Title: The Flame
Rating: K
Genre: Friendship
Summary: "The lustrous dragon egg had been ferried back and forth for years between the elves' cities, passed from hand to hand, each elf hoping for a chance to become great. But it seemed that none had caught the attention of the being inside the shell; it made no signs that it wished to hatch." One-shot, no pairings. Pre-Galbatorix era.
A/N: I'm too much of an original writer at heart sometimes.
And a dragon geek
Seriously.
Of course my first piece of fanfiction in like a year had to involve dragons in some way and characters that never actually appear in the story.
Of course.
Anyways, here's my first-ever contribution to the Inheritance Cycle fandom. It doesn't even involve any characters that actually do anything in the books. (Actually, Brom mentions that Fundor killed a sea serpent. Good dragon XD)
The little scene at the end is the first ship of humans arriving in Alagaësia. Hence the alternate title of 'ohlook humans-we're screwed ._.' :P
I'll give a virtual cookie to whoever can guess the ref at the end of the first part!
Enjoy!
The egg had been ferried back and forth for years between the elves' cities, passed from hand to hand, each elf hoping for a chance to become great. But it seemed that none had caught the attention of the being inside the shell; it made no signs that it wished to hatch.
In Osilon, however, Hírador detected a change. He had been entrusted with the egg years ago and he had gotten used to the way it sat, immobile, in its carrying knapsack of soft cloth. He felt every movement it made—limited to how it was jostled around when he walked or rode on a horse—and they had become a part of him, partially because he had held it for so long, but also because he knew that the slightest of movements out of the ordinary could be the cause for excitement.
At reaching the gathering of the elves of Osilon, he reluctantly took the smooth polished stone the color of fire out of its bag and held it in his hands while he decided who the first elf to get a chance to touch it would be. They were all vaguely familiar faces; he had met every elf in Alagaësia several times over the years while he fulfilled his duties. The youngest elves in the city had all been present the last time he had been there. There were no new hands for the unhatched dragon to feel through the shell and decide if they were worthy to be its companion. But perhaps it had changed its mind about somebody there.
Hírador finally went for the elf closest to him—a silver-haired female that had been present in Kirtan the last time he had visited. She carefully took the egg from him and held it wonderingly. She sang a few soft words to it but got no response; it was passed on to the next elf graciously. Hírador watched the proceedings with careful eyes, though his caution was unmerited. He knew that each elf present would treat the egg with the same degree of respect that he did.
It passed through multitudes of hands over the span of several days but remained as immobile as ever. When it was returned to Hírador, he spent a moment admiring the shell—it was a bright, lively yellow-orange with the faintest streaks of red. His comparison of it to warm flames was well merited. Finally, he placed it in its bag and let the familiar weight settle in. With the quasi-ceremonialist ritual out of the way, the elves returned to their regular lives, those near Hírador nodding courteously at him as they left. His job was done for the time being; now, he could go rest and recover until time came for his next journey.
After eating dinner, he sat by a window in the tree house he had been given for the duration of his stay in Osilon and looked out at the darkening forest. The peaceful scene calmed him; everything was silent around him except for the sounds of wild animals going about their business and a few elves singing to the trees. A sudden soft noise, much like a squeak, broke past the tapestry of sounds. He was instantly alert. But there was nobody else in the tree house besides him and the egg. The bag was sitting only about a foot away, but he pulled it against his side for safekeeping. The squeak came again and his ears twitched as he tried to figure out the source of the sound. It was closer this time...almost as if it came from a spot directly to his left.
He had to be imagining it. Nobody had held the egg since he had put it away, and that had been hours ago. If this was a delayed reaction, there would be no way to know which elf the dragon had chosen. Yet the squeak came again, this time accompanied by a faint scrabbling. The dragon truly was hatching, then. Still, he couldn't be sure that it wasn't just a trick of his imagination. He carefully moved the fabric of the bag around so the egg was exposed to the growing moonlight.
It stopped making sounds then, and he returned to gazing out at the trees. The woodland creatures had all gone to sleep by then, leaving the rustling of a breeze through the leaves of the trees as the only sound his ears could detect. He waited for a long time, but nothing else reached him.
Eventually, he decided it was time to get some rest and meditate on the day. He got to his feet and carefully gathered up the egg, wrapping it in the soft cloth for safekeeping. As he started walking, however, it gave a mighty shudder with almost enough force to propel itself out of his hands. Hírador stopped and took the egg out, expecting to see what he had seen for ages. But there was a slight difference this time; a thin series of cracks extended down one side of it in an intricate pattern, like a spider's web.
He sat down on the floor and stared at it for the next hour, watching each crack grow slightly until, finally, a small piece of the shell detached itself and went flying across the room. The shell continued to crack, but now with increased fervor; the dragonet was eager to get out into the open. But finally, it gave one last shake and the dragon stumbled out of the pieces. It lifted its head and looked around, running over to explore the scant furniture curiously with wings unfurled to dry them out. A slight gust of wind blew into the room and sent the dragonlet tumbling head-over-heels. Hírador managed to catch it before it rammed into the wall behind him.
He shouldn't have touched it before he knew who it had hatched for. Upon contact with the creature, he felt the intense searing pain of a powerful magic running through him. But he realized his mistake much too late; once he regained his senses, he saw the gedwëy ignasia on the palm of his right hand.
The dragon was peering at him curiously in between batting at his sleeve. Hírador sat up and tried not to scratch at his palm as he figured out what to do. If the egg ever hatched for someone, both the dragon and the elf would travel to Ilirea for training with him as an escort. He hadn't expected that he would be the future Rider; the thought had never even crossed his mind during his years of carrying the egg. Although he didn't think he would need an escort—he had defended himself well enough during the years spent travelling—his superiors may not have thought the same.
He felt a faint unfamiliar tendril of thought reach his mind and he poked at it warily. But it was just the dragonlet sitting beside him, informing him that he was hungry. He picked it up carefully and went outside, picking up his bow and quiver in the process. It pained him to realize that he would have to take the life of an animal, but he had no other option.
Several other elves saw him with the dragonet and bowed respectfully. The creature ignored them and started climbing around Hírador's shoulders in an attempt to find food.
We'll find nourishment for you soon, he told it reassuringly. Slightly satisfied, the dragonet settled down and looked around as he walked. Eventually, they left the city and found a place where they wouldn't be disturbed.
Hírador found a squirrel first and whispered an apology to it before shooting it down. The dragon went over to it and started eating before he could sing the proper songs. He had to look away and focus on the life flowing through other creatures while the dragon finished eating. It demanded another and Hírador found another few squirrels for it to eat.
They left Du Weldenvarden at the end of the week. The dragon grew enough to communicate with him shortly before they reached Ilirea. After a bit of discussion, he and Hírador decided on the name Fundor.
The training began quickly; Hírador didn't have time to be overcome by being in the presence of so many Riders and their dragons. But it went along at an almost leisurely pace; there was no need to hurry, as Alagaësia was at peace. The Golden Age was at its peak and the Riders concerned themselves more with learning than warfare.
All was well.
.:.:.:.:.
Time didn't exist for elves in the same sense that it did to Urgals and dwarves, though Hírador somehow knew that it had been ages since Fundor had hatched. The two were on a leisurely flight near the sea; the Beors rose majestically in the east and the base of the Spine to the northwest.
What do you suppose that is? Fundor asked suddenly.
Hm? Fundor sent him an image of a lone ship sailing in the sea and Hírador searched for it. The craft was tiny, though it wasn't in a style that he recognized. It must've come from a long way away; the weathered look of it certainly gave off that impression.
It's a ship. I wonder where it came from. The two silently watched the ship reach land and its occupants stumble out. They were taller than dwarves but Fundor thought that they were shorter than elves; Hírador certainly thought so too once he got a better look through the dragon's eyes.
Whatever they were, he hoped they didn't trouble his people too much.
A/N: Don't forget about the wonderful little box down at the bottom of the page~ Fanfiction was kind enough to make it so you don't have to go to another window to leave a nice review ;D