Leon stared down at the ruined dragon lord. Eragon had seen better days. Now his mind—savaged by the mutation from the implanted cores, had settled into something like fragile balance. He looked at Leon with the pleading of a cornered animal.
"Please… don't kill me," Eragon rasped. Each word took everything he had.
It was humbling to watch.
This was the first time Eragon had begged anyone in his life. Born to command, he had always expected submission, not supplication. Pride had carried him until it could not. Now, broken, he begged.
No arms. Torn wings. Missing a foot. He kept begging, each breath ragged.
"Please… don't kill me."
Leon cut him off.
"You expect me to listen to your pleas?" His voice was cold.
The dragon's vacant, defeated eyes tracked him, heart knocking in that same terrified rhythm Leon's words tightened.
"Did you listen to Elizabeth when she begged you to leave her?" Eragon said nothing.
