A/N: Aaaaand I'm back! Thank you to all of you who reviewed the last chapter. This is a long one, so let's get on with it!
P.S. To my lovely guest reviewer, Aubeal: Salut! J'espère avoir lu votre critique correctement et que vous parlez français. Merci d'avoir pris le temps de traduire mon histoire et de la lire. J'apprécie vos gentils mots. Ton anglais est très bon. Merci encore!
Dark gray clouds hung low over the mountain peaks when Vroengard finally came into their view. Vrael thought he'd never been happier to see the place, and it felt as though his heart might leap out of his chest. Their little vessel rocked perilously upon the turbulent ocean waves, yet he did not fear. As close as they were now, he could feel Umaroth's anticipation through their ever-strengthening bond.
The Bay of Anurin appeared before them through a hazy fog, exactly the same as he remembered it. There were the docks and the storehouses, waystations for supplies from the mainland to be inventoried. Steep stairs wound up the mountainside like a scar, visible even from here. The stairs crested at the divot between two mountain peaks, and beyond them... the valley he and countless others had called home only a short time ago.
"Have strength," Oromis suddenly said quietly. Vrael looked to him questioningly, but found that the elf's eyes were trained on the youngest of them. Brom stood at the fore of the ship, gripping the rail with white-knuckled ferocity. His brow was drawn heavily over his eyes in a deep scowl, and his jaw looked to be clenched painfully. Vrael noticed his arms trembling under the force of his grip, and his anger was rolling off him in palpable waves.
"The stench of death hangs in the air," Brom remarked solemnly, his voice oddly calm in comparison to his demeanor. "I can... Her bones are still here."
"As are the bones of many others," Vrael cut in quietly. "We will give them all the rites they deserve."
Brom looked at him darkly over his shoulder, but said nothing more. The ancient elf could see a tempest brewing in his mind, and worried at what he might be thinking. But there was naught to be done about it now. They were already here; there was no going back.
The sea carried them the rest of the way, drawing them up close to the sandy shore where Brom disembarked and secured their vessel to the dock. He lowered the gangplank and assisted Oromis onto the weathered platform, Vrael following closely behind. Slowly, they traversed down the dock; Vrael felt the boards sway and creak beneath his feet.
At the very moment Vrael's feet touched the land, he was overwhelmed with the force of magical energy, so much so that he swayed on shaky legs. Oromis fell to his knees and cried out painfully, gritting his teeth and slamming his eyes shut. The younger Rider dropped down next to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Vrael could see the force was affecting him as well. It seemed the after-effects of Thuviel's spell had yet to dissipate fully.
Muttering a few words in the ancient language, Vrael crafted a protective barrier around the three of them, one that would follow them as they walked. It was not enough to bar the violent energy completely, but it was enough that they could at least stand beneath its pressure. Brom helped Oromis to his feet and wedged his shoulder underneath the elf's arm, supporting the bulk of his slight weight.
"What is this, Vrael-elda?" Brom questioned over his shoulder as they continued to walk. They passed by the storehouses, and had to cover their noses and mouths against the stench of rotten food. Vrael wondered at why the island wildlife had not ventured here and eaten the food long ago, but did not have time to dwell on the thought.
"Some kind of after-effect from Thuviel's folly," he remarked quietly, looking around them at the barren land. The ground here was brown and dead, where once wildflowers of every color had grown. "I have never experienced, nor even read about, anything similar to what he did. The spell that took his life... it must have poisoned the land where the blast reached."
They reached the bottom of the stony stairs, and Oromis was still breathing heavily, gritting his teeth. "Can you make it, Oromis-elda?" Brom questioned, shifting the elf's weight slightly. The elf's grey eyes swept up the steep mountainside, widening slightly as he shook his head. Brom didn't wait for any explanation, only shouldered the elf onto his back and began the long trek up the mountain. If Oromis' pride was wounded, he did not say anything. Just as well; there was no time for such things.
A half hour later found them at the divot between the two peaks, and the end of their arduous trek up the uneven stairs. As they crested the top, Vrael found himself struck still. It felt as if all breath left his body, and his feet seemed no longer connected to the ground. Brom stopped as well, letting out a heavy sigh and sliding Oromis gently to the ground. The three of them stayed like that for an interminable length, utterly shocked at the scene before them.
Vrael remembered the day he'd first come to the island vividly, though it was hundreds of years past. He couldn't remember ever having seen something so beautiful. Lush forests covered the island, broken up sporadically by rolling plains blanketed in tall, green grasses. Dragons of every color dotted the sky and swept over the vast land, sparkling in the dazzling sunlight. Umaroth had been little more than a hatchling then, and had been awed by the sight of dragons so much older and larger than himself. Their wonder and amazement had struck them still upon this very spot, but for a far different reason than the one Vrael found himself with now.
Where there had been ancient, towering trees now stood only burnt stumps and ashes. The land was charred black, and still smoldered in places, sending little wisps of white smoke snaking into the sky. Those same gray clouds hung low over the mountain peaks that ringed the valley, casting a shadow over all the land they could see. In the distance, Vrael could see what little remained of Doru Araeba. Her soaring towers and stone edifices were reduced to little more than rubble, tumbling overtop one another into a mass of debris. But more than that... mixed in with the ruins and the decay were the charred bones of the dead.
Oromis let out a strangled sort of sob, clutching at his chest in agony. Vrael had never been able to truly convey the depth of the destruction wrought here; now that he was seeing it with his own eyes, Vrael felt a wave of pity towards him. Brom, for his part, kept his face stony and controlled. But his eyes told a different story. They brimmed with tears as he surveyed the place he used to call home. Somewhere among these bones lay his own dragon, struck down alongside so many others. Vrael reached out to Umaroth, seeking consolation for the sorrow building within his own heart.
There was naught you could have done, the dragon said solemnly, stroking his Rider with feelings of comfort. The attack could not have been foretold, and Thuviel's own madness could not have been avoided. Do not shoulder any blame, my friend.
I was responsible for all of them, Vrael replied morosely, feeling his chest tighten involuntarily. They looked to me to lead them and I failed... I failed to save any of them.
Yet you succeeded in securing future generations, his dragon said pointedly. Not all is lost; you have returned, now the work can begin.
Vrael sighed deeply and turned to look at his companions once more. Brom stared at him stoically, his mouth clamped into a thin line and his eyes hard. "What now?" he questioned.
"To the vault," he replied simply, stepping forward onto what remained of the path down into the valley. It had once been a stone cobbled road, winding through the forest past different groupings of various buildings. But now... it was nothing more than a blackened scar upon the land, at times indistinguishable from the destruction around it. Instinct told him to follow this road, as he had many times before. But there was no use now. The trees that had once blocked the wagons from travelling were no more, and the buildings it once had granted access to lay in ruins.
At the first bend in the path, Vrael kept steadfastly straight, not even glancing at where the road would have led off to the left. Brom did not say anything, only followed quietly behind with Oromis leaning on his shoulder and limping heavily. They stirred up ash and soot where they walked, dirtying their garments and clogging their lungs. Brom cast the spell to protect them this time, as Vrael was too focused maintaining the shield to protect them from the strange magical force.
The thing that struck Vrael most was the unsettling quiet that surrounded them. Once, not very long ago, this island had teemed with life of all varieties. Humans, elves, and dragons; mammals and insects and birds of every shape and size. Now, not even the wind stirred the decay. Every now and again, a charred branch would disintegrate into ashes, causing the other branches and limbs resting atop it to fall, but the sound was swallowed up quickly, disappearing as if it never had been there in the first place. At one point, Vrael swore he saw the shadow of... something dipping in between the ruins of what had once been a home, but when he looked in earnest, he saw nothing.
Their small party continued on down the gently sloping hill, aiming for the valley floor and the outskirts of the main city. The ruins of one of the smaller outposts, commonly called Phistás, rose up before them, remarkably still mostly intact. An overlook at the very top of the tower had been completely destroyed—the blackened stone pieces of it laying at the base of the building—but the rest of the outpost was still standing. Just over a year ago, this place had been manned by Apprentices training for life out in the field. Now it was nothing more than an empty husk, filled with the ghosts of Riders long dead.
Their trek to the center of the island took them the whole morning. From what they could tell—though the clouds made it nearly impossible—it was shortly after midday when they came upon the crumbling walls of Doru Araeba. The fortifications had once been an impressive sight to behold; polished granite and marble made up the bulk of the exterior wall, all except for the main gates. Gigantic and imposing, the gates had been made of bronze banded with iron, so heavy that it was impossible to move them except for dragon-power or magic. They'd been crafted right here on the island by elven smiths, magically engraved with scenes depicting the history of the Riders.
Those very same gates were nothing more than twisted hunks of metal now. One half lay semi-attached to the wall, hanging off its hinges perilously. The other half was on the ground, mangled beyond recognition. Sadness tugged at Vrael's heart for the loss of such a treasure, but it did not compare to the loss littered all around him. With almost every step they took, they had to dodge the bones of dragons and their Riders alike. Some were little more than piles of ash, but others were still recognizable, though unless their Eldunarí had survived, there would be no way to identify the bodies.
Vrael glanced at the young Rider, and saw the depth of his own pain reflected in Brom's eyes. The only life any of them had ever really known lay decimated before them, razed to the ground by the folly of others. What could he say at a time like this? Faced with such ruin and despair, words seemed inadequate to describe his anguish; even more than that, what consolation could words offer? They stood on the precipice of extinction; mere words could do nothing to bring them back.
"We will camp in the city tonight," Vrael said quietly, snapping the other two from their thoughts.
Brom glanced down at Oromis, and noticed the pained look upon his face. Even though the two of them could continue on towards the far mountains, Oromis was spent. The young Rider nodded and hefted Oromis onto his back. The elf, for his part, did not protest. It seemed whatever pride he'd had was wasted at seeing the remains of his order.
They began their trek into the city, slipping past the ruined gates and onto the High Street. Remarkably, many of the buildings still stood, with only a little indication of disrepair. Vrael supposed the warded walls had done a great deal to protect the interior of the city, but they had not protected it completely. At the center of the city had once stood the mighty Svellhjall, a monumental edifice of glass and crystal that had served as the citadel for the elders. Vrael himself had once called the place home. He could not see the towers from where they were, though he once surely could have. And as they arrived at the city center, the only remnants of the Svellhjall were miniscule shards of sparkling crystal and the sandy remains of incinerated glass.
But for Vrael, the greater loss was in knowing that Vroengard's expansive library had likely been lost as well. He would see for sure on the morrow, when they came to Moraeta's Spire, where the library had once been located. Thousands of years of history and teachings, gone in an instant. The training of the next generation would be vastly more difficult without it, but that was of little consequence when faced with the task of actually finding the next generation. The more Vrael thought about it, the more his spirits fell. A monumental burden had been placed upon him, one he was not entirely certain he was fit to carry out.
"There," Brom suddenly exclaimed, nodding his head towards a building that appeared mostly intact. Vrael recognized it as one of their municipal buildings; a place where a select group of senior Riders had been responsible for maintaining the housing of all Apprentices, and organized the stationing of Riders out in the field. Now, it would serve as an acceptable shelter for the night, and nothing more.
The interior of the building was dark and dusty, much as Vrael had expected. The stone floors no longer gleamed, the way they once had, and the werelight sconces sat empty. "Naina oransje gëuloth un böllr," Vrael said quietly. The werelights sprang to life, casting a dim orange glow over the entrance hall. Wooden chairs sat around the perimeter of the room, their pattern ceasing only when interrupted by the wide staircase that led to the second level. At either side of them sat an open room filled with shelves containing various scrolls. Vrael guessed that this building had been spared from damage by the Svellhjall, but, unfortunately, there wasn't much here that could help them in their endeavor to restore the Riders. No matter; it was a warm, dry place to bed down for the night, and that was enough.
Brom sat Oromis down gingerly in one of the chairs, grunting slightly when he was free of the elf's weight. The elf thanked him quietly and let his head fall back against the smooth, stone wall. "Do you need anything?" Brom asked, handing over his waterskin without prompting. Oromis took it and drank greedily, casting his former pupil a thankful gaze. He shook his head in response, and then Brom turned to face Vrael. "I'm going to return to the ship to gather the rest of the supplies. Don't expect me before nightfall."
Vrael nodded solemnly, gripping Islingr's hilt where it hung at his hip. "Take care, Brom-vodhr," he said in a low voice. "While the island may seem deserted, we cannot be sure until we reach the Vault and conduct a full scan of the area. Keep your eyes open and your wits about you."
"I will, Ebrithil," he replied, placing a hand over his chest and bowing slightly at the waist. With that, he slipped out the door and back into the deserted street. The two elves stood in silence for a long while. As Vrael kept the protection around Brom intact, he could feel as he ventured further away from the building.
"I worry for him," Oromis finally said, the strain apparent in his voice. Vrael looked over at him; the pain was also apparent in his face. "Gone is the carefree youth I once knew. A hardened man stands in his place... one bent on revenge."
"Brom has yet to tell me what transpired for his dragon to be killed," Vrael remarked, strolling towards the staircase and glancing up to the gallery above. "Was it Thuviel?"
Oromis made a strangled sort of whimper as he readjusted in the hard, wooden chair. "No," he forced out through gritted teeth, "no it was not the blast. Saphira was killed before then, in defense of her Rider... Brom tells me it was Morzan who dealt the blow; Morzan and his beast."
Vrael bristled at that slightly, shooting a glance back at Oromis. It should not have come as a surprise, yet Vrael felt pity for Brom all the same. Betrayed by one he'd once called friend—brother, even... Vrael was beginning to understand the young Rider a bit better.
"In defense of her Rider, you say?" Vrael questioned further.
"Mmm," the other elf confirmed, sucking a breath through his teeth at some sudden spike of pain. "As I understand it," he continued once the pain had passed, "they were tracked down by Morzan intentionally. A great sword battle erupted between the two Riders, as their dragons fought one another. Morzan was always the better swordsman, but Brom is brash; you know this." Vrael grunted in agreement but allowed Oromis to continue. "When he was disarmed by Morzan, Brom was sure to be killed. Saphira abandoned her own battle to save his life, and in doing so, left herself open to attack from behind. When that beast had her pinned, Morzan plunged his cursed blade into her heart, all while Brom watched."
The Elder Rider suppressed a shudder. "Horrific," Vrael said quietly, closing his eyes as he processed this new information. "No wonder the boy is so full of pain and anger."
"Hence," Oromis said pointedly, "why I worry for him. Anger is a disease, one that consumes and infects beyond all recognition of former self. If he does not control it, I fear it may end up controlling him."
"Undoubtedly... Where did she die?"
Oromis sighed heavily before replying. "Near the arena, at Mount Istalrí."
Vrael nodded slightly, though his mind had begun to wander. The Bay of Anurin, where their ship was currently docked, was to the south of them. Yet he could sense Brom moving off to the east, where he knew Mount Istalrí lay nestled amongst a few higher peaks. He did not begrudge the boy this mission, for he knew that, had their positions been reversed, he would have done the same.
(Content Warning: There is a bit of graphic gore material in this next section. Read at your own discretion.)
Brom could not help the tears that came to his eyes upon seeing the half-destroyed arena rise up before him. Before, the arena was unable to be viewed from the land, as the trees concealed it until the forest ended just shy of the mountains. But now, he was nearly a league away when the gigantic stone structure came into view.
The arena was where the Riders had tested their abilities in aerial maneuvers and both hand-to-hand and sword combat, as well as the hosting location for several annual tournaments of skill. Many a time, he and Saphira had competed in the games against their peers, rejoicing in their triumphs and wallowing in their defeats. It was here that they'd once bested Morzan and his dragon in a contest of flight maneuvers, a victory of great magnitude and pride. That all seemed so trivial now, as it had been here where Saphira had lost her life.
She had died here, in agony and despair... and it was all Brom's fault.
His feet caught on the rough ground as he quickened his pace, forgetting any tiredness he might have felt before. Half of the northern wall had crumbled apart, leaving the interior stands and field exposed. The canopy that had once stretched over the top had long since blown away, probably lost to the sea. Only two of the four towers remained standing, dull from the layers of ash and soot that coated them. Everywhere along the circular outer wall were burn marks from dragon fire and Thuviel's spell alike. A few of those marks, Saphira had dealt herself.
When he finally reached the pavilion that sat before the arena, his breath did not come easily to his chest. Whether it be from exertion or his roiling emotions, he could not be sure. Paving stones lay uprooted and scattered all along the pavilion; the stones that were still embedded in the ground were charred and cracked, crumbling away at the very edges. Most of the marble statues of great Riders that ringed the pavilion had been demolished, though one still stood somewhat intact nearer to the entrance. He recognized it as the statue of Eragon I, although half his face was now missing... how fitting.
Memories of the horrific day flooded back to him, feeling like a punch in the gut as they hit him. The sky had been alight with dragonfire and smoke; screams filled the air of those who lay dying; the acrid smell of burning flesh had assaulted his senses, causing his eyes to water. He and Saphira had landed in this very pavilion, the last time he'd sat upon her back as a Rider. If he looked close enough, he thought he could just pick out the gouges in the stone from where her claws had dug into the ground. It had been here where they'd made their final stand; here where they had been betrayed by the ones they'd loved most dearly.
A streak of red flame had coursed overhead, just barely missing them as it broke against the stone wall of the arena entrance. Brom had felt his presence before he saw him, recognizing his aura from countless days spent together, long gone by. He'd fought against Morzan bitterly, as Saphira fought against his dragon, but in the end... He had not been strong enough. Morzan had disarmed him quickly, and his life had flashed before his eyes. Brom hadn't meant to call out for her, but the instinct was too great... and Saphira, too selfless not to heed his call.
He walked in a daze along the broken ground, surveying the area around him. The ache in his heart led him to the spot where he knew he'd find her, resting where she'd fallen to another dragon's treachery. That beast had clamped down on her neck when her back had been turned. Brom remembered the sounds of her screams; they would echo in his mind and in his heart for eternity. When the red dragon had her pinned, Morzan had approached them, even as she struggled. Brom had begged her to stop, told her she was only furthering her injuries... but she would not listen. Her only concern had been for him.
"I want you to see this, Brom," he'd said, his every word dripping gleeful poison. "Listen to her screams as she dies, and know that you were too weak to save her."
Morzan held him bound—both physically and metaphysically—by some dark magic, and so he had been helpless to stop him. Brom's tears had burned his eyes, and the moment Zar'roc pierced her scales and dug through her flesh, the most inhuman scream was ripped from his throat. Ruby red slashed through sapphire blue, ripping through her heart and stealing her life-force. Scarlet blood had run down Morzan's blade, almost indistinguishable from its own crimson color. Her own scream was harrowing, but died quickly, long before Brom's did. It seemed to shake the very mountain, releasing a magical force such as he had never seen before. A gale of wind pushed the air around him flat, and only stilled when her head fell to the ground, serpentine tongue lolling against the stones.
The red dragon had released her then, looking to his master for appreciation. But Morzan's wicked smile was reserved only for Brom. It gave him joy, Brom knew, to see him so in pain. What had he done to inspire such hatred from one he'd called friend for so long? Or had he really been so blind to the darkness within Morzan's heart? Whatever the case had been, it didn't matter anymore. He had killed Brom's dragon, and for that, he would die.
A mound of bones and ash rose up before him, settled on the far southeast corner of the pavilion. Her blood still stained the stones, appearing through the ash in places where the wind had shifted it. A mixture of ash and soot had piled up over her bones, covering a majority of the skeleton. But her skull and parts of her ribcage were exposed to the elements, bleached white by the sun and covered in a fine layer of ash.
His knees hit the stone beneath him with a painful thud, causing him to grit his teeth. A guttural sob ripped from his chest, coming out in a sort of choking whimper more befitting of a wounded animal. Her empty eye sockets stared at him interminably, seeming to bore through to his soul.
"Saphira," he whispered through his sobs, reaching out tentatively and stroking one of her fangs. It was the length of a dirk, and not even the biggest one she'd possessed. Her neck spikes rose out of the ash ominously, a few of their tips broken off. To his disgust, a few hunks of rotting flesh still clung to the crown of her skull, but when he glimpsed the flash of a scale, something in his heart sang. Using the ancient language, he separated the scale from the flesh and cast a spell over it to keep it from decomposing any further. It was only half the size as her magnificent, sapphire scales once had been, but it was enough to ease a bit of the ache in his heart.
"I'm so sorry," he said quietly, tucking the scale into the pocket of his tunic. His placed his hand once more on the side of her skull, as he used to do when she was alive. Even now, faced with her lifeless skeleton, he could picture her as she had been. Magnificent and resplendent in her beauty; powerful; fearsome. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and had seen since. And because of him... she lay wasted before him.
Drawing in a deep breath, Brom began to craft a spell, closing his eyes to concentrate better. He was able to craft a sort of pocket in the air where he could store things, with endless amounts of room. Once the pocket had been created, he used the ancient language to gather what remained of her bones and store them in the magical place. Though they aimed to give the other Riders and dragons a proper burial, he could not imagine leaving Saphira in this desolate place. She deserved more than that.
The ground rumbled slightly as the skeleton rose into the air, little streams of ash rolling off it and back to the ground. Brom realized then that most of the delicate bones from her wings were gone, likely having been blasted off from Thuviel's spell. But the majority of her was there; even the smallest bit would have been enough. The bones floated gently through the air, compressed by his magic until they disappeared into the pocketed space. Once that was finished, Brom released a pent up breath, his shoulders sagging.
Slowly, and on trembling legs, he stood. "I swear to you," his said in a hard voice, clenching his fist, "you did not die in vain. I will finish what was begun here. By my blade, I swear it, I will strike Morzan down for what he has done." Tears continued to streak down his face, which he hastily wiped away with a dirty hand. No matter; he'd done what he came to do, and now he need never see this place in this way again.
Turning away from the arena, he began to trek back across the pavilion to return to their ship. Brom felt a bit lighter now that he'd retrieved her bones; a small sense of closure eked its way into his chest, making it a bit easier to walk. That feeling began to grow, gripping his heart and making a wide, unbidden smile break out over his face. It was strange though; this happiness seemed... somehow foreign to him, as though it was being imposed on him by someone else.
What is happening? he asked himself, looking down at his hands. They were shaking uncontrollably, and he could not explain it. His legs suddenly felt heavy, so heavy that he could not compel them to move forward. In fact, his entire body felt like it was filled with stones. He looked around him, but found himself still completely alone. Eventually, the heaviness grew so great that he could no longer walk.
Muttering frantically in the ancient language, Brom attempted to undo whatever enchantment had been cast over him. But it seemed the more he wove his own spell, the heavier his body grew. He felt like he might fall through the very earth, drug down by his own weight until he reached the fiery pits of hell. Suddenly, a great roaring filled his ears, like the ocean waves during a fierce storm. With great effort, he managed to clamp his hands over his ears, but the sound did not dissipate. It was in his mind.
A scream ripped from his throat, burning with its ferocity. Another scream joined his own, melding against his voice in perfect harmony. Yet this scream was markedly different from his own. Instead of terror, it was laced with pure, unadulterated joy.
And then, the most beautiful sound in the world filled his mind, like an empty cup receiving summerwine.
Brom!
The exclamation released the enchantment. He felt as though a string had been cut, and he rebounded into his own body, light as a feather. Brom's heart clenched at the sound of that voice, not believing his own mind. This was surely some trick, cast by some malevolent shade or spirit... wasn't it?
The voice came again, more insistent this time. Brom! she screamed, battering against his mind with a fervor he'd never experienced. I am here! Please, do not leave me again!
He ran then, his earlier inhibitions completely forgotten. Saphira! he shouted in bewilderment, stopping when he reached the ash pile he'd just liberated her skeleton from. Dropping to his knees, Brom began digging frantically through the ash with his hands, not even caring when it flew into his mouth and lungs, choking his breath. He coughed violently and continued in his endeavor. He tried to guess at where her rib cage had been, and focused his search there.
Finally, his hand brushed against something smooth and hard. Grasping it like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood, he drew the object out of the ash, squinting against the blinding, sapphire glow. He stroked it gently, marveling at the smooth planes that seemed to glow from within.
"Can this really be happening?" he questioned aloud, his voice sounding weak to his own ears. "Is it really you?"
Took you long enough to find me, you dolt. I've been screaming for ages. A laugh like a rumble of thunder filled his mind; a laugh that he had missed every day for the last year and a half.
Saphira! Yes, that's you alright, he remarked fondly, holding the glittering Eldunarí to his chest tightly. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined finding such a gift as this. How did this happen? I never thought...
You left too quickly, little one, she said, not unkindly. I called for you, but your grief clouded your mind. It clouds you still. I thought you might never hear me. A feeling like a nudge pressed against his mind, and it reminded him of how Saphira used to rub up against him, the way a cat would. She affirmed this was her intent, and he could not help the smile that broke across his face.
I am so sorry, Saphira. Brom choked on a sob, unable to continue until he swallowed it down. Shame overwhelmed him, weighing down upon his shoulders as Saphira's influence just had. I do not know what else to say... other than assure you that if I had known—if I'd had even an inkling—
Hush now, the dragonesses soothed, rubbing up against his mind again. It was a sign of utmost affection from her, and one that Brom had dearly missed. I know you would never leave me willingly. Though I must admit... At first, I was horribly angry at you. But, as I lay here helplessly, I came to understand that you had no choice. There was no chance for you to search for me, lest Morzan finished what he started.
My chance to escape came quickly; I had to take it, for fear that it might slip away and never present itself again.
And knowing what happened next... A dark feeling came over Brom's mind. I am certainly glad you left when you did, little one. I thought for sure I might be destroyed in the blast, but I was strong in life... and even stronger in this second life.
But... how did you—? When did you disgorge your Eldunarí? And why did you not tell me? Brom questioned hotly.
Peace, Brom, she hissed back, washing him with a wave of annoyance. The deception was not meant as a personal affront to your character. Before we left for Vroengard, Glaedr advised me to disgorge, in case something happened to me. I heeded his advice and concealed the gem within my saddlebags. If we'd both made it out of Doru Araeba alive, I would have entrusted it to you. But, as it turns out... we both did not. This last statement echoed with unfathomable sadness, so much so that tears pricked at Brom's eyes. It's a good thing I did, no? she continued cheekily.
Brom smirked slightly, standing and placing Saphira into his pack. I cannot express to you how good it is to have you back. I'd thought you lost forever.
It is wonderful to have you back as well, little one. She hummed softly and sent him feelings of love. Now, she continued quickly, if you'll follow my directions, I have a surprise for you.
Surprise? Brom questioned, but she only laughed and sent him a mental image of a grove of trees, somewhere to the south of them. Since she seemed not in a mood to explain any further, he began the trek away from the pavilion and the arena. A place which had once only served as a monument to his suffering had, in a single instant, become the place of his most profound joy. But in spite of that, his hatred for Morzan and desire for vengeance was not sated. He had still betrayed him, and murdered thousands of people; crimes for which he would dearly pay. Brom only rejoiced that he no longer had to seek revenge alone. Though becoming Indlvarn would be a process for both of them, Brom would accept it readily. It was better than not having Saphira, the one whom he treasured above all others, at all.
Woooow this became super long. Thank you so much for reading! Please review and let me know what you think! :D
P.S. (In regards to the "radiation" that pollutes the island in canon: There is some contention amongst the community about whether a reaction with the radioactive fallout that Paolini described could be achieved by converting organic mass to energy so... I've decided not to include the fallout in this AU. Instead, the island was mostly leveled by the explosion and there is a gravitational field surrounding the island that makes it very difficult for life to exist.)