Story notes:
Just as a note, I deviated in a few details of Eragon's legend to better fit my version of the story. Mainly, I messed with time quite a bit... The war between the Elves and Dragons is supposed to last only five years, but for such powerful, magical creatures that nearly decimated each other, I figure that they at least had to beat out WWII... So the war lasts possibly much longer and the spell to bind the Elves and Dragons will not take the Queen and her spellcasters nearly a decade to figure out-Just thinking about that makes me want to fall asleep. So, yes, they are smarter and figure this out much quicker. Something else that has been pointed out to me several times: Although Paolini decided to keep the race names, such as "elf" and "dragon," lowercase (whereas Tolkien favored capitalization), I started my story writing Elf and Dragon, with capital letters, and kept with it for a long time before anyone pointed it out in my other fanfics. Because I have used it with this story for so long, they will remain capitalized (though my other fanfics conform to Paolini's style in this little matter...).
Also, I've been writing this fanfic so far over a period of more than three years in my spare time for fun. My style changed since I first started it, so if there are some discrepancies, well, that's why. That being said, if you find the first chapters a little wanting, please do not judge the later chapters by the first. Or if you happen to love the first chapters, hopefully you will find that it only gets better. :)
Chapter 1
The sky suddenly darkened, and the very stars that the Elves used for a guide disappeared from the sky. An ear-piercing roar split though the eerie sky.
Eragon, a young Elf, glanced fearfully at the night sky. Fiery flames billowed like clouds above him. The Dragons were attacking!
Eragon shuddered and ran. He heard his old father running behind him, struggling to keep pace with his young son. All around him, Elves fled in panic. Eragon could barely see the shifting, running forms in the smoke and ash around him. It was too dark.
A spurt of flames nearby revealed a large rock that lay ahead of Eragon. As he ran, he leapt over the boulder. But as he continued to run, he heard his father grunt, stumbling over the rock, and fall.
Eragon glanced quickly over his shoulder. "Father!" he yelled, frantically turning back to help his father. His father pushed him away.
"Go!" he yelled. "I cannot make it!"
His father was very old, and Eragon knew that what he said was true, that he could not out-run and escape the menacing Dragons, but hen could not bring himself to leave his beloved father. Eragon fought to hold back the tears that sprang to his eyes.
Suddenly, a great blue Dragon dove out of the sky towards Eragon. Opening its frightening jaws, the Dragon spewed fire. Eragon screamed and raised his arms to shield his face.
To Eragon's surprise, the flames flowed around him, leaving him untouched and unharmed. Once the flames ebbed away, Eragon glanced around him.
Everyone was gone.
Eragon was alone, and he was no longer in the beloved woods of DuWeldenvarden. Instead, he stood upon a high grassy plain overlooking the far away Spine mountains and the alluring sea beyond. The morning sun's first rays crept across the melancholy night sky, casting its glittering light on the glassy sea. At the site of the sparkling sea, Eragon's blood ran and his heart yearned to stand upon its peaceful shores.
While submerged in his thoughts of the sea, a white Dragon, white like the foam on the waves of the sea, appeared before him. Frightened, Eragon screamed and fell to the ground, waiting for the magnificent Dragon's sharp claws to sink into his flesh. But the great Dragon did not move. Instead, the magnificent beast continued to stare at him with its great, opaque eyes, eyes as deep and reflective as the sea.
Eragon awoke with a start. With another jolt, he realized that it had all been a dream.
The Elf blinked his eyes rapidly to clear his blurred vision. He quickly glanced around his small room to be sure that it had truly been just a dream. The Dragon had seemed so real.
Stumbling from his high bed over his small workshop, he glanced at the work he had done the night before. A partially finished wood carving of a Dragon lay on the desk. He kept this small area to read, to write, to study, to draw, and to carve beautiful artworks. Other Elves said that he was gifted with art, but Eragon was never completely satisfied with his creations. The Dragon half carved into the wood looked nothing like the dragon that appeared in his dream. Shaking his head, he thought, I will have to remake it. Nonetheless, he would try and sell it, like he had with so many of his other works. His father was a poor man working a poor farm.
Eragon shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen, where his father sat waiting for him to join him for breakfast. His father was his only living family member. His mother had died when he was still very young during a Dragon raid.
The young Elf slid into the chair across the table from his father. Eragon knew that his father was old. He stooped over as he sat or walked, and his hair was grey, a rare color even among the oldest Elves. His father had once been a mighty warrior, but now he was amongst the weakest of Elves. Eragon had been a welcomed gift in his old age and a great comfort after the death of his wife.
"What's wrong, son?" his father asked, his voice a raspy remnant of his once powerful, commanding voice.
Eragon started with surprise. Elves were taught to hide their emotions and not to be ruled by them. But his father always saw through each of his son's facades.
"I had a dream," he answered quietly, reaching for the small pile of meat on a plate in the center of the table. Although the Elves were ideally vegetarians, some were forced to hunt and eat meat in order to survive.
"A dream?" his father queried. "Hmm… I've never had a dream before. They are incredibly rare among the Elves." After a pause, he asked, "What was it about?"
Eragon described his vivid dream and then added, "The Dragon never spoke to me, but I knew what he said—or what he wanted to say. Perhaps, they were his thoughts that I heard. Yes, it was like I was hearing his thoughts. I cannot explain it any other way."
"Dragons don't have thoughts!" Eragon's father slammed his fist onto the table. Eragon jumped at the outburst. Elves rarely revealed their emotions so deeply. "They are vicious, thoughtless, vindictive animals!"
His father quickly quieted, embarrassed at his display. Seeing his son's shocked face, he said, "Forgive me…. We will take you to the magicians. Perhaps," his father added after a pause, "you are also gifted with magic."
His face beamed with pride for his son at the thought. Such a gift was prestigious.