Chapter 9

A/N: Right, glad you liked the previous chapter. I'll be getting on to the Pinewood City, Queen Islanzadí, Out of the Past and On the Crags of Tel'naeír hopefully in this chapter. Imrik will not be in his comfort zone all the time this chapter and we may have some points from Lutheni's view. Thank you so much to my reviewers for sticking with this story. I was amazed at the amount of response I got within hours.

High Elves = Bold Script.

Disclaimer: I owe nothing but Imrik and Lutheni.

Imrik knew he had spent too long in the forest when he had begun to long for the open spaces of the plains. At least there had been mountains and the changing landscape to occupy his mind. Here, only trees dominated. Even his flights with Gwihir could not relieve the feeling, for all he could see was a mass of green stretching unbroken for miles around. The boredom leads to thinking, thinking of thoughts that should be left alone.

Gwihir had the same problem, all that occupied the dragon's mind were thoughts of Saphira and what could have happened that night on Dagshelgr. From what Imrik had gathered, Saphira had been thinking similar thoughts. Only now did it occur to him that, until Gwihir had entered her life, the prospects of Saphira finding a mate were slim indeed. She was the last dragon in the whole world, the survival of her race rested on her shoulders. Gwihir was, so far, the only option if she was to keep the dragons, and by extension the Riders, alive. What emotions must be boiling away inside of her, Imrik could not guess. He could not imagine being the last High Elf. It was simply not possible.

When he entered such contemplations, Imrik hardly noticed the rainstorms or the rise of the sun in the morning and the darkness of night. He would brood as he rode, not really paying the world around him any head. If anyone spoke to him during these moods, they would either receive a few words in response, or just plain silence. He didn't even notice that the trees had begun to grow in size and girth. He only knew they were approaching Ellesméra when Eragon told him that they would not be flying today. Gwihir took in much the same way as Imrik, with a muffled grunt.

In late afternoon, however, something jolted Imrik back into the real world. Arya came to him and told him that they would be meeting with the queen in a few hours. Imrik knew now that they had reached the boundaries of Ellesméra. He looked down at himself and felt his pride flare up.

"May I be excused for a moment? I must change." He asked Arya. She gave him a quizzical look while Lutheni snorted. Arya turned to her.

"What he means to say is he won't come before your queen looking like a traveller." She said with a sting to her voice. Arya turned to Imrik and shook her head.

"Fine, go. But be quick." She said.

Imrik grinned, grabbed the saddle bags he needed and raced off into a nearby bush. A little while later and he emerged wearing the gear he had worn to Ajihad's funeral, crown on his head, and sword at his hip. He wanted to make an impression. Arya shook her head once more while Lifaen and Narí stared at him garments with something like awe. He let the light of the Asur shine forth on his skin for the first time in weeks, savouring the feeling of completeness. Lutheni mirrored him, for she too had not spent a day being truly whole since she had arrived in Alagaësia.

About twenty minutes later, Imrik was glad he had changed when he had. The gloom of the forest had lifted and in a shaft of brilliant sunlight, stood an elf. He wore flowing robes and a circlet of silver on his brow. His face was noble and graceful, yet held the look of supreme age.

"Eragon, Imrik, show him your palms. Eragon, show your ring also." Murmured Arya.

Imrik drew off his gloves and lifted his left hand in salute. Eragon did the same but with his ring, showing off the ring that glittered on his finger. The old elf smiled, closed his eyes and spread his hands in a gesture of welcome. Imrik was slightly in awe of the figure. He was sure this must be similar to meeting Caledor Dragontamer, the ancient mage and Imrik's ancestor. The elf gave off an aura of indomitable strength and the wisdom of ages.

"The way is clear." Said Arya. Softly, she asked her steed to carry her forward. They rode around the elf, parting like water around a rock. When they had all past, he straightened, clasped his hands, and vanished with the light that illuminated him.

"Who was he?" asked Imrik, still slightly in awe. Lutheni had a similar expression on her face to how he felt inside.

"He is Gilderien the Wise, Prince of House Miolandra, wielder of the White Flame of Vándil, and guardian of Ellesméra since the days of Du Fyrn Skulblaka, our war with the dragons. None may enter the city unless he permits it." Arya answered.

"We have passed the first test." Imrik said quietly.

A quarter of a mile further, Imrik noticed that the forest was thinning. They past under an arch formed of two trees, and Imrik stopped dead. The ground in the clearing was covered in flowers, pink roses, bluebells, lilies and others that Imrik couldn't name. A stream gurgled to the right. Insects buzzed and hummed all around and a pair of squirrels chased each other around a rock.

What had stopped Imrik, however, was something much more spectacular than all that. It was the trees. They had been grown into the shape of houses. One had been grown to make a two story house, larger at the bottom than at the top, creating a tired appearance. The tree was still a living organism, but there was defiantly living space inside it. Moss and lichen decorated the walls and roofs. The door was set back into the main trunk, under an arch carved with runes.

Another building was made out of three trees of different sizes. A spiral stairway led up to the first set of buildings, which were set at right angles to one another. They spread outwards from the trunk, supported by curved limbs. The roofs of the buildings were slanted, so if you looked at them head on, they looked like a slightly bent triangle. A straight stair enclosed within a hall of branches lead up to the second level on the second tree. The buildings were a larger replica of the first. From this, two curved stairways lead to the third building. Imrik half expected to be lead towards the building, such was the grandeur of the third hall. It had a balcony open to the sky and three large towers on each of the other buildings spreading out from the trunk. When Imrik asked its function, he discovered it was the home of one of the most powerful families in the whole of Ellesméra. He was not surprised.

Gradually, the elves of Ellesméra emerged. Imrik caught glimpses of them. A leg enclosed in rustic leggings, a pale arm raised in salutation, a face in the shadows of a doorway. One by one, the inhabitants warily revealed themselves and came forward, their eyes fixed on Arya, the Riders and their dragons.

The women, much as Imrik had expected, wore their hair unbound. It cascaded down their back, in ripples of velvet or starlight, fresh blooms braided within. They possessed much of the beauty of his own race, and made his heart ache for the cities in Ulthuan. The men were similarly built, with narrows shoulders and delicate features. They were all garbed in rustic tunics the colours of the forest, from greens and browns to golds and oranges. Imrik touched his lips in greeting, as did Eragon. For once, the two Riders were in synch with each other.

The elves bowed as one. Then, like a chorus of song birds, they broke into joyous laughter. From within the crowd, a woman sang.

"Gala O Wyrda brunhvitr,

Abr Berundal vandr-fódhr,

Burthro laufsblädar ekar undir,

Eom kona dauthleikr..."

Imrik listened wonder, for the voice was beautiful. Eragon clapped his hands over his ears, fearing another spell, but Imrik pulled his hands down.

"There is no magic in her voice, save its beauty." He said to the boy with a smile. He dismounted and gestured for Eragon to do the same. Arya had already done so and turned to her horse.

"Gánga." The stallion nickered and trotted off, seeming to know exactly where it was going. "Release your steeds as well," Arya said. "We will have no further need of them and they deserve to rest in our stables."

The song grew in power and voice as Arya lead them along a cobbled path that wound its way around holly bushes and past houses before crossing the stream. The elves danced around them, like a flock of humming birds, flitting between dances as the fancy took them. The leapt up above them to run over their heads and praised the dragons with names like "Longclaws" and "Brightscales" and "Mighty One." They stared at Imrik and Lutheni openly, and Imrik saw intrigue war with anger as they looked on Lutheni's cloak. To her credit, Lutheni pretended not to notice, striding ahead purposefully.

"How is that done?" asked Eragon, pointing to one of the tree dwellings.

"We sing to the forest in the old tongue and give it our strength to grow in the shape that we desire. All our buildings and tools are made in that manner." Answered Arya.

The path ended in steps formed of layers of roots. The door above them was embedded in a wall of saplings. Climbing to it, Imrik felt his heart beat faster. The door swung open, as if of its own accord, to reveal a hall made of trees. Hundreds upon hundreds of branches melded together to form a vaulted ceiling. Below, twelve chairs lined each wall. In them sat twenty four elf lords and ladies.

They would not be out of place in the courts of Ulthaun, Imrik thought as he surveyed them. Wise and handsome, with smooth faces and keen eyes. They all leaned forward, open hope and wonder displayed on their faces as Imrik's group approached. Unlike the elves outside, they had swords belted on their waists. Their hilts were studded with gems. On the heads of each lord or lady, a circlet of metal and jewels rested.

At the head of the hall, in a white pavilion, was sheltered a knotted throne made of roots. Queen Islanzadí, for it could be no other, sat upon it. She was beautiful, more beautiful than most women that Imrik had seen, like the sun setting over the mountains in spring. Her face was proud and regal, her eyebrows slanted like the wings of a bird in flight, her lips as red as the fire-roses that grew on the slopes of the Dragon Spines and her hair, the colour of the void of night, was bound in a diadem of diamond. Her tunic was crimson. A girdle of braided gold adorned her hips and a velvet cloak was clasped at the hollow of her neck, spilling its folds to the ground like a waterfall of midnight. Despite all this, Imrik sensed fragility in the queen, and spotted the marks of a mourner in her fair face.

By her left hand was a curved rod with a chased crosspiece. A raven the colour of snow was perched upon it, shifting from one foot to the other. It cocked its head and surveyed the group, zoning in on Eragon and Imrik. It opened its beak and gave a long, deep croak, then shrieked, "Wryda!" Imrik stiffened at the force of that word.

The door swung shut behind them as they approached the queen. Arya knelt on the floor of moss and bowed first, then Eragon, Orik, Lutheni, Lifaen and Narí. Imrik waited a bit, looked the queen dead in the eyes, then lowered his head to a respectful level. Saphira and Gwihir did the same.

Islanzadí descended from her throne, her cloak trailing after her. She stopped before Arya, placed trembling hands on her shoulders and said in a rich, musical voice that sounded awfully familiar to Imrik, "Rise." Arya did, and the queen scrutinized her face with increasing intensity, until it seemed like she had been presented with an enigma that she couldn't solve.

At last Islanzadí cried out and embraced Arya, confirming Imrik's suspicions. "O my daughter, I have wronged you!"

Imrik smirked with a bowed head; he had thought Arya was of high noble birth. He had started suspecting she was the daughter of the queen when Narí and Lifaen had reacted so suddenly to Eragon's question about Islanzadí. This had been confirmed the moment he had seen the queen. She looked like an older replica of Arya.

"Islanzadí Dröttning." Said Arya with a formal voice.

The queen recoiled as if she had been stung. She repeated in the ancient language, "O my daughter, I have wronged you." She covered her face with her hands. "Ever since you disappeared, I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made... Can you forgive me?"

Imrik was silently stunned. Arya's own mother had banned her from her presence. Imrik didn't know for how long, but it must have been a long time, even for an elf, considering the way Arya had greeted the queen.

Arya was silent for a long time, but she did reply. "For seventy years, I have lived and loved, fought and killed without ever speaking to you, my mother. Our lives are long, but even so, that is no small span."

Islanzadí grew herself up and lifted her chin. She shivered once. "I cannot undo the past, Arya, no matter how much I might desire to."

"And I cannot forget what I have endured."

"Nor should you." Islanzadí enfolded Arya's hands inside her own. "Arya, I love you. You are my only family. Go if you must, but unless you wish to renounce me, I would be reconciled with you."

For a moment, Imrik wondered if Arya would remain silent, or worse, reject the offer. Imrik caught the looks that she swept over the audience. She hesitated, then lowered her eyes and said, "No, Mother. I could not leave." Islanzadí smiled with an element of uncertainty and embraced Arya again. Arya embraced her as well and smiled broke out among the assembled lords and ladies.

The white raven hopped about on his stand and cackled, "And on the door was graven evermore, what now became family lore, Let us never do but to adore!"

"Hush, Blagden," Islanzadí said, waving the comment away. "Keep your doggerel to yourself." Islanzadí broke the embrace and turned to face Eragon and Saphira, who were more central and in front of Gwihir and Imrik. "You must excuse me for being discourteous and ignoring you, our most important guests."

Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum. "Islanzadí Dröttning. Atra esterní ono thelduin."

Islanzadí's eyes widened. "Atra du evarínya ono varda."

"Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," finished Eragon. Imrik knew that the elves were caught off guard by Eragon's knowledge of their culture. A small silence formed, by which Imrik guessed that Saphira was greeting the queen.

"Dragon, what is your name?" asked Islanzadí. A second later and a flash of recognition flitted across the queen's face. "Welcome to Ellesméra, Saphira. And you, Rider?"

"Eragon Shadeslayer, Your Majesty." The walls rippled with noise as the elves stirred. The queen appeared startled.

"You carry a powerful name," she said softly, "one we rarely bestow upon our children ... welcome to Ellesméra, Eragon Shadeslayer. We have waited long for you."

She moved to Imrik and a flash of surprise showed in her dark eyes as she surveyed him. Imrik repeated the greeting in the same way as Eragon, Gwihir repeating it after him.

"Dragon, what is your name? Are you one of the other eggs from Galbatorix's treasure vault?"

"My name is Gwihir and no, I am not one of the traitor's prizes."

"Welcome then, Gwihir. But I must ask, from where do you come?"

"My Rider will answer you that more eloquently than I."

Islanzadí turned to Imrik, confusion etched in her face. "What is your name Rider, and where do you come from?"

"I am Prince Imrik Gwindorian, Your Grace. Gwihir and I are from the land of Caledor, in Ulthaun. I am one of the Asur, an elf from another world." Imrik added the last part in the ancient language so that the assembled elves would believe him. An audible gasp when up from them and Islanzadí stood back a step. Imrik continued, "I would offer you the royal greetings of my king, Finubar, but I doubt that I can speak for him here. Instead, I will offer you the friendship of my family and the aid of Caledor in your hour of need."

Islanzadí recovered her composure and smiled. "I thank you for your offer, Prince Imrik, and return it. Having a visitor from another world, this is something unheard of. You and Eragon both herald great change for our people. I would very much like to hear your story."

"I also thank you for your offer and accept it whole heartedly. As for the story, I will let Eragon tell his tale. When it is time, I will tell the tale from my stance." Imrik replied with a small bow of his head.

Islanzadí moved on from Imrik, greeted Orik and moved to Lutheni. She swept her eyes over the hunter, then touched two fingers to her lips. Lutheni mirrored her. The queen spoke first, with Lutheni returning the second line and the queen completing the third. Then the queen asked, "Who may you be? Are you of Imrik's people, the Asur?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. I am Lutheni Tellatén, of the White Lions of Chrace. We are the guards of the Phoenix King."

"I assume you take your name from the cloak you bear?" the queen asked, her tone carefully measured.

"Yes, the lions of Chrace are fearsome and noble opponents. We contest with them constantly to maintain our villages and cities in Chrace, for if we did not control their numbers, they would destroy us. The cloaks are a rite of passage and an honour to the dead lions, for they are fine foes who deserve recognition." Lutheni replied with passion in her voice. Islanzadí looked at her with hard eyes, then nodded her head in acceptance. The queen turned and swept back to her throne. She swept her cloak over one arm as she sat.

"I assume by your presence here, Eragon, so soon after Saphira's egg was captured, and by the ring on your hand and the sword on your hip, that Brom is dead and that your training with him was incomplete. I wish to hear your full story, including how Brom fell and how you came to meet my daughter, or how she met you, as it may be. Then I will hear your tale, Imrik and Lutheni and your intensions. Then I will hear of your mission here, dwarf and of your adventures, Arya, since your ambush in Du Weldenvarden."

Eragon had very little difficulty telling his story and where he forgot things, Saphira would pick up the thread and give an accurate picture of events. For certain periods, Eragon let Saphira tell the tale on her own. When Imrik's own turn came, he recounted the battle in Caledor and the event which had sent him and Gwihir spiralling into Alagaësia. The elvish nobles looked at each other worriedly when Imrik described the Greater Daemon and its powers. After that, his story was much the same as Eragon's. Lutheni's was even shorter than Imrik's, starting a few days before they had picked her up. She described the Druchii in detail, giving a rough outline of what they were. At the end of this, Eragon fished around inside his jerkin and pulled out the scroll Nasuada had given him in Tronjheim. He presented it to Islanzadí.

She took the scroll and broke the wax seal. She read through the missive, sighed and closed her eyes. She opened her eyes and spoke, "I see now the true depth of my folly. My grief would have ended so much sooner if I had not withdrawn our warriors and ignored Ajihad's messengers after learning that Arya had been ambushed. I should never have blamed the Varden for her death. For one so old, I am still far too foolish..."

A silence stretched in the throne room, no one daring to agree or disagree with the statement. At last, Eragon spoke out, "Since Arya has returned alive, will you agree to help the Varden, like before? Nasuada cannot succeed otherwise and I am pledged to her cause."

"My quarrel with the Varden is as dust in the wind," said the queen. "Fear not; we will assist them as we once did, and more, because of you and their victory over the Urgals." She leaned towards them on one arm. "Will you give me Brom's ring, Eragon?" Eragon pulled the ring off of his finger and handed it to the queen. She took it and inspected it. "You should not have worn this, Eragon, for it was not meant for you. However, because of the aid you have rendered the Varden and my family, I now name you Elf Friend and bestow this ring, Aren, upon you, so all elves, wherever you go, will know that you are to be trusted and helped. And you, Prince Imrik, for the services you have given the Varden and the friendship you have offered my people, I name you Elf Friend and present to you with this ring, Valyna." She plunked a ring of one of her delicate fingers, kissed it, and held it out to Imrik. He smiled, knelt and took the ring. Rising, he slipped it onto his ring index finger.

Imrik thanked Islanzadí and stepped back, aware of her gaze on Eragon. She then switched her gaze to Imrik. Her eyes were analytical and perceiving, as if she were trying to guess Imrik's next move. She studied him for a minute longer then said, "Such tidings as yours, we have not heard the like in Du Weldenvarden for many a year. We are accustomed to a slower way of life here than the rest of Alagaësia and it troubles me that so much could occur so swiftly without word of its reaching my ear."

"And what of my training?" Eragon asked, shooting a glance around the room. Imrik wondered why but said nothing of it. Now was not the time.

"It will begin in the fullness of time. Yet I fear that instructing you is futile so long as your infirmary persists. Unless you can overcome the Shade's magic, you will be reduced to no more than a figurehead. You may still be useful, but only as a shadow of the hope that we have nurtured for over a century." Imrik felt guilt rise in him again. It was his fault. The magic of Asuryan had not healed Eragon completely. Imrik tried to remember the moment he had called out to Asuryan, but it was hazy. He could not even remember the words his lord had spoken to him. This agitated him greatly, for it could contain an answer to why Eragon had to suffer so. Islanzadí continued. "Your situation is not your fault and it pains me to voice such things but you must understand the gravity of your disability ... I am sorry."

The queen then addressed Orik, "It has been long since one of your race entered our halls, dwarf. Eragon-finiarel and Imrik-finiarel have explained your presence, but do you have ought else to add?"

"Only royal greetings from my king, Hrothgar, and a plea, now unneeded, for you to resume contact with the Varden. Beyond that, I am here to see that the pact that Brom forged between you and the humans is honoured."

"We keep our promises whether we utter them in this language or the ancient language. I accept Hrothgar's greetings and return them in kind." She then turned to Arya, as Imrik suspected she had been longing to do, and asked, "Now, daughter, what befell you?"

Arya told her tale in a dull monotone, speaking of her capture and imprisonment as if they were a boring book. Eragon and Saphira had skimmed over Arya's injuries, but she described them in detail. Imrik felt his rage building. Arya had never told him about her torture and the things that Durza and his men had done to her made him feel like flying out to the city of Gil'ead and laying waste to it with fire and sword. Gwihir's own feelings had melded with Imrik's own and a low growl escaped the lips of both dragon and Rider, a menacing sound that promised destruction and death. The other elves remained silent throughout Arya's tale, yet their faces hardened with anger and they gripped their sword hilts with white-knuckled hands. Islanzadí shed a single tear.

When she had finished, an elf lord stood and paced between the two rows of chairs. "I know I speak for all of us, Arya Dröttningu, when I say that my heart burns with sorrow for your ordeal. It is a crime beyond apology, mitigation or reparation and Galbatorix must be punished for it. Also, we are in your debt for keeping the locations of our cities hidden from the Shade. Few of us could have withstood him for so long."

"Thank you, Däthedr-vor."

"Enough." Cried Islanzadí, her voice like that of a clear trumpet call. "Our guests wait tired on their feet and we have spoken of evil things for far too long. I will not have this occasion marred by lingering on past injuries." She smiled brightly and Imrik got an impression of what Arya would look like if she grinned. "My daughter has returned, a dragon and her Rider have appeared, an elf and his dragon have arrived from another world to help us and I will see us celebrate in the proper fashion!" She stood, looking every inch an elven queen, and clapped her hands. Suddenly, the chairs and the pavilion were showered with hundreds of lilies and roses, which had appeared above their heads and fell upon them like a dusting of coloured snow. The perfume of the flowers warmed the air.

"She didn't use the ancient language." Commented Gwihir to Imrik. He nodded with slight wonder. While the flowers fell and everyone was distracted, Imrik noticed that Islanzadí touched Arya on the shoulder and whispered, "You never would have suffered so if you had taken my council. I was right to oppose your decision to accept the yawë."

"It was my decision to make." Arya responded.

The queen hesitated, then nodded and raised her arm. "Blagden." A flutter of wings and the white raven had flown to her left shoulder. All of them bowed as Islanzadí proceeded to the end of the hall. All except Imrik, who bowed his head, but no more. The queen threw open the door to the hundreds of elves outside and made a swift speech in the ancient language. The elves burst into cheers and laughter and began rushing about.

"What did she say?" Eragon asked Narí.

The elf smiled and said, "To break open our finest casks and light the cook fires, for tonight shall be a night of feast and song. Come!" He grabbed Imrik and Eragon by the hand and lead them after the queen as she past between the tall, bearded pines and the seas of ferns. The sun had almost set while they had been indoors, and the time of the Phoenix was upon them, drenching the forest in a hue of red and gold.

They stopped at the top of a small hill, where a long table had been laid out with chairs. The forest came alive with activity; elves all over Ellesméra appeared to be getting into the festive mood. As evening drew closer, fires sprung up through the trees all around them, including a bonfire next to the table.

An elf handed Eragon and Imrik a goblet of wood, sung from the trees as Arya had said. Imrik sniffed the contents and recoiled slightly. He took a cautious sip and gasped slightly as the liquor set his throat afire. It made his senses come alive and he felt a slight tingling in his fingers. Imrik grinned, he liked this drink... he wanted another. Eragon had a similar reaction.

"What is this drink?" asked Imrik.

"Faelnirv?" Narí asked with a laugh. "We distil it from crushed elderberries and spun moonbeams. If he needs must, a strong man can travel for three days on naught else."

"Would you like to try some, Gwihir?" Imrik asked, holding the goblet out for the dragon's inspection. He sniffed it, then opened his mouth. Imrik poured the contents down his throat. Gwihir arched his neck as if he was about to let loose a jet of fire, then blew a hot draft of air down on Imrik. He swished his tail and looked at the empty goblet.

"That is a proper drink, is there any more?" he asked with an eager voice.

Before Imrik had a chance to ask Narí, Orik stomped over, grumbling into his beard. "Daughter to the queen. I wish that I could tell Hrothgar and Nasuada. They'd want to know."

Islanzadí seated herself at the end of the table in a tall chair and clapped once. A quartet of elves appeared from the city. Two bore harps made of cherry wood, one had a set of reed pipes and the last only her voice. She began to sing immediately, and Imrik recognised her voice as the woman who had sung earlier. Imrik understood very little of the song, but what he could make out made him smile. It was the story of a stag who couldn't drink at a pool because a magpie kept attacking him.

Imrik gazed around as he listened, caught Eragon's eye and grinned at him. Eragon grinned back then began to let his eyes roam. Imrik did the same, taking in the surreal experience. Here he was, in another world, feasting with elves of a totally different race, and he was enjoying himself. He chuckled a bit at the thought, then began to scan the crowd again. He focused in on a small child-like being behind Islanzadí. Her hair was the colour of milk, the colour drained from it by age. Her face had suffered similarly, lines like mountain crevices marked her cheeks. She was grinning in Eragon's direction and her teeth were pointed. Imrik knew he was not looking at either elf, human or dwarf. She was something else entirely.

When the music had finished, Imrik and Eragon were approached by droves of elves who wished to greet them and – more importantly, Imrik sensed to his slight annoyance – Gwihir and Saphira. Imrik let it pass, for he knew that the elves cared more for the dragons than their Riders.

They presented themselves with polite dignity, bowing softly and touching their first and middle fingers to their lips, which Imrik mirrored, then repetition after repetition of the greetings in the ancient language. The elves asked Imrik many questions about his homeland and his customs, but held many more for Gwihir.

Imrik amused himself while Gwihir was talking by picking out elves at random and trying to work out their profession and social status. It was challenging and kept him occupied until the food was brought forth. Imrik was surprised by the variety on display, breads and seedcakes, fruit and vegetables. Berries were the centrepiece by far, just like the dwarven mushrooms. No meat, as Imrik had expected, was to be found on the table.

The elves rushed the table with surprising gusto, seating themselves quickly. Soon everyone was seated: Islanzadí at the head of the table with Blagden; Däthedr to her left, Arya and Eragon to her right. Imrik and Lutheni sat next to Däthedr with Orik across from Lutheni, next to Eragon. Narí, Lifaen and all the other elves were seated down the table. At the end, two large carved plates had been brought for the dragons to lie on.

The meal drew on and Imrik became very merry. He talked at length with Däthedr and Lutheni, occasionally talking to Eragon, Arya or Orik as well. He felt truly happy for the first time in a long time. He laughed and smiled, ate and drank with a vigour that surprised him. He thought that he could forget about the losses and suffering he had endured for a moment during the feast, but as he swept his head around, he caught sight of something that made his blood chill.

An elf, with remarkable similarities to his elder brother, was standing, looking at him. Imrik's eyes widened and his throat constricted. The elf passed his gaze over Imrik and was swept away towards the dragons, but the damage was done. Imrik's thoughts would not stray from his brother's death. The Bloodthirster taking his brother, the smile it gave him as it disappeared... it would not leave him alone.

Imrik jolted back to the real world with Lutheni shaking his shoulder. He gave her a weak smile and turned back to his food, his mind still locked in the past. His mood had slipped and he found himself finding the food tasteless, the talk irritating and the laughter tiresome. He was almost pleased when Islanzadí stood at the end of the meal. Everyone else stood in a flurry of movement. Imrik was slower than he would have been normally, but not so slow as to cause offence.

"It is late, I am tired and I would return to my bower. Accompany me, Gwihir and Saphira. And you, Imrik and Eragon and I will show you where you may sleep tonight." Said Islanzadí. She motioned to Arya with one hand, then left the table. Arya followed.

Imrik gave Lutheni a shrug when she gave him an indignant look, then moved to follow Arya with Gwihir. Eragon moved around the table with Saphira, but stopped when he saw the un-child.

"You're a werecat, aren't you?" asked Eragon. She blinked once, then bared her teeth in a smile that was both happy and dangerous. "I met one of your kin, Solembum, in Teirm and in Farthen Dûr."

The werecat's grin widened. "Aye, a good one he is. Humans bore me, but he finds it amusing to travel with the witch Angela." She switched her gaze to Imrik, then to the two dragons. She made a noise that has half way between a purr and a growl.

"Names be powerful things in the heart of Du Weldenvarden, dragon, yes they are. However... among the elves, I am known as The Watcher and as Quickpaw and as The Dream Dancer, but you can call me Maud." She tossed her hair. "You had better catch up with the queen, younglings; she does not take lightly to fools or laggards."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Maud." Said Eragon. Imrik nodded, for his own thoughts still in a muddle. Eragon bowed and Imrik dipped his head, as did the dragons. Eragon glanced around at Orik and Lutheni, then ran after the queen, Imrik right next to him.

They overtook her just as she reached the base of a large tree. A staircase spiralled up the trunk, its ridged arches creating a ceiling to walk under. The stair led up to a series of globe-like rooms in the tree's crown.

Islanzadí pointed up to them and said, "You needs must fly up there, Saphira. Our stairs are not grown with dragons in mind." She turned and spoke to Eragon. "This is where the leader of the Dragon Riders would dwell while in Ellesméra. I give it to you now, as you are the rightful heir to that title ... It is your inheritance. Imrik, Gwihir, if you would follow me, we have set aside another home for you." Islanzadi didn't wait for response from either dragons or Riders and swept off with Arya. Imrik nodded to Eragon.

"Goodnight, sleep well." He said before turning to leave.

"You too." Was the faint reply.

They followed the queen and Arya deeper into the city, until they arrived at a house similar to the one they had left Eragon at. It was about the same size as Eragon's, though built in a different fashion. It was squarer looking, like the grand house near the borders of Ellesméra. It had a cross-shaped main structure, the arms of the tree holding it in a hand-like grasp. It had arched windows with balconies on the sides Imrik could see. He assumed they carried on around to the other sides. Out of the middle of the structure, a tower spiralled.

"Gwihir, there is an entrance on the far right side. You must fly up to enter. Imrik, the house once belonged to one of the many Riders killed in Galbatorix's war. Tread with care." Said the queen, before departing. Arya lingered with him.

"You are close to our home. If you need to see me about something, fly west and you will find me. Goodnight Imrik, we will come for you in the morning."

"Goodnight Arya." He said as she walked away. He turned and started the long ascent into the house. The stairway spiralled like that of Eragon's house. The steps were steep and Imrik was feeling a little uncomfortable by the time he reached the door. It was arched like the windows. He pushed it open and climbed the stairs leading into the main room.

The room was wide and spacious, taking up most of the centre space in the house. To his right was a large bed grown out of the wall. Next to it was a depression in the floor, covered in pillows and blankets. A semi-circular gap wide enough for a dragon much bigger than Gwihir rose from the floor to the top of the wall. Imrik walked over to the bed as Gwihir landed on the balcony outside and walked into the room. He spotted the depression and lay down on it, deeming it comfortable. Imrik smiled and proceeded to explore.

He found a strange cupboard around the corner from the bed. It had a depression in the middle. Imrik walked around it, trying to discern its purpose. He ran his hands over the walls, finding a small panel concealed in the wood. He pulled it and found two nozzles imbedded above the depression. Intrigued, he turned them and was bathed in cold water.

"Gaah!" he cried as he jumped back out of the freezing stream of liquid. Gwihir looked into the source of his discomfort and chuckled. Imrik ignored him and edged around the water. He turned the nozzle back and the water stopped. He looked at the other nozzle, then turned it slightly. Hot water began to trickle out. Imrik looked at the two nozzles after turning off the hot one, trying to figure out what they were for. Slowly, it dawned on him this might be a way to bathe in warm water. He grinned, knowing this must be the only purpose of the strange contraption. He resolved to bathe after exploring the rest of the house.

He stepped out of the bathing room and took off his wet cloak, hanging it upon the door to dry. His leggings were also wet, but he couldn't do much about that for now. Looking straight forward, Imrik could see the trap door through which he had emerged. He also noticed the spiral staircase in the middle of the room. How he had missed it to begin with, he did not know. Looking to the only part of the room he had yet to explore, he saw that a wall had sealed off the section of the house. This was unusual, as the rest of the house was quite open. The cross structure of the house allowed you to see the opposite section perfectly. There must be something more private than sleeping in the walled-off area. Finding the door, Imrik pushed it open and stepped inside.

Inside, Imrik found a desk covered in scrolls with a high-backed chair pulled up to it. The walls were covered in small niches for scrolls and books. In the corner, a fireplace, like the one in the bedroom, was set. There was also a small bunk for sleeping in. Imrik looked out of the window and towards the eastern sky. It was a fantastic view. He could see for miles around, the houses of the elves cropping up through the tree tops. He caught sight of many of the elves themselves, singing from branches of laughing and playing instruments. Imrik smiled. He turned and left the study, closing the door after him.

Climbing the spiral staircase to the tower, Imrik felt Gwihir's annoyance intrude into his mind.

"Must you scramble around like a squirrel all night?" the dragon asked indignantly.

"I will be down soon; I just want to know what is up here." Imrik replied. He climbed the last few steps and pushed open the trap door. Inside was a circular couch, low to the ground. The floor was planned like a smaller version of the house. Windows in each of the cross arms gave a brilliant view of Ellesméra at night. Each of the windows could be opened, Imrik saw, and they were big enough for a dragon to fly through. Imrik grinned when he saw this.

"Come and see, puppy." He said to Gwihir.

The dragon growled his annoyance at the nickname. "I thought you had given that up." He said. Imrik opened the windows and awaited his arrival. A minute later, and the dragon's sea green bulk had glided through the window in the north and settled down on the couch. Imrik sat next to him and surveyed the forest-city.

"Quite the view." He said aloud. Gwihir silently nodded and swung his head to the east. They sat like that for a few minutes, then Gwihir spoke.

"We should go to bed, the dawn will bring many strange new things and I want to be well rested for them." Said the dragon before rising and padding toward the north window again. He jumped out, did a loop, and swooped back into the bedroom. Imrik took one last look, then descended.

He stripped of his legging and tunic, then walked to the wash closet in his under clothes. He stepped around the spray of the nozzle, then began to turn the cold and hot nozzles in equal measure until a stream of lukewarm water was flowing into the small space. Imrik increased the hot water, then stripped off the last of his clothes and stepped into the water. It felt brilliant to wash the dirt, grime, sweat and filth from his limbs. He washed himself all over, then flicked his hair over his shoulder and washed that to, combing his finger through the long sable strands. When he had finished, he turned off the water and dried himself with magic. Dressing in his underclothes again, he walked to the bed and lay down on the soft mattress.

"Goodnight Gwihir" he said sleepily.

"Goodnight, little prince." replied the dragon.

In the morning, Imrik awoke feeling content and comfortable. He rolled over and smiled as Gwihir twitched in his sleep. He awoke him with a flicker of thought, then hauled himself into a sitting position. He looked out on the morning glory of the forest and grinned. Getting out of bed, he jumped over to the window and surveyed the sight with keep and wondrous eyes.

"You may want to move." Was all the warning Imrik got. He dove to the side as Gwihir launched himself like a green spear out into the morning sun. He dove low over the trees. A roar echoed over the tree tops, celebrating Gwihir's joy. Imrik laughed aloud.

Imrik was going to run up to the tower before he realised that there was food left by the trapdoor. He walked over to it. A bundle of clothes were also there, but it was mainly to platters of fruit and vegetables. A note was resting on top of the clothes. Imrik picked it up and read it.

Greetings, Gwihir and Imrik.

I, Bellaen of House Miolandra, do humbly apologise to you, Gwihir, for this unsatisfactory meal. We elves do not hunt, as I am sure you are aware, and no meat is to be found in Ellesméra, nor in any of our cities. If you wish, you can do as the dragons of old were wont, and catch what you may in Du Weldenvarden. We only ask that you leave your kills in the forest so that our air and water remains untainted by blood.

Imrik, these clothes are for you. They were woven by Niduen of Islanzadí's house and are her gift to you.

May good fortune rule over you,

May peace live in your heart,

And the stars watch over you.

Bellaen du Hljödhr

Imrik relayed the message to Gwihir, then picked up the platters and the clothes and brought them to the bed. Laying down the larger for Gwihir, he sat cross legged and began to eat. Gwihir only nibbled at his food, having eaten his full yesterday.

After finishing the food, Imrik carefully untied the clothes and laid them out on the bed. Two full length tunic of a mottled green trimmed with gold, a set of cream coloured leggings that felt like water flowing over his hands and three pairs of socks made in the same way. The weaving was remarkable, just as good as the fabric his own clothes were made of. While he was admiring his new raiment, a soft knock came from the trapdoor.

"Enter," Imrik said without thinking.

He turned to face his visitor, and found himself looking at Arya. Her left eyebrow was raised and a faint red colour had appeared on her cheeks. Imrik was about to question her when he followed her gaze down ... to his underclothes.

"Errr..." he said, blushing crimson and pulling one of the tunics from the bed and flinging it over his head, getting himself tangled in his haste. He flailed and tripped over Gwihir's tail, falling hard onto the floor. Gwihir was laughing at him, and Arya's mockingbird trill could be heard as well. Imrik groaned, sorted himself out and straightened. Touching two fingers to his lips and saying the first line of the greeting, he tried to recover his dignity. Arya replied with the second line. Imrik decided to forgo the third line and simply said,

"Princess Arya, I cry your pardon for my appearance when you entered. I spoke without thinking."

"I accept your apology, Rider Imrik, and recommend you to turn your tunic the right way around, you will look rather foolish if you go out like that." Imrik groaned again and took off the tunic, turned it round and put it back on again. "I will wait outside for you to be dressed. Join us soon, for the queen awaits you." She said with a smirk, then left Imrik standing there.

He sighed and grabbed the leggings, pulling them on. He put on a pair of the new socks and his boots. Buckling on his sword, he made his way to the trapdoor.

"Careful you don't trip!" Gwihir called to him. Imrik made a rude gesture over his shoulder and pulled up the flap and walked down the steps to where Arya was waiting. She smiled a little at him, then began to walk down the steps. Imrik followed sullenly, not noticing the change in Arya's mood through his wounded pride. The queen awaited them at the bottom in a cloak of swan feathers. Her features shone in the sun, though it could not disguise her obvious tenseness. A host of other elves, all nobles, were also with her. They too had a feeling of nervousness and anxiety. Imrik wondered what was wrong, not liking it much.

After greeting her, she simply said, "Follow me." Then she swept of in the direction of Eragon's dwelling. Gwihir sailed down from the house to join them. A little while later, they approached the house. Orik and Lutheni were walking out to meet them from the path that led to the feasting area. Orik looked over them, then started to climb the stairs to Eragon's house.

Lutheni walked over to Imrik, a smile on her lips. She was wearing her lion cloak over the new alagaësian garments, a bright red tunic bordered with gold and the same cream coloured leggings as Imrik. Her smile faltered as she caught the mood of the other elves. She came close and whispered in his ear too low for the others to hear, "What's happened, Imrik?"

He shrugged in reply, not knowing what else to say. Eragon and Orik descended and greeted the queen, before she asked them to follow her and they headed off through Ellesméra. Lutheni and Imrik kept close to one another throughout their twisting journey to the edge of the city. At the base of a tree-studded hill, Islanzadí turned to them.

"Before we go any further, the six of you must swear in the ancient language that you will never speak to outsiders of what you are about to see, not without permission from me, my daughter, or whoever may succeed us to the throne."

"Why should I gag myself?" demanded Orik.

"Yes, why? Do you not trust us?" Asked Imrik, affronted.

"It is not a matter of trust, but of safety. We must protect this knowledge at all costs – it's our greatest advantage over Galbatorix – and if you are bound by the ancient language, you will never willingly reveal our secret. You came to supervise Eragon's training, Orik-vodhr. Unless you give me your word, you may as well return to Father Dûr. And you, Lutheni of Chrace. You will not be welcomed in Ellesméra if you do not swear this to me."

Lutheni scowled and Orik looked deep in thought. They looked at each other, then Orik said "I believe that you mean no harm to the dwarves or to the Varden, else I would never agree. And I hold you to the honour of your hall and clan that this isn't a ploy to deceive us. Tell me what to say."

"I agree also. If Imrik consents, that is good enough for me." Said Lutheni.

While Islanzadi taught Orik and Lutheni the correct word and pronunciation, Imrik talked to Gwihir with his mind. "She is a great politician. She left us no room to wriggle out of it. I just hope it is worth it."

"It must be some great secret if we have to swear like this. Islanzadí said it was their greatest advantage over Galbatorix so I believe it will be worth binding ourselves." Replied Gwihir. Imrik nodded his head. When the other had finished, Imrik, Eragon and the dragons delivered their oaths.

"Thank you. Now we may proceed." Said Islanzadí.

The climbed to the top of the hill, where the trees were replaced by a sea of red clovers that ran several yards out towards a cliff. The cliff was at least two leagues long. It dropped over a thousand feet down to the forest, which spread out before them like a blanket, covering the world with green. Imrik felt as if he was standing on the edge of the world, trying to decide whether to leap off.

Thud. The air shuddered from the strength of the mighty blow. Thud. Another blunt blow made Imrik clench his teeth. Gwihir half growled. Thud. The force of the impact made Imrik shiver, but he remained motionless. If Arya could do it, so could he. Eragon jammed his fingers into his ears to try and save his hearing, Lutheni winced and bent her knees slightly. Thud. The displaced wind flattened the clover.

Thud. From below the lip of the cliff, a huge gold dragon rose with a Rider on its back.

Imrik felt as if he was looking at one of the old legends come to life. He stared in awe as the majestic dragon hung before them. Its scales blazed like molten metal. It was easily three times Gwihir's size. Imrik instantly judged it as a moon dragon, and knelt. Eragon had fallen to his knees. As the dragon came in to land, Imrik saw that where its left foreleg should have been, a white and helpless stump was all that remained of the powerful limb. He gasped at the damage.

The Rider on the dragon dismounted and Imrik thought for a fleeting second that he was facing Caledor Dragontamer himself. The elf looked old enough, but he was not Imrik's distant ancestor. He held his hands clasped in front of him and had such a depth of compassion and sadness in his face, Imrik did not doubt that he had suffered great pain.

"Osthato Chetowä," Eragon said, surprising Imrik. "The Mourning Sage ... As you asked, I have come." Imrik was now more than a little confused. How did Eragon now the older Rider? Eragon touched his first two finger to his lips in greeting. "Atra esterní ono thelduin."

The Rider smiled at Eragon and raised him by the shoulders. Imrik averted his eyes and kept his head down. His pride rebelled, but he quelled it. Now was not the time for arrogance.

"Oromis is my proper name, Eragon Shadeslayer." His voice was like that of all elves. Melodious and timeless. "Rise, son of Caledor, you have been made known to me."

Imrik rose to his feet, his questions now magnified. He greeted Oromis, but could not find the words to voice his thoughts. Instead, Islanzadí took his place.

"You knew," her voice was like the whisper of wind that precedes a thunderstorm. Her hurt expression morphed into rage. "You knew of Eragon and Imrik's existence and you did not tell me? Why have you betrayed me, Shur'tugal?"

Oromis turned from Eragon and faced the queen. "I kept the peace because it was uncertain if Eragon, Arya or Imrik would live long enough to come here; I had no wish to give you a fragile hope that might have been torn away at any moment. I also had a message telling me not to reveal anything until this time."

"A message? From whom? You had no right to withhold such information from me! I could have sent warriors to protect Arya, the Riders and their dragons in Farthen Dûr and to escort them to safely here."

Oromis smiled sadly. "I hid nothing from you, Islanzadí, but what you had already chosen not to see. If you had scryed the land, as is your duty, you would have discerned the source of the chaos that has swept Alagaësia and learned the truth of Arya, Eragon and Imrik. That you might forget the Varden and the dwarves in your grief is understandable, but Brom? Vinr Älfakyn? The last of the Elf Friends? You have been blind to the world, Islanzadí, and lax upon your throne. I could not risk driving you further away by subjecting you to another lose. As for the messenger, I cannot reveal them for I do not know myself, I only felt them while I searched for Eragon. They told me not to reveal what I found until the son of Caledor knelt before me. The son of Caledor is obviously Imrik."

Islanzadí's anger drained from her. Her face paled and her shoulders slumped. "I am diminished," she whispered.

The gold dragon bent to examine Eragon. He large golden eyes rested upon him for a few minutes, before Eragon lifted two fingers to his lips and said, "I am honoured." Then the dragon turned to Imrik. Imrik dropped into a low bow and Gwihir bent him head.

"Greeting, great one." Imrik murmured softly.

"Well met, Imrik Gwindorian. I am Glaedr." A rumbling male voice echoed through his head, shaking it like an earthquake.

"I am graced and honoured." Imrik replied with humility.

Glaedr then swept his head around to Saphira. She remained perfectly still while he sniffed down her cheek bone and along her wing. Her leg shivered involuntarily. The great dragon appeared to be satisfied, and so turned to Gwihir. Gwihir looked him dead in the eye, the same way he had done when they had first met Imrik, the Dragonlord, and his star dragon. Glaedr stared right back, then said with a chuckle, "You have a fierce heart, young one. Your race are indeed masters of war and I look forward to fighting by your side."

While this silent conversation was taking place, Orik and Lutheni presented themselves to Oromis. Orik spoke to the Rider.

"Truly, this is beyond anything I dared hope or expect. You are a pleasant surprise in these dark times, Rider." He saluted Oromis in the dwarven fashion. "If it is not too presumptuous, I would ask a boon on behalf of my king and my clan, as was the custom between our people."

Oromis nodded. "And I will grant it if it is within my power."

"Then tell me: Why have you remained hidden all these years? You were sorely needed, Argetlam."

"Ah," Oromis said, "Many sorrows exist in this world and one of the greatest is being unable to help those in pain. I could not risk leaving this sanctuary, for if I had died before one of Galbatorix's eggs had hatched, then there would have been no one to pass on our secrets to the new Rider and it would have been even harder to defeat Galbatorix."

"That was your reason?" spat Orik. "Those are the words of a coward! The eggs might never have hatched."

It went deathly quiet in the clearing, except for a growling from between Glaedr's teeth. Imrik was torn. He agreed with Orik, but also saw the truth in Oromis's words. Lutheni put her hand on Orik's shoulder.

"If you were not my guest here, I would strike you down myself for that insult." Hissed Islanzadí.

Imrik had a reply for the queen, but Oromis cut him off, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace. "Nay, I am not offended. It is an apt reaction. Understand, Orik, that Glaedr and I cannot fight. Glaedr has his disability and I," he touched his head, "I am also maimed. The Forsworn broke something within me when I was their captive, and while I can still teach and learn, I can no longer control magic, except for the smallest spells. The power escapes me, no matter how much I struggle. I would be worse than useless in battle, I would be a weakness and a liability, one who could easily be captured and used against you. So I removed myself from Galbatorix's influence for the good of many, even though I yearned to openly oppose him."

"The Cripple Who Is Whole." Said Eragon quietly.

"Forgive me." Said Orik, his face stricken with shame and sadness.

"It is of no consequence. Islanzadí Dröttning, by your leave?" he said, placing one hand on Eragon's shoulder and the other on Imrik's.

"Go. Go and be done with you." She replied wearily.

Oromis turned ad climbed nimbly onto Glaedr's back, who had crouched low to the ground for his Rider. "Come, Imrik and Eragon, Saphira and Gwihir. We have much to talk about." The gold dragon jumped into the air and began to circle over head.

Eragon and Orik clasped arms and exchanged words. Imrik turned to Lutheni. "Don't shame your people." She said with a grunt. Imrik grinned in response.

He swung up onto Gwihir, Eragon mounting Saphira next to him. He turned and grinned at Arya. Eragon did the same. Arya half frowned, but she could not voice her opinions because Saphira had swept into the sky and Gwihir was not being left behind.

A/N: right, that's it for this chapter. If you liked it, hated it or have some comments or questions for me, then REVIEW. Or pm me, doesn't make much difference ;) also, thanks to those who reviewed on quest accounts. I usually reply to reviews but that's not possible with a guest, so thanks! Also, thanks to my readers in all those countries around the world. From America to Russia, I was stunned at how many people read this story. I thank you all so much Next chapter (and those afterwards) will mainly be training and the Blood Oath Celebration. And you won't want to miss that when it happens ;) right, that was a long author's note. Once more, cheers!

Caledor out!