Alagaesia High School

Chapter 16

I am soooooooooooooo sorry about being this late! SO SORRY! I don't expect forgiveness, just reviews. Now, recognition for those who stuck through my laziness (which is unforgivable)! Though, my Internet did go down for a fair amount of time, so I have some excuse.

Axel 19: Well, no ExA, but thanks for the review! Be prepared for some ExA friendship!

My Generation: *Sighs* Not sure why you took the time to review if you were going to say something stupid like that. Well, get a life or stop breathing valuable air!

VoXR: Thanks for the review, and I am only relieved that this story is going to wrap up. With, of course, a satisfying battle scene. I am never writing two stories at once again!

Axel 18: Well, hallo! Good to know that the chapter is even better the second time, and try writing something! It's hard work, but fun!

Du Hjlodhr Sundavar: I really hate NxE. REALLY hate it. But yeah, I suppose that Eragon shall be single. Oh well!

The M.H.T. of R: That chapter didn't quite feel right to me. And the thing you showed me actually disappears, I've tried it.

FightTillTheLastBreath: Well, here's the chapter, eh?

Eragon circled Arya, sweat beading on his brow. She slid around him, concentration clear on her face.

Stepping forward, she brought the PVC blade whistling towards the taller boy's head. Leaping backwards, Eragon re-examined his opponent.

"Come on, both of you, this isn't Girl Scouts! Let's go! Let's go!" Glaedr barked, following their every movement. "C'mon, Eragon, Galbatorix would have ended this by now! Attack! Be decisive! Control the field!' The coach snapped, growing weary of Eragon's game of cat and mouse.

Eragon dove at Arya's knees, stabbing the blade directly forward. She staggered backwards, narrowly avoiding receiving a painful blow to the shins.

Glaedr snarled and seized a PVC spear. Hurling it at Eragon, he charged, using nothing but a dagger to drive the warrior back. Arya took the opportunity to strike, broadly slashing at the young teen. Eragon, too preoccupied fighting the coach, gasped as the blade collided with his ribcage. Sitting down, he grimaced.

"You have to be ready for anything!" His coach reprimanded him. "At any moment could one of his soldiers stop you mid-fray. You can't just expect to fight Galbatorix, you have to be ready to take on him plus a whole squad." Eragon bit back a withering response, and took a long draught of water.

This trio had been training for hours on end for the big tournament between the Empire and all the other teams. The pressure was on, and Glaedr reacted by ruthlessly driving Eragon and Arya into the ground with grueling training exercises, complete with a healthy dose of weightlifting.

"Glaedr, with all due respect, sir, wouldn't it be wise to allow us one day of rest before the tournament? It seems counter-productive to train us 'til we retch, for we'll be in a sorry shape to fight Galbatorix." Glaedr smirked.

"I'm giving you two. One, and you'd wake up with stiff muscles. Two, and you'll be fresh."

Eragon shook his head in confusion. "Sir, the tournament is tomorrow, so we don't have time for more rests."

Glaedr chuckled. "This is a rest day. Now up!"

Eragon sighed and drew his sword. The frays continued for hours on end, neither party willing to surrender to the other. Finally, Glaedr accepted that the warriors would need rest, and so he sent them on their way. Eragon jogged to his house, opening the door.

"Hey! Saphy! I need you!" he hollered. She peered around the corner of the house, grinning.

"I'm training." She said curtly, and swung back around the corner. Her brother sprinted around the corner, suddenly very sick of her new secretive attitude.

To his surprise, he found her with the green-wearing freshman from earlier, but they were both in NMRRPG gear. "Training? For what, may I ask?" Eragon asked with a sly grin.

"NMRRPG, Captain Pervert." She snapped, and turned her back. He shrugged and jogged into his house.

Pulling his shin guards and other padding off, he turned to the window, where he heard a noise. His jaw dropping, he stared at none other than Arya Drottningu! "Try not to strip yet, I want to talk to you." She said dryly.

Blushing deeply, Eragon muttered "Sorry."

She chuckled. "Look, I just wanted to say that the army is gonna stop by Braum's, you know, the one on Second and Boulevard? Yeah, that one. We're gonna either nurse our wounds or celebrate victory, but either way, I figure they'd want the AC to show." Eragon nodded.

He wasn't surprised that Nasuada had given him the position of Acting Captain. It was no secret that Eragon was the best soldier.

Arya gestured for Eragon to come closer. He sidled over obediently. She raised a cupped hand to her mouth and whispered in his ear "Be careful. I don't think I can deal with you getting hurt again." Eragon nodded to her. He had no intentions of letting Galbatorix touch him.

"Eat a good breakfast, get some sleep, don't get hung over, you know the drill." He waved her away. Closing the window, he watched her leave.

Pulling his jeans and shirt from his body, he lay on his bed, allowing all of his tensed muscles to unwind and relax. Without realizing it, the deep blanket of sleep enveloped him.

Have some Part Two, with a dash of salt!

"OI! Wake up sleeping beauty, I ain't gonna kiss ya!" Roran yelled, snapping Eragon out of his mid-day nap.

"Are you sure? They say I'm very handsome." Eragon replied, rolling out of bed.

Roran tossed the bedraggled warrior some clothes and snapped "Put some clothes on, it's time to milk the cows." Eragon cocked his head.

"Is Uncle indisposed?" Roran turned back to his younger cousin.

"He's quite busy making your dinner, ya ingrate. Now get to work, damn you!" Eragon sighed and slipped on a smock.

Jogging outside, he observed his great empire. Four cows, a llama, two horses, a pig, plenty of goats, and assorted farm tools. He began milking the cows. Wiping his hands on the soiled smock, he glanced at his watch.

"Dinner should be ready by now!" He shouted to his cousin, who was busy trying to calm down the Megs, one of their goats.

"I find your observation irrelevant! Now if you don't mind," he seized one of Megs's legs, narrowly avoiding an excruciating kick, "I'd appreciate it if ya went back to work!" Eragon shrugged and moved on to the next cow. After another hour, he stood up.

"Dinner must be ready by now!" The younger boy cried.

"Well, it's not, so keep milking the damn cows!" His brother snarled.

"I've already milked the cow, sheared the llama, fed the horses, AND watered Raudhr! What else is there to do?" Eragon demanded, gesticulating wildly.

"Dig out some brush! We're having a bonfire tomorrow!" He responded, clearly fed up with Megs trying to injure him.

"What about dinner?" The younger boy asked, still wanting an answer.

"GET TO WORK!" His older brother roared. Eragon stomped away, grumbling under his breath. Seizing a hoe, he began hacking at the roots of an old dead bush.

Garrow poked his head out of the window and rang a bell, signaling dinner. Sprinting to the house, Eragon tossed aside the implement.

Slipping inside the cracked door, he gaped at the food arrayed before him. Mashed potatoes, cheese, honey-roasted ham, tomato basil soup, and many other great dishes were arrayed before him. Such a feast was laid out before him, Eragon actually doubted the reality of this moment.

Garrow smirked and said "Yes, it's real, and yes, it's for you and your brother." Eragon looked up at Garrow for one moment, and then dove for the food. Heavenly aromas drifted to him. Tartness exploded across his tongue as he popped a cranberry in his mouth.

He heard Roran start in on the banquet with just as much eagerness as he. Tearing a turkey leg from its body, he took a huge bite. "Shank you!" He yelled at Garrow brightly, his mouth still crammed with delicious dark meat. Knocking back a mug of steaming coffee, well laced with honey, he rose and seized his uncle in a massive embrace.

Turning quickly back to the food, he noticed goat cheese featured prominently in all the dairy products, as well as plenty of things that they grew on the farm.

Eragon's eyes widened as he realized that Garrow had been stockpiling all the things that Eragon and Roran had estimated had gone missing. "Noticed the ingredients?" Garrow asked wryly. Roran gasped in amazement as he too realized what had just come to Eragon's attention. Turning back to their uncle, the boys chuckled at his "theft" of his own property.

"No way!" Roran cried. "Well, actually, there is a way, as I just demonstrated." Garrow responded dryly, settling into an ornate chair. "Just wait until you see dessert." He advised them, taking reasonable bites of cornbread. Eragon returned to his rich tomato basil soup.

A few minutes later, the meal was devastated, though plenty of food remained, and all three men were leaning back, patting their stomachs.

"And now, just in case you lot don't have diabetes yet, have some apple spice cake!" Garrow said, rising. Roran followed his father closely, as did Eragon. Whipping a washcloth from over a Dutch oven, a steaming apple spice cake melted any reserve Garrow, Eragon, or Roran may have had.

Seizing forks, they began tearing chunks out of the dessert straight from the oven.

It wasn't long before the all staggered back to the table, sighing contentedly. Garrow muttered "Good night" and something that sounded like "Happy Hunger Games"!

Staggering off to his bed, Eragon slammed into the soft comforter and melted into sleep.

And Now, Part 3 with a Dash of Getting the Living Crap Beaten Out of You!

Eragon woke feeling like he could conquer the world. He remembered that this was tournament day. His confidence wavered a bit.

Defeating the most finely-armed militaries in the world is one thing, he thought, but confronting Galbatorix is entirely another. He shrugged off his worries.

However, once he reached the kitchen, he caught scent of something divine. Dashing towards the table, he found a heaping plate of corned-beef out-of-a-can hash waiting for him.

Seizing a bottle of Tabasco, he sprinkled it liberally on the steaming plate of food, and dug in. He dimly sensed Garrow exuding an amused air, and Roran eating next to him, but for the most part, he focused on breakfast. After a while, he leaned back in the chair and examined the gleaming plate.

"I can feel Mrs. Vega getting sick with our manners." Roran chuckled. Eragon seized his plate and actually licked it clean, yelling "We miss you!" to his Cotillion teacher. Roran broke down into laughter, while Garrow glared disapprovingly at the boy's etiquette.

Rising and rinsing the plate, and then depositing it in the dishwasher, the blue-eyed boy retrieved his longsword from its case. Sliding on a custom shock-absorbing helmet, he donned gut-pads, shin guards, shoulder-pads, and much armor besides, the warrior, confident in his power, roared to the skies and charged to his post!

Garrow shook his head. "Idiot." He muttered, scouring old blood-stains from a knife.

Roran shrugged and jogged after his brother, dreading the moment that he came face-to-face with the entire army of Galbatorix.

And now, Section 2 of Part 3!

Lining up in the front lines of the Varden, Roran examined the faces of his opponents. Some were scared. Some were condescending. It would matter little when they all clashed.

He readied his hammer. They were too numerous, and too well-trained for the Varden to defeat without the flag being captured.

Roran swore and spat into the ground. He hated his fate being handed to anyone, regardless of the fact that he trusted Eragon with his life.

Glancing at his soldiers, he saw Balder snarling defiance at the enemy, Mandel, the youngest of the troop, gulping down his anxiety and bile, Katrina grinning at the Empire, unnerving a good number of the troops, Angela, the medic, humming a few Lonely Island songs under her breath.

"Well, Angela, no battle jitters then?"

"And if ya every but a pint for an Irish guy, they're outta con- Oh, of course not. You know, the worst that can happen is Galbatorix slipping a knife between somebody's ribs then beat them with his blade, thus passing it off as a broken neck that killed them, therefore an accident." She replied cheerfully.

"Thanks for the cheer, Angela." Roran muttered dryly.

"Anytime, Stronghammer!" She cried, readying her concoctions of hearty lamb's heart, Gatorade, and cornmeal. Vile, but Roran knew well that it could keep a man on his feet after retching heavily from a cruel blow to the gut. Damn those Twins, he thought, remembering when they turned on the Varden and dealt a harsh strike to Stronghammer's abdomen.

Eragon seized his brother's shoulder. Turning, Roran snapped "What?" his nerves worn thin by battle jitters.

"I just wanted to say, take care of yourself. I wouldn't count on this lot playing fair." He flipped a rude gesture to one of the soldiers. Chuckling, he took his place towards the eastern flank of the battalion.

A large compliment of soldiers would from a shield wall and advance, protecting the assault force consisting of Arya, Raudhr, a few of the more powerful elves, and of course, Eragon and Saphira. The wall would, while making it clear where Eragon and Arya would strike, would conceal their numbers.

While they were covered, Izzy would take the place or Arya, being as they look startlingly similar. Most of the elves would stay behind, as well as Raudhr, while Arya, Eragon, Saphira, and a choice elf named Izlasyta would creep through the forest. They would then approach the far left flank, and infiltrate the fort, slaying any guards and taking the flag.

No doubt, either Galbatorix or Shruikan or both would be present, prepared to shatter any forces.

Luckily, good ol' Galby was an offensive soul (and prone to bar fights), so it was unlikely that he would waste resources assigning large quantities of guards.

And just to top it off, Nasuada ferreted out one of Galbatorix's informants, and fed him information that they would move along the western flank (the left one), but then the attack force would slide around to the eastern flank and begin a five-man surgical strike.

Naturally, this would seem illogical to Galbatorix and something would smell like a rat, but it would generate some amount of doubt, and when Roran began his own surgical strike, no doubt he would immediately validate the information and respond accordingly. But of course, he would realize that Raudhr and Arya (actually Izzy) were still behind the formation, and Ghostie, who was a ventriloquist, would be mimicking Eragon's infamous "FUS-RO-DAH!" cry. Therefore, he would have to deduce that they were trying to confuse him, and become irrational and unpredictable.

At the very least, this would mean that Galbatorix would not become defensive. Rolling his shoulders, Roran prepared for combat.

He would bash a few heads in, and then retreat, move to the eastern flank, and begin a one man Valhalla smash. Lifting his lips in a defiant snarl, he readied his hammer.

Moving his shield to take the fist volley of arrows with limited damage, (The Empire didn't agree with the Varden's policy of one archer.) crouched, tight as a lynx ready to spring, while Galbatorix mounted his makeshift tower and lifted the battle horn to his lips. It came to his mouth; the general drew breath, and blew with all his might.

The surge of soldiers nearly swept Roran off his feet, but as he had recently discovered, they went slower if you bashed whatever was in front of your shield mindlessly, like most problems.

Two arrows struck his shield, bruising the flesh on the other side. Bludgeoning viciously with his shield, Roran stood like a rock in a never-ending stream of soldiers. In that moment, despair gripped Roran, but he responded the way his family always did, and simply struck harder.

As the soldiers began to realize that they were facing Roran Stronghammer, the legendary warrior, and his troop of fierce men from Carvahall, they tightly packed back into rows, raising their shields to the defiant grins of the group.

For a moment, they stood at an impasse, the mighty warriors of Carvahall grinning, and the Empire expressionless.

Suddenly, a man toppled in the ranks of the Empire due to a misfired arrow, and chaos began again as Roran and Balder smashed into the front lines, heedless of their own safety.

A sword bruised Roran's calf, and another laid a smashing blow on his helmet, but still he fought.

As a shin guard cracked, and his helmet hangs askew, he slipped behind his lines and began loping to the eastern flank. "Godspeed, Eragon." He muttered under his breath as he spat into the ground, preparing for the most brutal attack of his life.

And now, Section 3 of Part 3

(Eragon's POV)

Eragon roared "FUS-RO-DAH! Let none escape!" as he hacked at those who attempted to flank the formation. His soldiers bellowed in response and forced their way into the front lines.

Three men thick, ten men long, the wall pushed inexorably across the battlefield. The vanguard, consisting of Ghostie, Faolin, and Firnen (the infamous freshie), bashed at the soldiers, attempting to keep Eragon and Arya out of sight.

"FOR NARNIA! AND FOR ASLAN!" Eragon cried, hurling a spear into the ribcage of one of the soldiers encroaching on breaking the wall. "Auxilium!" Eragon commanded, (this meant Help! in Latin,) not wanting the enemy to understand.

He turned to Arya. "Now." He whispered, and slipped into the forest.

Izlasyta, being a hunter, treaded after them with velvet feet. Eragon put food on the table by hunting, while Arya was simply naturally graceful. Saphira was exemplary at creeping in shadow, so she of course did just that.

Approaching the castle, Eragon wondered at the architecture. It was constructed from wooden and metal planks forming the walls, and logs dug in supporting them, while Green Briar was strung over the walls and on the ground, making approach difficult.

Ducking under a branch, he surveyed the guards. Nothing much, two well-trained soldiers, but nothing that the group couldn't handle quickly and quietly. The soldiers would not be allowed to make noise after being struck a killing blow, but they could certainly claim that they yelped before the blow was dealt.

Eragon, as such, initialized the fight with a brutal strike to the man on the left's throat, while he was mirrored by Arya on his left. A swift stab to the heart, and the men toppled.

Just as he was about to take a step, Izlasyta seized his shoulder and pointed at a gleam on the ground. Fishing wire, strung taut at shin level. Eragon nodded silent thanks and slipped over the obstruction, walking into the flag room.

Unsurprisingly, Galbatorix was present, sitting quite calmly on a lawn chair. Infinitely more shockingly, Murtagh stood poised to strike in front of his liege lord, a shield on his left arm. "Stand aside, Murtagh. We number four, you number two. To defend him would be folly." Eragon said roughly, moving to sweep Murtagh out of the way.

A shape loomed by his ear and he staggered away, ears ringing. One of Izlasyta's javelins crashed into the warriors shoulder, checking his momentum.

Galbatorix nodded to someone behind Eragon, and two powerful arms descended and began choking both Arya and Izlasyta. Eragon spun around to find Shruikan, towering as ever. "Don't bother fighting him. Steroids work wonders, you know." Galbatorix said matter-of-factly from behind him.

Turning viciously back to Galbatorix, Eragon found that the older man had a switchblade held firmly in his hand. "If you try to do anything, anything at all, you will die. After Saphira, of course. I should hope that you two friends would be wise enough to keep their mouths shut, for fear of not waking up one night, courtesy of the Forsworn." Eragon gulped, considering running, but realized that while Galbatorix would be convicted of murder, Arya would be no more alive for that.

"Alright," he muttered hoarsely, "what do you want?"

Galbatorix chuckled. "Who's to say that I don't just want you dead? You've jumped members of the gang, smashed a bottle of Absolut over my head, you dated a girl I wanted, what can I say? You deserve to die." He pointed out.

"All very nice, Galbatorix, but your logic eludes me. Killing me here would be hard to clean up, and I can't say that bothering you is a mortal sin." Eragon declared, determined to bravo his way to winning.

"Don't bother with the bravo; I can stab a clever man as easily as a defiant one. And why shouldn't I kill you? You're a nobody, and I've got the police paid off, believe you me. The case would be investigated, but then it'd just melt away."

Eragon smirked. "I think you're forgetting that the whole Varden would demand an investigation, and even if you broke my neck, somebody would notice the stab wound afterwards. There would be riots, there would be extensive investigations, and that's not the best thing for such a black-hat fellow as you, now is it?"

Grudgingly, Galbatorix nodded. "Perhaps not," he conceded, "but there is no end to the ways I can have you and your friends' lives end. And I, of course, am in no hurry. A year is a day to a man such as me. And trust me; a year is plenty of time for a house to burn down, animals to escape, an uncle to have a heart attack, that sort of thing. When you have so much, there are so many targets to choose from. But, speculation pisses me off. Let's get to the point, shall we? I want you to lose this battle. Let's just say, bets were placed, and money is money is money. I want to lay down your sword, yelp, and we'll just go with the story that I outclassed you. It doesn't have to be painful. But of course, it can be. It can be more painful that you can imagine."

Eragon considered the proposition. He wasn't the type of person to go along with this, but he wasn't the kind of person to waste Arya's life saving his own pride either.

He was spared the decision, however, by an amazing event.

Before anyone knew what was happening, Murtagh was breaking Galbatorix's arm. In a blur, the blade was in Murtagh's hand, and Galbatorix was slumped against the wall.

Blood dripped from the knife, and Galbatorix looked, just, well, empty, lacking the charisma and wit that marked him in life. The blade fell to the dirt, and Murtagh was violently sick.

The voice everyone least expected to hear boomed with urgency "Everything happened the way you saw until Murtagh broke his arm. He tried to stab you, but Murtagh pushed him and he fell on his own blade. The arm broke when he fell. Understood?" Shruikan demanded.

"Of course." Eragon replied, sliding the blade in between the stiffening fingers of the gang leader.

"NO! GALBATORIX! HE'S DEAD! He, he- Dear Lord save us all, this is- I can't"- Shruikan stuttered suddenly, winking at Eragon to let him know he was acting.

"We lost?" a soldier asked, clearly dumbstruck, thinking this was role playing.

"No, no, Galbatorix, he's- he's- he actually died! He attacked, and then he fell, and- I can't even"- he said, waiting for a soldier to come in.

"MEDIC! NOW!" Eragon roared. "We have a puncture wound! Get me a stretcher and some bandages!" he commanded, though he knew well that the man was dead. A soldier stumbled in the room and sank to his knees when he saw the corpse.

The next few hours were a blur, there were press reporters, police, government officials, Eragon just saw them all as people he had to lie to, to deceive.

There were concerned faces of people he knew, people he longed to confide in, but he kept his swear to Shruikan. Nobody would know. Somewhere in there, he got a kiss from Arya.

It was all a bit hazy, but he was pretty sure she said something like "Braum's. 8:00." Stumbling into his room, he sank onto his bed.

Glancing at his watch, he found it read 7:30. For some reason, he found himself sprinting down the road like a maniac, desperate to reach Braum's by eight.

He wasn't entirely sure if he was sane anymore. He wasn't sure about anything anymore.

He stumbled in the room, bedraggled and panting. Arya handed him a burger. He looked at it, and sank into Arya's arms.

He was sure of one thing, come to think of it.

He was sure beyond any shred of doubt, that he was happy.