The preparations for King Dathedr's coronation feast were swift and meticulous. Maedra and the Council moved quickly, sending messengers to every elven city. The elves were to gather in three days to feast, dance, and celebrate Dathedr's ascent to the throne. It seemed to Eragon that the elves were putting more thought into the feast than they did the confirmation, but he supposed that all the years they had at their disposal to plan and maneuver meant it only seemed fast in the moment.
While the political wheels turned in Ellesméra, Eragon and Arya returned to their duties.
Over the next two days, training of Haroldun and Dorzada intensified. They were tutored in the ancient language, elven history, and a myriad of combat maneuvers from dragonback. Rhunon began her work on Haroldun's new weapon, while Eragon and Arya supervised their physical drills. Haroldun's progress was steady—he was showing increasing finesse with the flail, and his adaptability in aerial combat was impressive. Dorzada, though less experienced, was making great strides under Firnen and Saphira's instruction.
Eragon had seen Roran in passing once or twice in Tialdari Hall, but it seemed he wasn't ready to talk.
Between training sessions, Eragon and Arya took time to visit Oromis, who remained at the Crags of Tel'naeír, pondering his return. During their visits, they discussed the nature of the magic that had brought him back. Oromis believed that the emotions Eragon had tapped into—grief, hope, and longing—had combined with powerful ancient magic, awakening something beyond ordinary spellwork. He hypothesized that somehow Eragon was linked to the very essence of life and death itself.
Yet, even Oromis could not fully comprehend how or why it had worked. Eragon was fairly certain the only reason could be that the magic flowed directly from the sun itself.
The day before the feast Eragon decided to visit his mentor once more, but this time he asked Arya to allow them time alone.
As he floated up to the Crags, Eragon mulled everything over once more. He approached the hut and rapped lightly.
"Come in Eragon," Oromis called from inside.
Eragon greeted him with the traditional lines, and when the ritual was complete, he took a seat next to his mentor.
"I wanted to speak with you," Eragon began. "I think I understand why the magic worked."
Oromis looked at him with interest, waiting for him to continue.
"You said I might have been linked to the very essence of life and death," he said. "And in a way, you're correct. We never spoke of how I maintained the energy necessary to complete it."
Eragon paused. "I suppose I should start at the beginning," he said. "About ten years ago, as I was training some of the Riders, I began to contemplate the lessons I had given on energy. We know that all life forms carry it. You showed me that even the grass and the trees can be a limited source of energy, but that got me thinking. How could we maximize our energy? Animals get their energy from plants, and plants get their energy from the sun. But with every transfer, like when we store energy in gems, some of that energy is wasted."
Eragon was talking excitedly now, eager to share his discovery with Oromis. He paused for a breath and then began again.
"So I thought what if I could take the energy directly from the sun?" he said. "But the sun is so far, and the energy necessary to reach it would be immense."
Eragon continued, his mouth dry from all the talking.
"I realized that space itself can be bent, as we know from our magic. So, I crafted a spell using the word that would bend the fabric of space just enough so that within the pocket I created, I was closer to the sun. It was like shortening the distance between me and the sun without actually moving there. By doing this, I could draw upon its energy directly, using that to fuel the magic. But the process was extremely delicate."
Oromis listened closely, nodding as he grasped the theory. "Warping space… that would take immense control. But how did you keep yourself from burning?"
Eragon smiled slightly. "That was the trickiest part, and the first time I did burn myself quite a bit. Afterwards, I realized I had to create a secondary shield within the pocket—a protective barrier that would filter the energy. Instead of being overwhelmed by the heat or light, the spell allowed only the pure energy to come through. It's like using a sieve to separate the dangerous aspects of the sun's energy from the useful parts."
Oromis leaned forward, considering the implications. "You've essentially created a new way to harvest energy, bypassing the usual transfer losses. This could be revolutionary for magic users, but also dangerous. What if something were to disrupt the balance of your spell?"
Eragon's expression darkened slightly. "That's the part I haven't fully solved yet. The magic is inherently unstable, and a moment of distraction could cause catastrophic failure. I used this technique to bring you back, but I didn't anticipate the consequences—what it might mean for magic itself."
Oromis nodded gravely. "It is an incredible feat, Eragon, but you must tread carefully. You are playing with forces that even the Riders of old would have hesitated to harness. I would not share this with others."
Eragon sighed, his excitement tempered by his mentor's words. "I know. That's why I wanted to speak with you. This magic is dangerous, but it also offers immense potential. I need your guidance, Oromis, to ensure that I use it wisely."
Oromis smiled faintly. "You've come a long way, Eragon. Together, we will explore this power and its implications. But for now, we must focus on control—perfecting this technique so that it does not overwhelm you, or worse, endanger those around you. Allow me to see this magic from your perspective."
Eragon inclined his head and opened his mind, merging his thoughts with Oromis. He relaxed into a meditative state, open to everything around him. He could sense a lizard scampering over a log, the ants, the trees, and everything else in his vicinity. He stretched his mind further and further till he could sense the stars themselves, and he created the fold. An invisible pocket formed around them. It was one that could be sensed by the mind alone. Oromis gasped as the energy began to pour into Eragon. It was like a tidal wave that refused to end, and almost as soon as he began, Eragon's energy overflowed, and he cut the connection, redirecting what was left into the pommel of Brisingr. His body felt like a supercharged battery. Needing an outlet, Eragon siphoned the remaining energy into Oromis. As he transferred it, a thought occured to him. Oromis looked at him curiously.
"That might actually work," Oromis chuckled mentally. "I won't get my hopes up though. I tried for years to rid myself of this ailment."
"Yes," Eragon said quickly. "But they didn't have the word and limitless energy."
"Even this power is not without its limits," Oromis thought to him. "Still, it is possible."
"Well," Eragon thought. "Should we try?"
It was a simple question, but Oromis' thoughts were swirling. He poured every memory he could regarding the intricacies of his ailment into Eragon. Formora's curse and Galbatorix's restrictions meant that Oromis himself couldn't perform the magic. It would be up to Eragon, and without words to guide his intent, his mind needed to fully understand how the affliction worked. It would be painful for him, but he would need to relive the magic from Oromis' perspective.
"I can handle it," Eragon thought. "Let me at least try. I owe you that much."
Oromis looked at him thoughtfully then.
"You owe me nothing Eragon," he thought. "You defeated Galbatorix, you restarted the Rider Order, and you gave me a chance to see it all. You gave me a chance to speak with Glaedr again. I would not ask any more from you. I may be bound to the Crags, but it is not much different from the years I spent hiding from Galbatorix. I am content as I am, and you have more pressing concerns than healing my affliction. You must inform King Dathedr of my return as soon as he is officially crowned King."
Eragon interupted his thoughts with one of his own then.
"I will tell him," Eragon said in their mind link. "But I owe you everything. Without you, Saphira and I would have died. My family would be enslaved, and the elves and the rest of Alagaesia would still be under the thumb of a mad king. Just let me try."
"Very well," Oromis replied. "Prepare yourself."
Eragon took in a deep breath and cleared his mind. The onslaught of memories was overwhelming, and all at once he was riding Glaedr, facing Formora and her now-nameless dragon.
The battle was brutal and swift. Eragon felt the biting cold of Formora's curse latch onto Oromis's very soul, the sensation of his body failing him as magic seared through his nerves. He relived the anguish of losing control over his limbs, the trembling weakness that followed the once-fluid strength he'd known as a Rider. And then, the mental block—Galbatorix's oppressive magic. It pressed down like an iron weight, forbidding Oromis from accessing the power he needed to heal himself, binding his ability to manipulate magic, trapping him in a prison of his own body.
Eragon gasped under the weight of it, his body quaking with the intensity of Oromis's memories. But he pressed on, delving deeper into the essence of the curse and the layers of magic that held his mentor captive. He could feel Formora's twisted spell, a dark tangle of malice and cruelty. Her magic was laced with hatred, a venomous thread designed to cripple Oromis's body and ensure he could never recover. Galbatorix's contribution was subtler, insidious in its design, locking Oromis out of his own abilities, ensuring that even if the Forsworn's curse could be undone, the bindings would remain.
Eragon focused on untangling the web of spells, layer by layer. He summoned the energy from the fold of space, drawing on the endless supply of the sun's raw power. It surged through him, and he shaped it, directing it toward the curse, carefully pulling apart its intricate threads.
It was delicate work. A single mistake could result in disaster, and he knew he was treading dangerous ground. Oromis watched through their link, silent but hopeful, as Eragon worked. Eragon felt sweat bead on his brow as he pushed forward, a silent mantra guiding him—patience, precision, and control. The raw force of the sun's energy was daunting, but he channeled it through the filter he'd created, tempering it, using it to slowly dismantle the dark magic.
Suddenly, something shifted. One of the curse's major threads snapped, releasing a burst of energy that nearly sent Eragon reeling. But he held steady, recalibrating, and pushed through. The curse began to unravel rapidly, the bindings of Formora's spell giving way.
Galbatorix's restriction, however, was more difficult. It clung to Oromis's very being, woven into the fabric of his mind and body. But Eragon had a weapon that Galbatorix did not anticipate—the Word. With a whisper, Eragon called upon the true name of the Ancient Language, allowing it to permeate the connection between him and Oromis. The Word reverberated through the spell, and, like a master key, it bypassed the restrictions.
Eragon felt the final barrier give way, and in an instant, the weight lifted from Oromis. The magical block was gone. The curse was undone.
Oromis, for the first time in centuries, stood tall.
He flexed his hands, his body no longer trembling. His mind felt clear, unburdened by the restrictions that had haunted him for so long. Eragon watched, breathless, as his mentor moved with the grace and strength of his former self, the affliction gone.
For a moment, neither spoke, both astonished by what had been accomplished.
Oromis turned to Eragon, his golden eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. "You… you have done it," he said quietly, awe in his voice. "You have freed me."
Eragon smiled, though the effort had drained him. "I told you I owed you."
Oromis placed a hand on Eragon's shoulder, his grip steady and strong, a far cry from the frail touch Eragon had grown used to.
"Thank you, Eragon," he said with a deep joy. "You have given me a gift I thought lost forever."
Eragon nodded, feeling a deep sense of fulfillment. "You gave me the tools to do it."
They stood there for a long moment, the air around them buzzing with the aftermath of powerful magic. Then Oromis sighed, a contented smile crossing his face.
"I will tell King Dathedr," Eragon said softly, "but first, we celebrate."
Oromis chuckled, a rich, full sound Eragon had never heard from him before. "Indeed, Eragon," he said. "Let us celebrate."