Chapter 9: A Journey to the Elven Capital

Brom sat in the dimly lit corner of the tavern, nursing a mug of mead as the noise of Carvahall buzzed around him. It had been over a year since his encounter with the mysterious dragon, and his frustration had grown with each passing day. The creature had vanished into the depths of the Spine, leaving behind no further clues. Brom's every attempt to track it had ended in failure—not a single fresh footprint, scorch mark, or broken branch hinted at its whereabouts.

He swirled the mead in his cup, staring into its amber depths as if they held the answers he sought. His thoughts turned inward, replaying the night of his encounter. The intelligence in the dragon's eyes, the fleeting connection of their minds, and the startling realization that it lacked a Rider—all of it weighed heavily on him. It was an anomaly that defied everything he knew about dragons and Riders.

"Blast it," Brom muttered under his breath, draining the last of his drink. "I can't keep spinning my wheels like this."

The tavern's door creaked open, letting in a gust of cold wind and the faint murmur of the village outside. Brom's gaze flicked toward the newcomer but quickly returned to his empty mug. He needed answers, and the only place he could think to find them was far from Carvahall.

As the idea took root in his mind, Brom sat up straighter, his resolve hardening. He would go to Du Weldenvarden and seek counsel from his old teachers, Oromis and Glaedr. If anyone could shed light on this mystery, it was them. He doubted they would have anticipated his return, but this was too important to let pride or hesitation hold him back.

The next morning, Brom approached Horst, the village blacksmith. The towering man stood outside his forge, his massive arms folded across his chest as he watched Brom's approach.

"Horst," Brom began, shifting his staff from one hand to the other, "I'll be leaving Carvahall for a time. I've got family business to attend to. Could you keep an eye on my home while I'm away?"

Horst raised an eyebrow. "Family, eh? Didn't take you for the visiting sort. How long are we talking?"

"A few months, perhaps more," Brom said. "It's nothing urgent, but it'll take some time."

Horst scratched his chin, then nodded. "Consider it done. Your place will be just as you left it when you get back. Safe travels, Brom."

Brom gave the blacksmith a curt nod and turned to leave, his mind already on the journey ahead. He had packed light, taking only what he needed for the long trek to Du Weldenvarden. His staff, a small satchel of provisions, and a cloak to ward off the chill of the open road were all he carried as he set out.

The journey to Du Weldenvarden was long and arduous, but Brom's pace was steady. Days turned to weeks as he traversed rolling plains, crossed winding rivers, and finally reached the edges of the vast forest that dominated the northern reaches of Alagaësia. As he stood before the towering trees, their branches intertwining to form an impenetrable canopy, memories of his last visit flooded his mind.

He had thought he would never return to Ellesméra, never again walk among the elves or hear their songs woven into the very fabric of the forest. The pain of those memories lingered, but they were tempered by a sense of purpose. This was not a social visit. He needed guidance, and Oromis and Glaedr were the only ones who could provide it.

The air grew thick with magic as Brom entered Du Weldenvarden. The forest seemed alive, each step he took resonating with the ancient power that coursed through its roots and branches. Time seemed to slow as he made his way through the dense woods, the path to Ellesméra unfolding before him as if the forest itself guided his way.

Ellesméra rose before him like a dream made real, its elegant structures seamlessly blended with the trees from which they were sung. The city's beauty was as breathtaking as he remembered, a testament to the elves' mastery of their craft. As he approached the outskirts, a figure emerged to meet him: Gilderien the Wise.

The guardian of Ellesméra was as imposing as ever, his silver hair gleaming in the dappled light that filtered through the trees. His sharp eyes assessed Brom, lingering briefly on the staff he carried before settling on his face.

Without a word, Brom extended his hand, revealing the gëdwey ignasia—the Rider's mark—etched into his palm. Gilderien's stern expression softened into a smile, and he stepped aside, allowing Brom to pass.

Queen Islanzadí awaited him within the city, her regal presence commanding respect even in the informal setting of the forested glade where she stood. Beside her perched Blagden, her white raven, who cawed softly as Brom approached.

"Brom," Islanzadí said, her voice smooth and melodic. "I must admit, I did not expect to see you again. What brings you back to Ellesméra?"

Brom inclined his head in respect. "Your Majesty. I have come to consult with Oromis and Glaedr on a matter of great importance. I believe it would be best if you were present as well."

Islanzadí's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but she nodded. "Very well. Let us go together."

The walk to the edge of Ellesméra, where Oromis and Glaedr resided, was filled with a heavy silence. The queen's presence was commanding, and Brom found himself thankful for her company, though he suspected her reasons for accompanying him extended beyond mere curiosity. At last, they reached the secluded grove where Oromis's modest dwelling stood.

Oromis emerged to greet them, his movements slow but deliberate, his piercing eyes taking in both Brom and Islanzadí. Beside him, the golden dragon Glaedr rested, his massive form coiled with an elegance that belied his size. Brom placed his hand over his heart and bowed, speaking the traditional greeting in the Ancient Language.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Oromis-elda. Glaedr-elda."

Oromis inclined his head in return. "Atra du evarínya ono varda, Brom. It has been many years. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?"

Brom wasted no time, recounting his experience in the Spine. He spoke of the signs he had found, the encounter with the dragon near Garrow's farm, and the shocking realization that it had no Rider. As he finished, the weight of his words settled over the grove like a thick fog.

Glaedr's deep voice resonated in their minds, a gentle yet sorrowful tone coloring his thoughts. A dragon without a Rider? Such a lonely existence. I pity the young one. To be without the bond, without purpose… it must be unbearable.

Oromis nodded slowly, his expression grave. "This is indeed troubling, yet also hopeful. If there is another dragon, it means Galbatorix does not hold sole dominion over their kind. But the absence of a Rider is… unprecedented. It raises many questions."

Islanzadí crossed her arms, her gaze distant as she pondered the implications. "If this dragon has no Rider, how has it survived? And why has it chosen to remain hidden in the Spine?"

"It watches Garrow's farm," Brom said, his voice firm. "It observed Eragon and his family, though I do not know why. When I reached out to it, I startled it, and it fled. Since then, it has eluded me."

Oromis placed a hand on Brom's shoulder, his touch light but reassuring. "You must not blame yourself for frightening the young one. It is natural for a creature unbound by a Rider to be wary. But from what you describe, it is drawn to that farm for a reason. Perhaps the boy…"

"Eragon?" Brom's brow furrowed.

There is more at work here than chance. The dragon may have chosen to stay near him for a purpose. Time will reveal its intentions, but until then, patience is required.

"And what am I to do in the meantime?"Brom asked, his frustration seeping into his voice.

Oromis regarded him with a calm that only centuries of wisdom could bestow. "Wait and watch, Brom. The young dragon will make itself known again when it is ready. You must trust that its path will intersect with yours once more. Until then, you must prepare, for whatever may come.

Glaedr's golden eyes gleamed as he added, And when that time comes, you will know what to do. The bond between dragon and Rider is not something that can be forced. It is as natural as the rising sun, and it will find its way.

Though Brom's questions remained unanswered, he felt a glimmer of hope take root within him. He had come seeking guidance, and while he had not received the solutions he sought, he left the grove with renewed purpose. The young dragon was out there, waiting and Brom would be ready.