolas was right. The shapes got larger and more recognisable by the minute, and soon they could all see the eagles.

Aragorn and Eomer had quickly cleared a large area around them, and soon the eagles landed. Gandalf slid off the back of the largest bird, and rushed over to one of the other eagles, shouting at Aragorn and gesturing for him to go to the remaining one. They all watched in silence as the two men reached up to the backs of the birds, and came away with a small body in both their arms.

There was a collective intake of breath amongst the soldiers, and a desperate sob escaped from Pippin. Eragon's chest tightened.

Aragorn put his ear to the chest of one of the hobbits, listening, hoping for something. His head shot up quickly, and he and Gandalf exchanged a look.

"Eragon!" Gandalf called. The Rider hurried over. "They are still alive." Eragon gasped. "But they are very weak. And Frodo has this," Gandalf said, holding up the small hobbit's hand.

Eragon took the hand in his own. The index finger on Frodo's left hand was gone. Only a stump remained. The wound was ugly, the flesh torn and the broken bone jagged. The finger was not cut off by a knife, that was for sure.

"Can you heal it?" Gandalf asked quietly.

"Yes," answered Eragon, "But first they need some water. It looks like they haven't had a drink in days."

Water was slowly dripped into their parched mouths, and Eragon began to heal Frodo. It took time, and the hobbit's body was in such a poor state that it took longer than it should have. When he was finished, Eragon passed some energy into their bodies, and Sam briefly came to.

"Mr Frodo?" Sam croaked, his eyes searching.

"No, Sam," said Aragorn, who was still holding him. "It's me."

"Strider?" Sam asked slowly. "Is this a dream?"

"No, Sam." Aragorn smiled. "This is real. I'm here."

"Oh…" Sam tailed off, falling back into unconsciousness.

"They need rest," Gandalf announced suddenly. "We must bring them to Munas Tirith."

"It will take us at least a week to march back," Aragorn responded. "We have some wagons with us , we – "

I can take them on my back, Saphira interrupted. I can carry Eragon, the two hobbits and one more.

"Thank you Saphira," Gandalf said to her. "That would be wonderful. And I would go with them, if that pleases you."

Indeed. We should go soon. The little hobbits need proper care.

While Eragon made some quick adjustments to the saddle straps, he noticed that Merry and Pippin had tears running down their faces again, but this time they were of joy.

He helped Gandalf into the saddle, and once the wizard was strapped in, Eragon brought up Frodo and secured him.

Eragon was surprised at how young Frodo appeared when he got a proper look at him. He seemed peaceful even after all he had been through, although the flickering of his eyes under their lids suggested that not all was calm.

Eragon strapped himself in next, and then Legolas brought up Sam, the elf having no problem balancing on Saphira's leg.

"We will see you in a week then," Aragorn said to them.

"Be careful, Aragorn," Gandalf warned. "Not every orc was killed. There are many roaming the plains between here and Gondor." Aragorn nodded his understanding.

Saphira rose up into the sky, gaining height before setting her sights westward. Their journey back was uneventful except for spotting a few roaming orc packs below. It was, however, much quicker. Now that she wasn't tethered to an army, Saphira could fly at her full speed, and what had taken them seven slow days before now only took her a bit more than half a day.

They left Aragorn in the evening and Minas Tirith came into view the following morning. As the morning light reflected beautifully off Saphira's scales, she landed on the highest level of the city.

Faramir was there waiting for them, and as soon as her wings had stilled he rushed over.

"What news?! What happened!?"

"Calm, Faramir. Be calm," Gandalf told the young man. "There is no need to worry. The war is over. Sauron is defeated. We have won."

It took all of Eragon's self-control not to laugh at the shocked look on Faramir's face. Even Saphira had to stifle a laugh.

"But…how?" he stuttered.

"All will be explained, dear boy, but not now. These two hobbits must see a healer," Gandalf said.

Faramir's eyes were drawn to Frodo and Sam as Eragon unstrapped himself.

"My god…" he whispered. "I truly believed they didn't have a hope. How wrong I was."

"Faramir, can you take Sam?" Eragon handed the hobbit down to the Captain and then helped Gandalf to get down too. As soon as Eragon placed Frodo into Gandalf's arms, he and Faramir turned and sped towards the healer's buildings.

Do you need to hunt? Eragon asked as he took off Saphira's saddle.

Yes. I'm starving, Saphira growled.

Eragon laughed. Me too, but at least my food is easier to find.

Pathetic humans, she sniffed. Anyway, I might try and find some of those orcs we passed over when I am finished. We wouldn't want them to cause any trouble, now would we?

No. Eragon laughed and hugged her. I love you Saphira. I really do. I don't know what I'd do without you.

Get lost, I expect, Saphira said dryly. But he knew she was messing. I love you too, Eragon.

We're going home soon.

Yes.

AN Hope you liked it! Also, I know that Eragon could have regrown Frodo's finger, but I think that its loss is actually really important for both Frodo and the absolute end of the ring, so I didn't have him regrow it. Soz Frodo xoxo Let me know what you think! Nym x