They spent so long traveling through Du Weldenvarden. Some of the skeletons started quietly complaining for a change of scenery, and a change of clothes.

Storms came and went, plunging them in pure darkness as they huddled beneath trees, only Arya's werelight and a dozen eyelights illuminating the emptiness. They would often summon extra Blasters above their troop to protect them from the drenching rains and the showering leaves afterwards.

The trees all looked the same, in a way that would make anyone lose their path and become lost for lifetimes. Eragon was a prime example of this; he never knew the way, no matter how many times he gazed upon the compass.

Slowly, the trees grew bigger and bigger, with the spaces between them yawning wider and wider. Soon enough Nightmare knew they were close to Ellesméra, the pines were clearly the enormous species known as Redwood, the largest trees ever to exist.
Except they weren't Redwoods. Those had reddish wood, hence the name. These trees had dark brown wood, almost mahogany in color.
Magic permeated the air, more intoxicating than any scent could ever be.
That included the scent of green apples that followed Nightmare everywhere. He kept his preferred form, tentacles forever feeling the currents of air as they emerged from his backside, like a liquidy black tree had sprouted from him.

Most importantly, Arya was happy. She smiled at her surroundings, touched the gnarled roots as if they were her closest friends, and beamed at the rays sifting to the forest floor.
Magic was flowing throughout this forest. The forest was eternally asleep, enchanted like any Fantasytale AU, or even Blessedtale.
Once upon a time, Nightmare would have despised that.
Now… many things had changed in such a short time.
Dream was getting even closer.

One day, the darkness parted as a lone ray of sunshine shone down on a lone elf, a silver circlet gleaming on his forehead. Everything about him bespoke age and wisdom.
Blue automatically twisted his hand over his sternum out of respect, remembering it as a part of elven culture. Bird awkwardly copied him, unsure of what to do.
Nightmare inclined his skull, tendrils waving like seaweed in open water.
"Show him your palm and your ring." Arya whispered to Eragon. The Rider did as told. The Guardian, as that was what he was, smiled softly, closing his eyes and spreading his arms in welcome.
They rode around him, many staring in awe. He vanished with the light after they passed.

Who was he? Saphira quested softly.
Arya spoke just as gently. "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."
They sighed together in awe.

Not long after they passed the Guardian, the forest waned as gaps appeared in the canopy, letting shafts of sunlight to drift down to the green forest bed.
The transition was almost unnoticeable; they passed a natural archway of two trees and into a wide glade.
Flowers littered the ground, innumerable arrays of scent and color. The buzzing of bees was the only sound complementing the bubbling brook at the right. At first glance it appeared absolutely natural, but the longer one looked, the more they would see.
Comforting lights where there should've been drawn shadows, strange warped shapes of the trees, pathways winding through the meadow that were almost natural.
Then several gasps as they realized the odd trees where houses! It made Nightmare chuckle slightly. He already knew this from Dream.
He was here somewhere, trembling as he realized how near his brother finally was. Months of waiting, wings growing more magnificent each day, awaiting the moment he could approach Nightmare once more as brothers and not enemies.

The elves began emerging into the light. They were afraid. They eyed the dragons intensely, women wearing their hair free, flowers decorating the silken locks. Men with sculpted faces.

They all touched their phalanges to their teeth as greeting, following Eragon's example.
In perfect synchrony, the elves bowed. Then they burst with unbridled joy. A woman's voice rang out in song. Eragon pressed his hands to his ears in fear, only for Arya to lift them away. "It is not magic."

They began walking down the cobblestone, elves swirling around them, laughing, dancing, singing, prancing about. Nightmare barely had the time to realize the horses were gone already.
The elves constantly complimented Saphira, Draco and GB with titles, the praise swelling their pride. Nightmare was caught by the events, stunned at the joy and excitement all around him, part of it for him. He felt like his usual power from the Negativity here was far, far away.

They were led to a door inlaid at a wall of young trees, opening on its own. They filed in, finding themselves in a hall made of trees.
Twenty-four elves, sitting on wooden seats, the most grand of all being Queen Islanzadí. Hidden in the corners of the room stood Reaper, Life, Dream, and Seraphim.

The elves stared with wonder, awe, hope, curiosity. Their hands gripped the edges of their seats. They carried weapons on their persons, and all wore circlets not unlike Nightmare and Dream's own.

The Queen herself was adorned in garments reminiscent of fall. A cloak of velvet draped from her shoulders.
But she clearly was like glass; she was close to shattering at any moment.
Carried in her left hand was an elegant curved rod, a snowy raven perched upon it. It surveyed the travelers critically, then barked out a single word.
"Wyrda!"

They all knelt before her, everyone, even Saphira. Nightmare did not. He bowed at the waist. She rose, stepping down from her gnarled throne and standing before Arya. She rested her hands, shaking, on Arya's shoulders before speaking.
"Rise."
Arya did, Islanzadí studying her face intensely for a tense moment.
Then she enveloped her in a hug, voice weeping out. "O my daughter, I have wronged you!"