Important! - 1/12/2025 - There has been an edit to chapter 57 to fix some continuity error; the purple hatchling was never left behind with Thorn. Sorry for this oversight, it should be fixed. To avoid re-reading that chapter, just know that only one Eldunarí was left behind with Thorn.

Chapter 59 - Brom Holcombsson

War was an ugly thing.

Brom had seen too much death in the four centuries he had lived. Too many men gave their lives for reasons they could hardly understand, for leaders they hardly knew. They lay down their lives only because they were told they needed to, without truly understanding what they were giving up, or why.

Brom never imagined that one day, he would be one of those leaders, commanding men to die simply because it was what he thought was necessary to secure their victory.

The fighting had intensified in the city since Eragon and the others entered the cathedral. Slowly, block by block, the Varden and the allied forces advanced into the city of Urû'baen; Urgal's and humans fought side-by-side in one street, while the dwarves secured their advancement, their relentless march under Orik's command pushing Galbatorix's army back street by street. The elves continued to push back on their side of the city, but Brom could tell that even for them it was difficult.

Not long since Eragon and the others entered, magic itself had started to act erratically; it was, as Brom feared, the result of Galbatorix using the Name.

But he had anticipated this.

If there was one thing Brom knew, it was to always have a plan. He had killed two of the Forsworn himself and arranged for the deaths of five others; such a thing could not be done unless one had an adequate understanding of their enemy, and a plan to ensure their victory.

Instead of the chaos Galbatorix had likely wished to instill into the magicians, Brom had instead commanded that the magicians limit their use of magic. Even the elves complied with his orders, and subsequent testing had confirmed the extent of Galbatorix's meddling. So far, from what Brom could tell, Galbatorix had altered how magic interacted from one spellcaster to another being, particularly if they targeted one of Galbatorix's soldiers. It did not seem to affect a spellcaster using magic on themselves.

Angela – the damnable witch – and some of Islanzadí's finest spellcasters had been tasked with finding either a solution or a workaround. Still, Brom doubted they would succeed before the battle was over.

Brom tilted his head up, ignoring the ache that was beginning to form in his lower back; sitting for hours on a horse had begun to take its toll on his old body. He had tried to join many of the soldiers closer to the front line of the fighting, but the various captains and other soldiers demanded he stay behind. Jörmundur, his counterpart, had likewise admonished Brom:

"I see now where Eragon gets his brazen attitude," Jörmundur smiled, slapping Brom on the back hard. "If you fall here, then our plans will amount to very little, and Saphira would have my head. Go to the rear where you are more useful, old man."

The cathedral of Galbatorix's dominion loomed over the city, even behind its high walls, peering over the buildings of the city, intimidating. Glaedr had disappeared not long ago into the depths, signaling that Eragon and the others were close to Galbatorix.

Brom let out a sigh, wiping his hand across his face.

Without conscious thought, he barked a few orders to some soldiers. The Varden soldiers saluted and dispersed quickly, rushing to fulfill his orders.

Up ahead, from what his men told him, a general by the name of Lord Barst was chewing through the Varden's ranks. The soldiers who survived the encounter claimed that the man was moving far too quickly and hit with far more force than a man of his stature should have been able to, and their description of his bulky armor – and Roran's visual testimony– lend credence to Brom's theory.

Galbatorix had bestowed upon Barst one or more Eldunarí.

But this too, Brom had anticipated.

Well, Eragon and Umaroth did, Brom sighed, shifting in the saddle before letting out a loud grumble. Tired of sitting still while others died, Brom swung his leg over the horse and dismounted.

The few advisors that remained at his side gave him worrying looks, but Brom ignored them, his thoughts still on his son.

Eragon.

Brom could scarcely believe that Saphira and Eragon had survived Galbatorix's purge of the Riders. Yet, every morning Brom awoke, content in the knowledge that his son was alive. For nearly a century, he thought he had buried his son and his dragon alongside his Saphira. Everything had been taken from him by Galbatorix and the Forsworn, and only the thought of freeing Murtagh from his enslavement and the burning desire for revenge in his heart kept him going.

Pushing through the tightly packed group of soldiers, Brom made his way towards a familiar form.

Roran was seated on the front steps of a house, hunched over as he attempted to regain his breath. Angela, Brom saw, was not far away, binding the wounds on a soldier whose arm had been severed.

Approaching the young man, Brom gripped his shoulder hard. "How goes the fighting?"

Roran grunted, gesturing towards the front line.

King Orik was hewing their way through groups of soldiers, his contingent of dwarves breaking the tide of soldiers. Nearly fifty feet past Orik he was able to glimpse Queen Islanzadí, a blur of red as she and her elves danced their way through the enemy.

The thoughts of Islanzadí brought about thoughts of her daughter, which inevitably led Brom back to thinking of his son.

It had been a surprise that Eragon and Arya were together, especially in such a short time; like his son, Brom knew how slowly the elves moved. While Eragon always had a rash streak – one that had not disappeared after three centuries – Brom had known Arya to be far more cautious. He had met the elven ambassador years after he had first helped form the Varden, during one of the few times he had visited in his hunt for the Forsworn.

She had always been reserved but polite, rejecting the many advances that she received from the men of the Varden. It had been a rather difficult position for her to be in, stuck between being the object of men's desires and being despised and feared by the people for being an elf. Arya preferred to remain close to Glenwing and Faolin, and would only suffer the company of others when necessary.

Yet the first time he had seen Arya and Eragon together he had been surprised how both of them seemed to gravitate towards each other. They were always closely near each other in every meeting Brom had attended in Varden before the battle of Farthen Dûr, and Brom had caught them a number of times speaking at length. Arya was undoubtedly interested in dragons and the Riders and had likely sought him out for his experience and knowledge, and Eragon was not one to turn away the child of an old friend.

Then, they had left after the battle of Faolin's death and had only drawn closer together during the months spent in the forest of the elves. When they first arrived he had suspected something between the two, and the day he had seen them at Katrina and Roran's gather he had known.

It was obvious from the way Eragon watched Arya, and how she, in turn, leaned in toward him whenever they were close. Whatever was between them had only grown from there, and Brom had witnessed how truly happy his son had been for the first time in centuries, even with the threat of Galbatorix hanging over them.

Selena would have been happy, Brom sighed, his fingers twitching with the urge to fiddle with his pipe. He had left it behind with his other merger possessions before the battle.

Roran shifted under his hand, pulling Brom from his thoughts.

"Nothing we throw at him is slowing him down," Roran grunted, gesturing towards Barst.

Roran shot to his feet when a new group of soldiers streamed into the street, but Brom stilled him.

"We need to do something about him," Roran growled. "He will push us back out of the city at this rate."

"Aye," Brom sighed. It was time to enact his plan, it seemed. "But running off to face him head-on will only result in your death. I need you to listen to me carefully; go and gather the other leaders. We need to work together to bring down Barst."

"You have an idea?"

Brom grunted in affirmative, his gaze watching Barst as the general crushed men and horses alike in the street.

"What is it?"

"One inspired by you and Eragon." Keeping his gaze locked onto Barst, Brom pushed Roran on his shoulder. "Go. And stop by Islanzadí first; she's nearing Barst, and I rather not have her try to take him on alone."

Roran locked gazes with him for a moment then nodded. The young man took off running towards the elven front, the other soldiers parting for him while yelling out, "Stronghammer!"

Brom sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his eyes roughly. It was impossible to tell how many Eldunarí Barst held, but Eragon had anticipated this.

Reaching his mind out to a space behind his head, Brom lightly brushed the young mind contained within the pinhole-sized rift in space. Almost immediately the hatchling's mind leapt against his own, images and sensations rushing through Brom.

Wordlessly, Brom impressed upon the hatchling both his thoughts and memories; how the battle was fairing, Barst and his Eldunarí, as well as his fear for Eragon and the others. The hatchling responded almost immediately, the desire to help fill the youngling's mind.

So much had been taken from one so young, yet it offered its help so freely.

The hatchling, from what Saphira had told him, had volunteered to aid Brom. Though the hatchling was not nearly as powerful as a fully grown dragon, it had proven to be rather formidable for its size; it had helped Eragon and Saphira numerous times in the journey to the east, as well as helping them during their fight with Murtagh and his many Eldunarí. Saphira and the other dragons theorized that the Shade had somehow made the hatchling far stronger than it should have been for its size.

A trade-off that disgusted Brom.

Footsteps approached, knocking Brom once again out of his thoughts. What was with him, lately? He found his mind wandering toward the past more often than not, which was dangerous for an old mind like him. Especially in the middle of a battle.

"Ho!" Orik cried out, raising Volund high in greeting. The famous hammer was dyed red with blood, some of which had splattered against the King's armor. The dwarf paid no mind to it, smiling beneath his busy beard at Brom.

Brom nodded at the dwarven King, his eyes finding the other leaders gathered before him. Nasuada stood with Jörmundur, both grim-faced but eager, while Grimrr and Islanzadí merely looked annoyed at having been taken away from the battle.

"If it were anyone else," Islanzadí stated, her green eyes flicking towards him before returning to glare at Barst, "I would have ignored the request. Save perhaps your son. Why did you call us together?"

Garzhvog, the Urgal leader, joined them with Roran. The tall Kull dominated in height above the others, especially when Garzhvog stood next to Orik. The dwarf King merely just glanced at the tall Kull briefly. "I would like to know as well," Garzhvog grunted. "But you have asked, and I have come!"

Brom nodded. "Thank you." Stepping close to them, he spoke low. "I have a plan to deal with Barst."

It did not take the others long to agree, though Orik pointed out an obvious flaw with it quickly, "Mine engineers will never be able to aim the human war machines as needed. With the way they are built, we would be lucky to reach within twenty feet. Anything else would be up to luck."

"We will help, King Orik," Islanzadí stated. "We will guide the stones."

"Thank you, Islanzadí," Brom nodded.

Islanzadí waved it away, "There is no guarantee of success; with how strange our magic has been as of late."

"So long as the stones reach, I don't particularly care how," Brom stated. The others agreed and rushed off, while Islanzadí, Brom, and Roran slowly moved towards the front lines. "Now, Roran, this next part relies on you; the men know your name, and Galbatorix has undoubtedly told his commanders to find and kill you. Barst will be unable to deny the challenge."

Islanzadí made a soft noise in her throat. "Are you certain of this, Vinr Älfakyn? Much relies on Roran, and Eragon will certainly be unhappy should something happen to him."

Brom opened his mouth to respond, but Roran beat him to it. "Aye, my lady. And it's better me than you; Katrina and Eragon would mourn my loss, but an entire race would mourn yours."

Islanzadí appraised Roran closely as they walked, and Brom was struck by how much her daughter resembled her; the same arched brow and piercing green eyes. The elven Queen merely nodded in reply after a tense moment and stepped aside. As they drew closer to the front, Brom gripped Roran's arm tightly and brought his mouth near the young man's ear.

"Be careful," Brom whispered. "You are only trying to goad him, not trying to truly fight."

Roran shot him a look but nodded. "Make it so the others can hear me."

Brom nodded and spoke the words of the spell to amplify Roran's voice. Reaching for the magic within his mind was getting harder as the years went on, but it was a simple enough spell.

It was only then that Brom realized that the young man was without his famed hammer. There was little to do about it, for Roran quickly pushed past the other soldiers.

"Barst!" Roran shouted, his words far louder than it was normally, echoing over the entire battle. Almost immediately all of the fighting paused, save for a few batches of skirmishes.

Brom had to admire Roran; he was exhausted and unarmed, yet the young man remained steadfast and dedicated to his task.

"Barst!" Roran cried out again. "Come and fight me, you maggot-ridden cur!"

An enemy soldier rushed at Roran, but the unarmed man easily dealt with the attempted interruption.

"Barst!" Roran repeated, and Brom glanced away towards the general. The broad, heavy figure slowly turned to face Roran, and Brom finally had his chance to examine the man. His neck was massive, nearly the size of a regular man's thigh, and the muscles that lay beneath his mail tense with agitation. "Barst! My name is Roran Stronghammer, cousin to Eragon Shadeslayer! Fight me if you dare, or be branded a coward before all here today."

As far as taunting went, it wasn't the worst Brom had heard.

"No man scares me, Stronghammer. Or perhaps I should call you Lackhammer, for I see no hammer upon you."

Roran was unfazed by the words. "I need no hammer to kill you."

A tiny smile bloomed on Barst's face, and the sight of it nearly made Brom uncomfortable. "Is that so? Give us room!" Barst called out, waving his mace at the soldiers and Varden alike.

Almost in unison, both Galbatorix's army and the allied forces moved back, clearing a wide, circular area around Barst. The general pointed his mace at Roran and smiled. "Galbatorix told me all about you, Lackhammer. He told me to break every bone in your body before I killed you."

Roran lingered near the edge of the clearing and smiled. "How about we break your bones instead?"

Now! Brom shouted mentally, stretching his mind out towards the elves and spellcasters set up on the walls.

Barst frowned and opened his mouth, but whatever he meant to say was drowned out by a low whistling. Six stones – each the size of a barrel – hurtled over the tops of the houses from the catapults on the walls, accompanied by half a dozen javelins.

All six of the stones landed directly on Barst. The stone cracked and exploded as they struck Barst's wards, but Brom hadn't expected them to break through. Fragments of rock rained down against the soldiers even as they ducked beneath their shields, but Brom pushed ahead of the others, Islanzadí at his side.

"Get him!" Roran cried out and ran forward.

Almost immediately the two armies turned on each other again, stopping many of them from aiding Roran's charge. But at the same moment, Jörmundur emerged from a side street, leading a group of nearly a hundred soldiers. The soldiers rushed towards the fighting, helping alleviate some of the pressure and allowing the others to aid Roran's charge.

It was hard for Brom to keep up with Islanzadí, especially when many of the soldiers and captains cried at him to get to the rear of the fighting.

Brom ignored them.

He may no longer be a Rider in full, but the fire that had been lit inside of him the day Saphira hatched roared into being.

On the other side of the street from Jörmundur the forms of Garzhvog and six other Kull appeared, charging out from the houses they had been using for cover. Hundreds of werecats descended in their animal forms, slipping out from the main body of the armies and heading towards Barst.

Barst was already regaining himself when Roran reached the general, but Islanzadí was far quicker; the Queen was upon the general and raining strong blows against the general, even as her sword was deflected at each turn. Roran joined in a moment later, stabbing a fallen spear he had taken from the ground and stabbing it at Barst. The powerful swings of the seven Urgal's joined in next, but their blows too were rebounding from Barst's wards.

There was a flurry of movement that Brom missed, his vision obscured by the mass of bodies descending upon the General. In one moment Barst was struggling to regain his senses, and the next nearly everyone had been flung away, revealing the snarling figure of Barst.

There was no visible damage to the general, and Brom watched as Islanzadí neared Barst. The general threw the limp bodies of soldiers – both his own and soldiers of the Varden – at the Queen, yet still she approached him. Once she was in striking distance, Islanzadí lunged again with her elven sword, which bounced uselessly off the general's wards.

Barst hoisted his mace high into the air, swinging it down upon the elven Queen in a mighty blow. Islanzadí deflected the blow but stumbled from the impact. A few elves behind her flinched and one collapsed entirely, and Brom was moving before he made a conscious effort to.

In one single moment, Brom knew what would happen if the Queen fell to Barst.

It had been something he considered the day he learned Arya and Eragon were mates. Thoughts of such things had taken hold of Brom ever since the Fall.

He would never again be caught off guard.

If Islanzadí died, then Arya – and the rest of the elves – would be devastated. The death of the Queen would impact Arya and force her to make decisions influenced by others, who would want to see the Queen succeeded by her daughter. She would be torn between her duty to her people and her duty as a Rider, and it would be something that divided Eragon and Arya.

Reaching his mind out behind him, Brom brushed against the youngling. The hatchling had been lying in wait, observing the ongoing battle wearily, but immediately opened its mind to Brom.

Are you ready, young one? Brom spoke to the hatchling, in the ancient language.

The purple dragon flooded him with agreement, and the two of their minds melded together. Brom shuddered briefly as strength flowed through his limbs, the old aches from decades of use flaring even as he felt younger and more powerful than ever. It had been centuries since he joined minds with a dragon, and he felt a brief shot of pain in his heart when thoughts of his Saphira threatened to surface.

The youngling examined memories of Saphira, a feeling of sadness washing over the both of them. Emotions poured from the dragon; determination, warmth, sadness, grief, longing, and a sense of finality that Brom understood.

It had been why he had agreed to take the hatchling with him in the first place. There was something there, between the two of them.

They both understood loss, and the desire to protect those who had helped them in their darkest hour.

They both knew what was next to come and would accept it gladly.

All of this had happened in mere moments; Barst was raising his mace once more, and Islanzadí.

With a strength he had not held in centuries, Brom held up his right hand, the Gedwëy ignasia for the first time in a century shining brightly. All at once every single person surrounding Barst went skidding backward, as though an invisible and had reached out and grasped them, moving them like pieces on a board.

Elves, humans, werecats, and Urgals alike flew from Barst, leaving a large circular clearing once more around the general.

All of them save Brom.

Even Islanzadí had been forcibly moved, and she stared at Brom with a shocked expression. Nasuada, having rejoined the others, was trying to push her way towards him, but the soldiers of the Varden wisely held their leader back.

Barst turned around in the center of the clearing with a frown, his gaze sweeping over the stunned armies before alighting on Brom.

Then the general grinned.

"Come to take me on alone, old man?"

Brom offered the general a half smile. "Something like that. You wield power you could never truly understand, extracted from the suffering of those under Galbatorix."

"Yes," Barst grinned. "And there is nothing you can do about it; you will die like the rest of the worthless trash here, and my master will reward me greatly."

He knew he would never win in a straight fight with Barst, even with the youngling's help. The hatchling and his mind were still merged, but the hatchling's strength was not going to be enough for this.

Brom reached out with his mind towards the ring on his finger. Inside of Aren, his ring, was a mountain of energy; for nearly a century Brom had poured his unused strength daily into the ring and had also siphoned away what energy he could from others – mainly those under Galbatorix's command. The torrent of energy was massive, but it still would not be enough to overcome Barst's Eldunarí.

But that was not what Brom intended.

Barst approached him slowly, mace raised high in the air. Brom did not even bother to attempt to raise his hands in defense of himself.

Brom whispered a spell, pulling energy from the hatchling to field it. A light blue transparent dome was erected over the clearing, its seamless edges stopping any attempt to enter.

Or exit.

Soldiers from both sides attempted to pierce the dome of energy, but each attempt was rebuffed.

"Brom!" Nasuada yelled out, her voice drowned out by the yelling of the others calling for him.

He would always remember his time with Nasuada fondly; she was as great as her father, perhaps even more so. She had always listened to his council, even if she did not heed it. A kind leader, Nasuada was amongst those of the next generation who would shepherd Alagaësia into the future.

One he was proud to have helped forge.

Great things are forged in fire. It is the privilege of lesser men to light the flame.

Barst hesitated and glanced around at the dome, the hint of intelligence in his eyes flaring. "A sorcerer?" Barst sniffed at the air, as though he could figure out Brom from his scent alone. "No, something more, I think."

Brom grinned, preparing the next spell in his mind. "Once, maybe."

Without speaking, he tapped into the magic barrier in his mind, breaching it. Then, using Aren's energy alongside his own, he began to fuel the spell.

His fingers tingled as the energy gathered, and his vision started to narrow. There was no stopping this spell once it started.

Ever since Thuviel's self-immolation, Brom had thought long and hard about the spell the elven Rider had used. The spell was highly inefficient; it had only utilized a portion of Thurviels energy and had devastating and lasting effects on the region.

Near a century later, Brom came up with something far more elegant, and less impactful. It was a long shot against the King, but Brom had been rather desperate when he initially thought of the idea.

"Oh? Then tell me, old man, who were you?"

"My name is one your master knows well. Brom Holcombsson, father to Eragon Shadeslayer. Former Rider to Saphira I." He held up his glowing palm for Barst to see.

"Ah," Barst grinned. "Yes, my master told me about you. How you slew the Forsworn. It's a pity that you are not younger; our fight would have been grand."

"Even an old man like me has a few tricks up his sleeve."

Barst barked out a laugh, lowering his spiked mace slightly.

"Tell me, Barst, how many of Galbatorix's hearts do you have?"

The general frowned but then grinned, glancing down at his bulky armor. "I see no harm in telling a dead man. Five."

More than they had anticipated; with the loss of Murtagh on his side, Galbatorix had few he would trust with Eldunarí. It made sense then that the King would entrust more to his faithful servant. They would have never broken through Barst's wards. Not with five dragons aiding him, and none on their side.

No, not even Barst and his Eldunarí could survive what was coming next. Brom would denote the spell, and the hatchling would fuel the shield dome long enough to protect everyone.

Eragon, Brom thought, though he dared not project his thoughts. Barst picked up his mace and swung it high into the air. My son, though you will never hear these words, you should know how proud of you I am. There is no one finer to take up Vrael's mantle. I wish you, Arya, and Saphira all the happiness in the world.

Murtagh. I wish things could have been different between us. That I had taken you away from Morzan quicker. That you did not have to suffer for a century under Galbatorix. That I did not leave you and Thorn alone to face him. I hope you find some measure of peace once Galbatorix is dead.

The spell was ready, fissures of energy racing through his bones. The hatchling brushed its mind against his comfortingly. Barst appeared to move in slow motion, his mace descending inch by inch towards him.

Brom.

The voice of the purple hatchling echoed in his head. Ah, finally decided to speak, eh? Are you ready?

I am.

Together. Though I am sad to never have known your name, young one.

Thalrion.

I am honored. Together, Thalrion.

Together.

When the mace was inches from his skull, Brom unleashed the spell.

A moment in time before everything went dark, Brom saw a flash of an image in his mind's eye; Saphira and Selena, standing together in a green field, beckoning him onward.

Then darkness.

I'm sorry.

For the longest time I've had this in my head, and it's been planned pretty much since the beginning; what if, instead of Arya losing her final parent in the series, it was Eragon? Yes, Brom dies in Eragon, but here he was alive.

Maybe the situation is a bit contrived, but Barst here is way stronger than in Inheritance. As Brom speculated, Murtagh's absence meant that Galbatorix gave Barst more Eldunarí (I know it doesn't explicitly say in the series how many he had, but he was just stronger here). He would have chewed through the armies without hesitation.

And Brom isn't an idiot; after nearly a century of seeking and planning vengeance, it would be almost instinctual for him to play out what would happen if a leader died. Brom is an interesting character anyway. He's filled with grief and regret, and for so long his only motivation was basically to free Murtagh and kill Galbatorix. That, and how old he was, I think this version of Brom was just ready to move on, and what better way than having your death mean something?

I'm rambling.

Hopefully, this was a satisfactory ending to Brom's character, who we didn't see too much of during the series. Let me know if you enjoyed this! It was a bit of a shorter chapter compared to my other ones, and I didn't honestly want to spend too much time on the battle. If you want more of what happened in the fighting, basically just read Roran's chapters in Inheritance. Paolini's work is far superior to my own in that regard.

Although I will say one thing regarding Roran; I like him as a character, but the dude is just way too overpowered for a regular human. Anyway.

The next chapter will take some time, I think. Not sure how long it's going to be. There's a lot to wrap up, and I want to include some things too. But we will see. Anyway, leave a comment/review and let me know what you think!