Brom knew nothing of her condition while he was pursuing Hefring and Saphira’s egg... When Brom and Morzan finally confronted each other in Gil’ead, Morzan asked Brom whether he had been responsible for the disappearance of his Black Hand. It is understandable that Morzan would suspect Brom’s involvement, since Brom had arranged the deaths of several of the Forsworn. Brom, of course, immediately concluded that something terrible had befallen your mother. He later told me it was that belief which gave him the strength and fortitude he needed to kill Morzan and his dragon. Once they were dead, Brom took Saphira’s egg from Morzan’s corpse — for Morzan had already located Hefring and seized the egg from him — and then Brom left the city, pausing only long enough to hide Saphira where he knew the Varden would eventually find her.”
“So that’s why Jeod thought Brom died in Gil’ead,” said Eragon.
Again Oromis nodded. “Stricken by fear, Brom dared not wait for his companions. Even if your mother was alive and well, Brom worried that Galbatorix would decide to make Selena his own Black Hand and that she would never again have the chance to escape her service to the Empire.”
Eragon felt tears wet his eyes.
“From Gil’ead, Brom rode straight to Morzan’s estate, stopping only to sleep. For all his speed, however, he was still too slow. When he reached the castle, he discovered that your mother had returned a fortnight prior, sick and weary from her mysterious journey. Morzan’s healers tried to save her, but in spite of their efforts, she had passed into the void just hours before Brom arrived at the castle.”
“He never saw her again?” Eragon asked, his throat tightening.
“Never again.” Oromis paused, and his expression softened. “Losing her was, I think, almost as difficult for Brom as losing his dragon, and it quenched much of the fire within his soul. He did not give up, though, nor did he go mad as he had for a time when the Forsworn slew Saphira’s namesake. Instead, he decided to discover the reason for your mother’s death and to punish those who were responsible if he could. He questioned Morzan’s healers and forced them to describe your mother’s ailments. From what they said, and also from gossip he heard among the servants on the estate, Brom guessed the truth about your mother’s pregnancy. Possessed of that hope, he rode to the one place he knew to look: your mother’s home in Carvahall. And there he found you in the care of your aunt and uncle.
“Brom did not stay in Carvahall, however. As soon as he assured himself that no one in Carvahall knew your mother had been the Black Hand and that you were in no imminent danger, Brom returned in secret to Farthen Dur, where he revealed himself to Deynor, who was the leader of the Varden at that time. Deynor was astounded to see him, for until that moment, everyone had believed that Brom had perished in Gil’ead. Brom convinced Deynor to keep his presence a secret from all but a select few, and then—”
Eragon raised a finger. “But why? Why pretend to be dead?”
“Brom wanted to live long enough to help instruct the new Rider, and he knew the only way he could avoid being assassinated in retaliation for killing Morzan would be if Galbatorix believed he was already dead and buried. Also, Brom hoped to avoid attracting unwarranted attention to Carvahall. He intended to settle there in order to be close to you, as indeed he did, but he was determined that the Empire should not learn of your existence as a result.
“While in Farthen Dur, Brom helped the Varden negotiate the agreement with Queen Islanzadi over how the elves and the humans would share custody of the egg and how the new Rider would be trained, if and when the egg should hatch. Then Brom accompanied Arya as she carried the egg from Farthen Dur to Ellesmera. When he arrived, he told Glaedr and me what I have now told you, so that the truth about your parentage would not be forgotten if he should die. That was the last time I ever saw him. From here, Brom returned to Carvahall, where he introduced himself as a bard and storyteller. What happened thereafter, you know better than I.”
Oromis fell silent, and for a time, no one spoke.
Staring at the ground, Eragon reviewed everything Oromis had told him and tried to sort out his feelings. At last he said, “And Brom really is my father, not Morzan? I mean, if my mother was Morzan’s consort, then...” He trailed off, too embarrassed to continue.
“You are your father’s son,” Oromis said, “and your father is Brom. Of that there is no doubt.”
“No doubt whatsoever?”
Oromis shook his head. “None.”
A sense of giddiness gripped Eragon, and he realized he had been holding his breath. Exhaling, he said, “I think I understand why”—he paused to fill his lungs—“why Brom didn’t say anything about this before I found Saphira’s egg, but why didn’t he tell me afterward? And why did he swear you and Saphira to such secrecy?... Didn’t he want to claim me as his son? Was he ashamed of me?”
“I cannot pretend to know the reasons for everything Brom did, Eragon. However, of this much I am confident: Brom wanted nothing more than to name you his son and to raise you, but he dared not reveal that you were related, lest the Empire should find out and try to hurt him through you. His prudence was warranted too. Look how Galbatorix strove to capture your cousin so that he could use Roran to force you to surrender.”
“Brom could have told my uncle,” Eragon protested. “Garrow wouldn’t have betrayed Brom to the Empire.”
“Think, Eragon. If you had been living with Brom, and if word of Brom’s survival had reached the ears of Galbatorix’s spies, you both would have had to flee Carvahall for fear of your lives. By keeping the truth hidden from you, Brom hoped to protect you from those dangers.”
“He didn’t succeed. We had to flee Carvahall anyway.”
“Yes,” said Oromis. “Brom’s mistake, as it were, although I judge it has yielded more good than ill, was that he could not bear to separate himself entirely from you. If he had had the strength to refrain from returning to Carvahall, you never would have found Saphira’s egg, the Ra’zac would not have killed your uncle, and many things that were not, would have been; and many things that are, would not be. He could not cut you out of his heart, though.”
Eragon clenched his jaw as a tremor coursed through him. “And after he learned Saphira had hatched for me?”
Oromis hesitated, and his calm expression became somewhat troubled. “I am not sure, Eragon. It may have been that Brom was still trying to protect you from his enemies, and he did not tell you for the same reason he did not bring you to the Varden straight-away: because it would have been more than you were ready for. Perhaps he was planning to tell you just before you went to the Varden. If I had to guess, though, I would guess that Brom held his tongue not because he was ashamed of you but because he had become accustomed to living with his secrets and was loath to part with them. And because — and this is no more than speculation — because he was uncertain how you might react to his revelation. By your own account, you were not that well acquainted with Brom before you left Carvahall with him. It is quite possible he was afraid that you might hate him if he told you he was your father.”
“Hate him?” exclaimed Eragon. “I wouldn’t have hated him. Although... I might not have believed him.”
“And would you have trusted him after such a revelation?”
Eragon bit the inside of his cheek.
Continuing, Oromis said, “Brom did the best he could in what were incredibly trying circumstances. Before all else, it was his responsibility to keep the two of you alive and to teach and advise you, Eragon, so that you would not use your power for selfish means, as Galbatorix has done. In that, Brom acquitted himself with distinction. He may not have been the father you wished him to be, but he gave you as great an inheritance as any son has ever had.”
“It was no more than he would have done for whoever became the new Rider.”
“That does not diminish its value,” Oromis pointed out. “But you are mistaken; Brom did more for you than he would have for anyone else. You need only think of how he sacrificed himself to save your life to know the truth of that.”
With the nail of his right index finger, Eragon picked at the edge of the table, following a faint ridge formed by one of the rings in the wood. “And it really was an accident that Arya sent Saphira to me?”
“It was,” Oromis confirmed. “But it was not entirely a coincidence. Instead of transporting the egg to the father, Arya made it appear before the son.”
“How could that be if she had no knowledge of me?”
Oromis’s thin shoulders rose and fell. “Despite thousands of years of study, we still cannot predict or explain
