A/N: I have tried, many many times to get into fanfiction, and each time I have failed. I love the idea, and I know I enjoy writing, but every time I think I might be getting into it, something happens. Which sucks. What I'm saying is, don't get your hopes up for anything too wonderful, because technically, I'm a bit of a n00b.

Disclaimer: for example, I'm not even sure if you have to put this in every single chapter. Nevertheless, I do not own, nor will I ever own, nor have I in the past owned any part of the Inheritance Cycle, aside from having each of the books and, rather regrettably, the movie :)

There was an almighty clang as the two swords struck one another, the long white blade against the shorter, more lithe, green.

Avery, wielder of the white sword, came of worse, being knocked onto his back foot by the blow, but he recovered quickly, pushing his weight forward toward his opponent.

A momentary impasse, and then his elven adversary spun away again, whipping around and around, then swung the sword again, faster, with more purpose.

Avery parried, then, as the elf swung again, this time at his head, stabbed forward. The elf performed a violent riposte, abandoning her attack and seamlessly, with what seemed like a simple flick of her wrist, feinting, first towards his shoulder, then whirling away, striking Avery on his knee. The blow bruised him, and he fell suddenly, no longer able to support his weight. He felt the warm flow of blood leaking from down his shin. He cried out at the hit, dropping his sword. The elf made another fluid motion, one dripping with finality, bringing the sword down towards his head with a wordless cry. He flinched, but the sword stopped short, not harming him, and as he turned his face towards it he saw it instead hovering an inch above his brow.

The elf offered a hand, which he took. She pulled him to his feet, then sighed.

'Avery-finiarel, you must do better than this' the elf Arya said, with a slight but biting exasperation to her smooth, melodic tones.

'I'm sorry, ebrithil, but swordplay is not, never has been, and I fear will never become my strongest point.' he replied, the words tasting sour in his mouth. He was breathing heavily, exhausted and dehydrated, and in no mood to be spoken down to.

'That' Arya replied 'is unacceptable. You cannot fight simply with the valour of your mind, nor the strength of your magic, nor can Fenna always defend you.' she paused, examining her lower arm, where Avery had managed to score a blow that had drawn blood. It had been a glancing hit, leaving a shallow wound, and had been born out of Avery's frustration that he could not best her. Yet she examined it and, uttering words in the ancient language, the wound closed, stemming the pitiful flow of blood.

'You must learn not only to function independently from her, but also to defend yourself without magic. Battles are not won only on the merit of the mind, Avery-finiarel, you should know this by now. Have not your sessions with others your age taught you this?'

At this, Avery remembered his last sparring session with a young elven Rider named Felda, who had bested him as easily as Arya had, meeting his sword at every twist and turn of the blade.

Avery fumed silently, his anger blotting out Arya's words. He dissected every stab, parry, riposte and attack from their sparring session, willing himself to have found one way, even just one, to outperform her. He stayed in this state for several minutes, replaying the earlier battle, for it had been a battle, with Avery forcing Arya to work for the touches and raps she had delivered with her sword. It had been a battle though, of defence for Avery; he could not hope to best his master, nor even to win through luck. At his every movement, his white blade, Zephyr, met with fierce, biting resistance.

'You are dismissed' Arya murmered, pulling Avery from his stupor. 'We can do little else tonight, and you need sleep. Fenna even now returns with Firnen, and we can resume training after your day of rest. I expect you to communicate to her what you have learned today, and the other days we have trained together. Firnen expects the same from her.'

At Arya's words, two shimmering shapes blotted out the last of the sun. One a huge green dragon, whose wingspang was three times that of the smaller dragon who flew alongside him. The smaller shape was this dragon, and one of the purest white, such that her scales appeared as diamonds made from snow and ice and whose eyes, Avery knew without being able to see them, pierced like so many icicles.

Friend-of-my-heart, exclaimed the smaller dragon on approaching, even as Firnen landed with a thud beside his rider.

Fenna replied Avery, and they enveloped each other in their minds, merging their personalities until they were more one than two.

RTR

As one of the fourteen Riders that existed in Alagaesia, and as one of the seven that were as of yet apprentices and novices in the organisation, Avery and Fenna's training was strict. It began and ended with sparring sessions and airborne battles with Arya and Fenna, with various lessons in magic, history and reading and writing, among over things, from a variety of mentors. He was afforded a single day of rest, as were the others who were taught under Arya, during which they were free to explore their own interests. Avery had taken to flying with Fenna in the morning and evening, between those times simply relaxing in his hut, or in the adjoining dragonhold. He spent many of these days pouring any energy he could spare into the diamond set into the pommel of Zephyr, and after all the time since he had taken up his routine, the amount of energy within was huge.

He woke on this particular day however, with no intention of lazing around. After his sparring session with Arya the previous night, he realised that he needed to improve at all costs. Thus, he sought out the one person who, among all the Riders, elves and humans in and around the small settlement, he knew couldn't best him. His brother, who was younger but had been a rider for a longer time, and had already begun to develop those more pointed ears and angular features afforded to longer time riders. His dragon, Avery knew, was pitch black, and already huge, hulking, strong, and yet swift of wing and wit, known as Ragnar. Avery saw him and the other dragons, Fenna included, set off hunting, which served as some indication as to where his brother might be.

He found his brother, after a short time searching, sharpening his blade, an ordinary steel sword with no jewel set into the pommel nor any enchantments forged into the metal. His brother, Alden, had forgone a proper rider's blade, instead preferring to, in his own words 'give those doomed a fairer fight.' Not that it would have mattered, for anyone unfortunate enough to make an enemy of him would be struck down as easily as a rabbit by a bear, for Alden was one of the greatest swordsmen among the riders. He didn't possess the speed or strength of an elf, but he already had, and consistently did best them in combat, even recently disarming and defeating Arya after a fierce, pitched battle. There had been between them aggressive stalemates, and on Alden's part one bitter loss, but he certainly appeared to have almost eclipsed her skill with a blade.

His hair was shoulder length and dark, on a head protruding from broad shoulders and a barrelled, but somehow lithe chest. His body seemed to epitomise agility and competence, and the way the young rider held himself indicated that he knew it.

Alden glanced up, an expression of disinterest dominating his handsome features, which swiftly transformed into one of glee. When he spoke, his voice was deep, with a pronounced, calculated manner to it. At the same time, his tone was hearty and amiable. 'Brother! I thought you were one of the stable hands. There's one who's been bothering me a lot recently, and I think she might have a fancy for me.' His eyes glinted, and Avery knew that, for all his successes and merits, and for all of his good character, he revelled in the attention.

'Hello, Alden' replied Avery, whose tone immediately communicated how irritated he was to his brother.

'Still can't quite beat her, eh?' Alden said in a tone both sympathetic and amused. Alden knew exactly the level of skill, or lack thereof, with which Avery handled a sword, and had often compared his finesse to that of a butcher cutting the throat of a pig. However, he was wise beyond his years, and understood enough of Avery to know that this wasn't the time for ribbing.

'It's not that I can't quite beat her' Avery said, almost throwing up his hands in annoyance 'It's that she completely obliterates me every single time we spar. What use am I as a rider if I can't defend myself?'

'But you can, Avery. You're easily the most advanced among us when it comes to magic, even Arya admits that. So you can't best an elven swordsman – woman – whose has decades to practise. We both know that you could take apart any lesser human swordsman, and some of the better ones too. Why, I image should you so desire that you could take any single city in Alagaesia, short of Illirea, with the help of Fenna.'

'But I do not desire to.' replied Avery. 'All I wish is to best her once, even if only once and even if it should be a feeble victory.'

Alden shook his head. 'No, brother. You should not think so poorly of yourself. Practise, Avery. That's all there is for it, and I'm sure you will achieve.'

Avery nodded, glum but placated. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Avery examining an area of fraying around his tunic, Alden going back to his sword, before Avery made his excuses and made to leave.

'Avery' said Alden, just as Avery stepped through the door. He paused, and turned back toward his brother.

'Yes?'

'Things will get better. I promise.'

'Yes, Alden.'

RTR

Fenna approached the camp, marvelling at how small the buildings seemed, and how feeble. She was still a young dragon, barely able yet to carry Avery, and they had had but one trip flying together. She could feel him now, even as far away as she was, high above the camp, and could feel that strange sort of disappointment emanating from him. Her heart felt heavy, and she spiralled downwards, eager to try and coax him from his sorrow.

Even with the waves of sadness and self-pity flowing through her, she felt joy at the descent, at feeling the wind in her wings and at seeing the huge expanse of earth, littered and dotted with buildings and people, rushing towards her.

She landed with a light thud, almost precisely adjacent to her and Avery's temporary home. The riders, she new, trained at several locations over Alagaesia, with this one being located near the Hadarac desert, on the very cusp of the Great Plains.

Now, she noticed, there was joy exuding from her rider as she approached, and she hadn't moved far before he rushed out to meet her.

Fenna! He exclaimed with his mind.

Little one she replied, and they allowed their minds to mold again, all the emotions of her flying trip flowing into him and all the anger and annoyance over the course of the day flowing into her.

I thought, he said, that we might go flying later. Arya made me a new saddle, one that might be more comfortable for flying for the both of us.

It shouldn't feel like a swarm of mosquitoes nipping at my back, you mean

Yes, replied Avery, that is what I mean.

Then, little one, I would like that very much. We will go flying She said, and when she did so there was far more finality about it than there had been when Avery had suggested it.

Because, of course, who would, or even could, argue with a dragon?

Avery saddled up Fenna, all the while talking to her and listening as she talked to him, about their respective lessons. Even had their mentors not advised it, they would have done so, as both couldn't think of a finer way to spend their time together. Absorbed as they were in their private interactions, they didn't realise the skies darkening slightly, almost imperceptibly, nor did they notice it as the wind steadily picked up speed. Indeed, these things only became apparent later in the flight, the latter as Fenna began to drift off course and decidedly away from the camp, and the former later, when they were becoming desperately lost and Avery couldn't see farther than the end of his nose.

Fenna! He yelled mentally, as she spun in the air violently for the fourth or fifth time

we have to land. The wind, it's too much.

We must get back, she replied, stubbornness clear in her voice.

Then, before their very eyes, the night, for it had become night-time in their fight to return to camp, was lit up by a huge blast of brutal fire, one that seemed to graze the very stars themselves. There could be nothing seen other than this burst of fire, and almost as soon as he looked at it Avery found himself blinded by its intensity. There came more burst of fire, and deafening thunderclaps of noise, and as Avery assimilated to the former the source of the fire became clearer, and although it was distanct, almost a league from him, his keen eyes quickly ascertained the cause of the fire; the jagged, bloody maw of some nightmare creature, whose skin was the darkest black and whose jaws seemed to open wide enough as to swallow Fenna whole. The creature was huge, though shrouded by the night, with vast, leathery wings that, when extended, for the creature extended them twice over the course of the fiery bombardment, seemed to encompass the entire horizon.

The fire stopped after a short while, and all was dark and quiet. The only sound audible was that of a slight thud, thud, thud that Avery knew was the sound of a dragons wings.

Eventually, even that noise faded, as did the wind, and Fenna found herself able to land, and land she did, for she had been trembling with fear. She chided herself; she was not a hatchling, but even so, she had been scared. Avery had been too, the creature having had evoked in him some sort of primal fear that he knew Fenna too would understand.

He gathered wood for a fire that Fenna lit for him, and as they sat in silence, stomachs rumbling, for they hadn't any food, a horrible realisation occurred to him.

Fenna he said.

Yes, Avery

That thing, that creature, was a dragon

Yes, little one, though it was unlike any I have ever seen or heard of.

And you are a dragon.

Well met, little one, though I hope you are not only now noticing.

Would you have done that, breath fire in such an audacious fashion-

I cannot breath fire.

Yes, yes, I know, but if you could, would you do so for no reason.

No, Avery. Where would be the gain? I would do so when hunting, or intimidating, or to destroy my enemies.

Exactly. What enemy inspired that dragon to put on such a display?

One that would have been strong, at least to a degree. You noticed the many burst of fire, not just the one.

So, Avery said, already feeling himself filling with dread a powerful, numerous group of enemies that couldn't be intimidated or dealt with immediately with fire. Do you know of anything such as that on these plains?

I do not.

Then what could said dragon have been attacking.

Only- Fenna stopped suddenly, and Avery felt the realisation occurring. Then Avery! The camp!

I know. I though so. That dragon was not one of ours.

You are calm? We must do something!

It's a pitch black night. There are no stars, no moon, and somewhere out there is a momentously large dragon that, if we are correct, saw fit to attack an entire camp of dragons and their riders. What could we possibly do?

Fenna begrudgingly agreed It feels wrong.

I know replied Avery but we must stay here until morning. To set out would mean death for us both, especially if we begin blundering about like mad people in the pitch black.

So we wait, with no way of knowing if any of them survived?

If they did, then our haste is not necessary. If they didn't, our haste will not help. We wait.

We wait, little one.

RTR

The rider of the huge black dragon, clad in armour forged in the same manner as his riders sword, a long, dark thorn of a blade held high above his head, thought there was something of a wonderful irony in burning the feeble buildings that fell before him, either orange with still living flames or black with the signs of dead ones.

He had encountered yet only resistance from mere men, mortals who, even had he just been a rider, would not have posed a threat. However, he could see approaching a emerald dragon almost half the size of his dragon, and paused. The dragon and it's rider were unlikely to pose a threat, but even so, they could be a risk. He barked a spell, one that immobilised the wings of the creature and that was worded such that it would bypass the wards the creature would undoubtedly have , the energy for which he drew from the single eldurnari in the saddle bag behind him. The creature roared in shock, then began spiralling towards the ground. He waited, sword in hand, while they, the rider and dragon fell, landing only meters away from him. He jumped from his dragon, stepping to the side as his dragon bought forth a fountain of fire.

The screams of the dragon and elven rider served as music to his ears, and when the fire stopped, on his command, he examined the two. The elven rider, whose wards he knew had given way halfway through the torrent, had had her hair burnt down to her scorched scalp. Her clothes too had burnt, revealing further burns across her body. The dragon too had been harmed by the burns, but less so, with his one eye that had been directly exposed to the flames having seemingly melted in its socket. The rider grinned, enjoying the moment of having both the elf and the dragon at his mercy. Then, with a single, swift motion, he stepped forward and thrust his sword through the chest of the elf.

She screamed, a note high and pure, despite the smoke that must have been choking her lungs. The dragon screamed too, a noise filled with hate and pain and loss. Recovering, or appearing to, quickly, it leapt upon the rider, claws and jaws ripping at his skin. He was warded, so he sustained no wounds, but he was thrown to the ground. His dragon joined the fray, grasping with his jaws the left back leg of the smaller dragon, ripping it from the rest of the body. Again the dragon screamed, this time though only with pain. It spread its wings, grasping in its claws the limp body of its rider, then shot into the sky.

Thirteen dragons had, by this point appeared, clad fully in armour with riders on their backs. They were half the size again of the elf's dragon, some even smaller, and the rider smiled. They wouldn't pose a threat to him at all, but still he would kill them. He leapt astride his dragon again, who responded with a torrent of fire.

It was not the first burst of flames, nor would it be the last, thought the rider, smiling to himself again, revealing teeth that had been filed to points.
The elf, who was also a rider, who was also a shade, fortified by the strength of his dragon and of his stolen eldurnari, riding on a creature that in size far exceeded anything that had been seen since Galbatorix's dragon Shruikan, spurred his mount into the sky again, and in the pitch black of the night, in the absence of the fire or the light of the moon, would, he thought, make short work of those who would oppose him.

So. Yeah. Hmm. What did you think? Reviews will be greatly appreciated, and it only takes a second to make my day? My main gripe is character names, I'm awful at those, so tell me what you thought of them. Interestingly, three of the characters, and indeed some of the most prominent in this chapter, begin with 'A's (Arya, Alden, Avery). That said, you don't have to pretend to be interested.

So, to be clear: reviews = happy me. happy me = more chapters. more chapters (hopefully) = happy readers. happy readers = reviews. I really hope you can see where this is going.

I remain,

Ladra (and only because people had taken La Gazza Ladra and LaGazzaLadra. B*sterds.)