Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon or related characters, they belong to Christopher Paolini. I can only make a claim to those parts of the plot which are from my imagination and the characters that haven't been mentioned in previous books. Obviously, it would be great if I did, but I don't.

A.N. I wasn't sure where exactly I wanted to start this story, although I knew that I wanted it to start before we meet the Varden. My ingenious plan, open the book at a random page and go from the there. So if this story has a somewhat random beginning now you know why.

I ended up picking the chapter titled 'vision of perfection' from Eragon. The first part is directly from the book if you'd like to read up to there and know what's going on, but then I'm going to start screwing with things. I'll let you know where my story starts with a page break.

For those who can't be bothered, Eragon has just broken his wrist, incapacitated a bunch of Urgals, passed out and is now having a little snooze.

Alagaësia's Legacy

Chapter 1

Eragon twisted under the blankets, reluctant to open his eyes. He dozed, then a fuzzy thought entered his mind…How did I get here? Confused, he pulled the blankets tighter and felt something hard on his right arm. He tried to move his wrist. It zinged with pain. The Urgals! He bolted upright.

He lay in a small clearing that was empty save a small campfire heating a stew-filled pot. A squirrel chattered on a branch. His bow and quiver rested alongside the blankets. Attempting to stand made him grimace, as his muscles were feeble and sore. There was a heavy splint on his bruised right arm.

Where is everyone? he wondered forlornly. He tried to call Saphira, but to his alarm could not feel her. Ravenous hunger gripped him, so he ate the stew. Still hungry, he looked for the saddlebags, hoping to find a chunk of bread. Neither the saddlebags nor the horses were in the clearing. I'm sure there's a good reason for this, he thought, suppressing a surge of uneasiness.

He wandered about the clearing, then returned to his blankets and rolled them up. Without anything better to do, he sat against a tree and watched the clouds overhead. Hours passed, but Brom and Saphira did not show up. I hope nothing's wrong.

As the afternoon dragged on, Eragon grew bored and started to explore the surrounding forest. When he became tired, he rested under a fir tree that leaned against a boulder with a bowl-shaped filled with clear dew water.

Eragon stared at the water and thought about Brom's instructions for scrying. Maybe I can see where Saphira is. Brom said that scrying uses a lot of energy, but I'm stronger than he is… He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. In his mind he formed a picture of Saphira, making it as lifelike as possible. It was more demanding than he expected. Then he said "Draumr kόpa!" and gazed at the water.

Its surface became completely flat, frozen by an invisible force. The reflections disappeared and the water became clear. On it shimmered an image of Saphira. Her surroundings were pure white, but Eragon could see that she was flying. Brom sat on her back, beard streaming, sword on his knees.

Eragon tiredly let the image fade. At least they're safe. He gave himself a few minutes to recuperate, then looked back over the water. Roran, how are you? In his mind he saw his cousin clearly. Impulsively, he drew upon the magic and uttered the words.

The water grew still, then the image formed on its surface. Roran appeared, sitting on an invisible chair. Like Saphira, his surroundings were white. There were new lines on Roran's face – he looked more like Garrow than ever before. Eragon held the image in place as long as he could. Is Roran in Therinsford? He's certainly nowhere I've been.

The strain of using magic had brought beads of sweat to his forehead. He sighed and for a long time was content just to sit. Then an absurd notion struck him. What if I tried to scry something I created with my imagination or saw in a dream? He smiled. Perhaps I'd be shown what my own consciousness looks like.

It was too tempting an idea to pass by. He knelt by the water once again. What shall I look for? He considered a few things, but discarded them all when he remembered his dream about the woman in the cell.

After fixing the scene in his mind, he spoke the words and watched the water intently. He waited, but nothing happened. Disappointed, he was about to release the magic when inky blackness swirled across the water, covering the surface. The image of a lone candle flickered in the darkness, brightening to illuminate a stone cell. The woman from his dream was curled up on a cot in one corner. She lifted her head, dark hair falling back, and stared directly at Eragon. He froze, the force of her gaze keeping him in place. Chills ran up his spine as their eyes locked. Then the woman trembled and collapsed limply.

The water cleared. Eragon rocked back on his heels, gasping. "This can't be." She shouldn't be real; I only dreamed about her! And how could I have scryed into a dungeon that I've never seen? He shook his head, wondering if any of his other dreams had been visions.

The rhythmic thump of Saphira's wings interrupted his thoughts. He hurried back to the clearing, arriving just as Saphira landed. Brom was on her back, as Eragon had seen, but his sword was now bloody. Brom's face was contorted; the edges of his beard were stained red. "What happened?" asked Eragon, afraid that he had been wounded.

"What happened?" roared the old man. "I've been trying to clean up your mess!" He slashed the air with the sword, flinging drops of blood along its arc. "Do you know what you did with that little trick of yours? Do you?"

"I stopped the Urgals from catching you," said Eragon, a pit forming in his stomach.

"Yes," growled Brom, "but that piece of magic nearly killed you! You've been sleeping for two days. There were twelve Urgals. Twelve. But that didn't stop you from trying to throw them all the way to Teirm, now did it? What were you thinking? Sending a rock through each of their heads would have been the smart thing to do. But no, you had to knock them unconscious so they could run away later. I've spent the last two days trying to track them down. Even with Saphira, three escaped!"

"I didn't want to kill them," said Eragon, feeling very small.

"It wasn't a problem in Yazuac."

"There was no choice then, and I couldn't control the magic. This time it just seemed…extreme."

"Extreme!" cried Brom. "It's not extreme when they wouldn't show you the same mercy. And why, oh why, did you show yourself to them?"

"You said that they had found Saphira's footprints. It didn't make any difference if they saw me," said Eragon defensively.

Brom stabbed his sword into the dirt and snapped, "I said they had probably found her tracks. We didn't know for certain. They might have believed they were chasing some stray travellers. But why would they think that now? After all, you landed right in front of them! And since you let them live, they're scrambling around the country side with all sorts of fantastic tales! This might even get back to the Empire!" He threw his hands up. "You don't even deserve to be called a Rider after this, boy." Brom yanked his sword out of the ground and stomped to the fire. He took a rag from inside his robe and angrily began to clean the blade.

Eragon was stunned. He tried to ask Saphira for advice, but all she would say was, Speak with Brom.

Hesitantly, Eragon made his way to the fire and asked, "Would it help if I said I was sorry?"

Brom sighed and sheathed his sword. "No, it wouldn't. Your feelings can't change what happened." He jabbed his finger at Eragon's chest. "You made some very bad choices that could have dangerous repercussions. Not the least of which is that you almost died. Died, Eragon! From now on you're going to have to think. There's a reason why were born with brains in our heads, not rocks."

Eragon nodded, abashed. "It's not as bad as you think, though; the Urgals already knew about me. They had orders to capture me."

Astonishment widened Brom's eyes. He stuck his unlit pipe in his mouth. "No it's not as bad as I thought. It's worse! Saphira told me you had talked with the Urgals, but she didn't mention this." The words tumbled out of Eragon's mouth as he quickly described the confrontation. "So they have some sort of leader now, eh?" questioned Brom.

Eragon nodded.

"And you just defied his wishes, insulted him and attacked his men?" Brom shook his head. "I didn't think it could get any worse. If the Urgals had been killed, your rudeness would have gone unnoticed, but now it will be impossible to ignore. Congratulations, you just made enemies with one of the most powerful beings in Alagaësia."

"All right, I made a mistake," said Eragon sullenly.

"Yes you did," agreed Brom, eyes flashing. "What has me worried, though, is who this Urgal leader is."

Shivering, Eragon asked softly, "What happens now?"

There was an uncomfortable pause.

By the light of a lamp on her bedside table, a girl in her late teens was reading. Blankets pulled up to her chin to ward off the chill of the night air, she rubbed her eyes before turning a page. Wow, he's a ranter. Turning to look at the alarm clock on the table beside, the girl sighed. It read '11.30'; she would have to go to sleep soon if she wanted to stay awake in class tomorrow.

She had felt like reading about the hero and his dragon this weekend, stealing away to her room to immerse herself in the pages for hours at a time. But now, the weekend was drawing to a close and she would have to put the book away until she had a moment to spare it. One of her favourite books, Eragon had taken a backseat to other favourites over the last few months. Seeing a light cover of dust had encouraged her to pull it down and, once she had started, it was hard to put it back down.

Sighing again, she brushed her away from where it was curling into face and turned another page.

"And you just defied his wishes, insulted him and attacked his men?" Brom shook his head. "I didn't think it could get any worse." As she read, the girl did not notice a faint stirring begin in the curtains or the canopy around her bed. "If the Urgals had been killed, your rudeness would have gone unnoticed, but now it will be impossible to ignore. Congratulations, you just made enemies with one of the most powerful beings in Alagaësia" She felt a slight breeze against her skin, warm, assuming that the central heating had come on again she continued to read.

"All right, I made a mistake," said Eragon sullenly.

"Yes you did," agreed Brom, eyes flashing. "What has me worried, though, is who this Urgal leader is." "Well, duh! Creepy shade dude Durza," she mumbled to herself. She noticed the breeze again. It was getting uncomfortably warm under her pile of blankets.

Shivering, Eragon asked softly, "What happens now?" She kicked the blankets until they were no longer past her lap. The breeze seemed stronger

There was an uncomfortable pause. The breeze suddenly became far stronger. The air became warmer, as though it were summer. The curtains and bed hangings began to flap and billow, the girl's hair blowing about her face. Dolls were lifted from their chair by the door and spun around the room in the wake of the wind, joined by the clothes from the floor and the books from their shelves, pages separating from their covers.

The girl cried out as colours began swirl around her and the light from her lamp intensified to that of spotlight. She felt dizzy, as though she were spinning too. Then, as swiftly as the rushing wind had started, it stopped. The girl found herself abruptly standing, her feet on the ground and no longer under a mound of blankets. Her head swam and she sunk to her knees, collapsing onto ground as the world went dark.

...

One should never forget: It can always get worse. Especially when you you think or say that it can't.

Please review. I would love to know what people think.