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Snatches of the Shade's memories continued to flash through Eragon. A whirlwind of dark events and emotions overwhelmed him, making it impossible to think. Submerged in the maelstrom, he knew neither who nor where he was. He was too weak to cleanse himself of the alien presence that clouded his mind. Violent, cruel images from the Shade's past exploded behind his eyes until his spirit cried out in anguish at the bloody sights.

A pile of bodies rose before him . . . innocents slaughtered by the Shade's orders. He saw still more corpses—whole villages of them—taken from life by the sorcerer's hand or word. There was no escape from the carnage that surrounded him. He wavered like a candle flame, unable to withstand the tide of evil. He prayed for someone to lift him out of the nightmare, but there was no one to guide him. If only he could remember what he was supposed to be: boy or man, villain or hero, Shade or Rider; all was jumbled together in a meaningless frenzy. He was lost, completely and utterly, in the roiling mass.

Suddenly a cluster of his own memories burst through the dismal cloud left by the Shade's malevolent mind. All the events since he had found Saphira's egg came to him in the cold light of revelation. His accomplishments and failures were displayed equally. He had lost much that was dear to him, yet fate had given him rare and great gifts; for the first time, he was proud of simply who he was. As if in response to his brief self-confidence, the Shade's smothering blackness assaulted him anew. His identity trailed into the void as uncertainty and fear consumed his perceptions. Who was he to think he could challenge the powers of Alagaësia and live?

He fought against the Shade's sinister thoughts, weakly at first, then more strongly. He whispered words of the ancient language and found they gave him enough strength to withstand the shadow blurring his mind. Though his defenses faltered dangerously, he slowly began to draw his shattered consciousness into a small bright shell around his core. Outside his mind he was aware of a pain so great it threatened to blot out his very life, but something—or someone—seemed to keep it at bay.

He was still too weak to clear his mind completely, but he was lucid enough to examine his experiences since Carvahall. Where would he go now...and who would show him the way? Without Brom, there was no one to guide or teach him.

Come to me.

He recoiled at the touch of another consciousness—one so vast and powerful it was like a mountain looming over him. This was who was blocking the pain, he realized. Like Arya's mind, music ran through this one: deep amber-gold chords that throbbed with magisterial melancholy.

Finally, he dared ask, Who . . . who are you?

One who would help. With a flicker of an unspoken thought, the Shade's influence was brushed aside like an unwanted cobweb. Freed from the oppressive weight, Eragon let his mind expand until he touched a barrier beyond which he could not pass. I have protected you as best I can, but you are so far away I can do no more than shield your sanity from the pain.

Again: Who are you to do this?

There was a low rumble. I am Osthato Chetowä, the Mourning Sage. And Togira Ikonoka, the Cripple Who Is Whole. Come to me, Eragon, for I have answers to all you ask. You will not be safe until you find me.

But how can I find you if I don't know where you are? he asked, despairing.

Trust Arya and go with her to Ellesméra—I will be there. I have waited many seasons, so do not delay or it may soon be too late...You are greater than you know, Eragon. Think of what you have done and rejoice, for you have rid the land of a great evil. You have wrought a deed no one else could. Many are in your debt.

The stranger was right; what he had accomplished was worthy of honor, of recognition. No matter what his trials might be in the future, he was no longer just a pawn in the game of power. He had transcended that and was something else, something more. He had become what Ajihad wanted: an authority independent of any king or leader.

He sensed approval as he reached that conclusion. You are learning, said the Mourning Sage, drawing nearer. A vision passed from him to Eragon: a burst of color blossomed in his mind, resolving into a stooped figure dressed in white, standing on a sun-drenched stone cliff. It is time for you to rest, Eragon. When you wake, do not speak of me to anyone,said the figure kindly, face obscured by a silver nimbus. Remember, you must go to the elves. Now, sleep... He raised a hand, as if in benediction, and peace crept through Eragon.

His last thought was that Brom would have been proud of him.

"Wake," commanded the voice. "Awake, Eragon, for you have slept far too long." He stirred unwillingly, loath to listen. The warmth that surrounded him was too comfortable to leave. The voice sounded again. "Rise, Argetlam! You are needed!"

He reluctantly forced his eyes open and found himself on a long bed, swathed in soft blankets. Angela sat in a chair beside him, staring at his face intently. "How do you feel?" she asked.

Disoriented and confused, he let his eyes roam over the small room. "I...I don't know," he said, his mouth dry and sore.

"Then don't move. You should conserve your strength," said Angela, running a hand through her curly hair. Eragon saw that she still wore her flanged armor. Why was that? A fit of coughing made him dizzy, lightheaded, and ache all over. His feverish limbs felt heavy. Angela lifted a gilt horn from the floor and held it to his lips. "Here, drink."

Cool mead ran down his throat, refreshing him. Warmth bloomed in his stomach and rose to his cheeks. He coughed again, which worsened his throbbing head. How did I get here? There was a battle... we were losing... then Durza and... "Saphira!" he exclaimed, sitting upright. He sagged back as his head swam and clenched his eyes, feeling sick.

"She is okay, as is the others." Angela reassured him. "They've been waiting outside for you to wake. I will get them." She got to her feet and walked towards the door.


The hallway was silent, very silent, aside from the breathing of the dragoness that was laid down. Saphira laid with George, who was sat down, his back resting against her scaly side as her head was on his lap, allowing him to softly stroke the top of head which had made her close her eyes, her tail curled around them. Neither of them said anything, only sharing their thoughts and emotions with each other. On the other side of the hall, Murtagh leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, and Arya stood a small distance away.

George continued stroking the top of his Saphira's head, enjoying the moment he has with her. She enjoyed it to, the hum coming from her throat was proof of that. After the battle, George had destroyed his two handguns, believing that somehow the mages of this world will find a way to try and make the power of a gun themselves and this world and age wasn't ready for such things.

Back to using the sword he guessed.

After the battle was over, George rushed to find his friends and mate and he did so, finding Saphira and Arya standing near an unconscious Eragon. He sighed with relief when Arya told him he was alive and he leaned against Saphira who shared his relief, then shared their happiness at seeing each other again and unharmed, then they helped get Eragon to Angela.

Once Eragon was safe and looked after, George and Saphira went to an adjacent bedchamber to rest, but George found himself pinned by Saphira, getting nuzzled before the two exchanged a passionate makeout, just happy they were safe and not hurt. They didn't mate, they decided to not do that when others could hear them but they never left the other's side, always sticking together as they waited for news on Eragon.

The sound of a door opening caused them all to look up and George stood up quickly with Saphira following. Angela came out and smiled at them. "He's awake."

George entered the room first, followed by Arya and Murtagh while Saphira snaked her head through, her size not allowing her to fully enter the room. They found Eragon sitting upright on his bed and a smile broke out onto his face at the sight of them. George walked up and lightly slapped the back of Eragon's head.

"you have GOT to stop with scaring us like that, only I can do that." George said, giving him a brotherly hug.

Eragon chuckled, returning the hug. "I'll try harder next time." He joked as they broke the hug and Eragon looked at Arya and Murtagh. "what happened?" asked Eragon.

Arya looked sad. But Murtagh crowed, "We won! It was incredible! When the Shade's spirits—if that's what they were—flew across Farthen Dûr, the Urgals ceased fighting to watch them go. It was as though they were released from a spell then, because their clans suddenly turned and attacked each other. Their entire army disintegrated within minutes. We routed them after that!"

"They're all dead?" asked Eragon.

Murtagh shook his head. "No, many of them escaped into the tunnels. The Varden and dwarves are busy ferreting them out right now, but it's going to take a while. I was helping until an Urgal banged me on the head and I was sent back here."

"They aren't going to lock you up again?"

His face grew sober. "No one really cares about that right now. A lot of Varden and dwarves were killed; the survivors are busy trying to recover from the battle. But at least you have cause to be happy. You're a hero! Everyone's talking about how you killed Durza. If it hadn't been for you, we would have lost."

Eragon was troubled by his words but pushed them away for later consideration. "Where were the Twins? They weren't where they were supposed to be—I couldn't contact them. I needed their help."

Murtagh shrugged. "I was told they bravely fought off a group of Urgals that broke into Tronjheim somewhere else. They were probably too busy to talk with you."

"Dicks." George muttered, getting a smirk from Murtagh at his insult aimed at the Twins. Arya then explained that after she removed Saphira's armour, they learned Durza was here and fighting Eragon so they raced to help him with Arya breaking the Star Sapphire. Angela then told him about his wound left from the fight with Durza and that she tried her best to heal it.

Murtagh tried to cheer him up but he didn't cheer up. Angela eventually ushered them out, but not before Saphira licked her Rider's cheek and left with George, both promising they'll visit him later. Eragon's thoughts went to this Morning Sage person and he nodded to himself.

I will come...


That;s it for this chapter, sorry there's not much but I decided to just end it there. The next chapter will be the beginning of book 2, Eldest. we're entering the red book, which I've got along with Eragon and Inheritance, but I don't have the third book which sucks because I heard that one was a little more darker.