So, I've decided to actually put this up on ffn.

I, of course, own nothing but my OCs and whatever plot alterations I come up with to better weave them into the story.

Illarion/Verune thoughtspeak is in underlined/italicized font for ease of reading, all other thoughtspeak (to oneself or otherwise) is simply italicized.

I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter One Part One: From the Ashes

Illarion.

The world was dark, near silent; the only sound filtering into his awareness was the steady, rhythmic beating of his own heart. In the recesses of his mind, he could feel the presence of another touching against his consciousness but this time made no effort to fend it off. He knew this one could be trusted. After all, the bond of a Rider and his dragon was strong… and theirs was stronger than any other. They were one, two halves of the same whole. They simply…

Were.

Illarion!

Illarion awoke with a start, shooting up, his hand instantly finding the dagger he kept on him at all times, strapped to his thigh. His breathing was labored, sweat causing his black hair to stick to his scalp and forehead. Cold, stormy grey eyes searched for some indication of what had woken him, but upon finding no large living things within his line of vision save the horse, he relaxed ever so slightly, replacing the dagger, and fell back against the ground. As his back touched the hard surface, a twinge of pain shot through him, and he allowed himself a moment of weakness, reveling in it. He could feel something warm and sticky causing his shirt to cling to his back, and cursed softly at the realization that his injury had reopened.

This damn thing is never going to heal, he thought as he shoved himself into a sitting position once more, running a hand through his damp hair.

Illarion – or Rion, as he was known by most – was a jack of all trades. However, his skillset wasn't exactly the most legal of things. He was a thief, an assassin, a conman. And the pale, black-haired male of nineteen wasn't at all ashamed about what he did. After all, he was the best of the best, or so it was said. He wasn't one to brag, he simply accepted things for how they were.

However, he was, at that moment in time, having a bit of trouble dealing with the reality of his current situation. He had recently escaped imprisonment, and during said escape he had decided to make the best out of a bad situation and stole something - something that was on its way to the king himself, if rumours were to be believed. Though it just looked like a polished stone to him, an ashy grey color. Why it was so important was beyond him. But the fact of the matter was that it was his now, and would no doubt fetch a fair price on the market.

First, he would have to tend to his wounds.

With a decent amount of effort, he stripped his simple shirt off of his torso, wincing at the throbbing and oozing of blood that came from his back. He had been beaten and whipped raw, after all in Gil'ead they didn't take kindly to thievery… or murder, for that matter. He reached over to his satchel, pulling out a roll of bandages. They would have to last until he could make it back to Palancar Valley. Slowly, he began wrapping it around his torso, covering all that he could. When he had finished, he stretched out his leg and wrapped his knee as well, hoping to once more ease the dull ache of an old injury he'd sustained several years before.

He balled up his bloodied shirt and stuck it into the pack, taking out and donning another. Satisfied that he had done all he could, he raised himself to his full height, and bent down to grab the satchel, being careful to put the majority of his weight onto his left, uninjured leg, and hobbled hover to the blue roan mare he now "owned".

"Hey girl," he said softly, touching a hand to her black snout. His voice came out a tad bit raspier than he would have liked, but he paid it no mind. He had gone without much water, or much speaking, for far longer than he was trained to. He was relieved to know that he was able to withstand such things, though he dearly hoped he wouldn't have to deal with that again any time soon.

The mare nickered at his touch, pushing into his hand, and a ghost of a smile touched his sharp features. He chuckled softly, and took in a breath, reaching out with his mind. In his homeland, he was accustomed to more intelligent steeds, but this one would have to do. He eased his way into the mare's mind, soothing her when she began to paw at the ground, projecting images into her head of what he was going to do, where they would go, and asking her to remain by his side. After a sense of confirmation, he withdrew and slid the strap of his satchel onto his body, wincing as it crossed over his back, and swung himself onto the horse. He rode without tack, the only thing keeping him in control of the horse besides his mind was a few leather strips that fashioned a simple sort of bridle that went around the snout of the horse, makeshift reins attached to the snout-piece.

Illarion hummed softly as he directed the mare, whom he decided upon calling Erisda, toward his home in Palancar Valley. He hadn't been there very long, only a few months, but he rather enjoyed the small town of Carvahall and its inhabitants. He made his home in the Spine, the strange forest the townsfolk openly feared. He didn't understand why people were so cautious of the place. It was teeming with latent magic, and seemed to have a sinister aura, but as long as one respected the forest one would not be injured within its expanse by anything that resided there. It was nothing compared to the place in which he was raised, but it reminded him of the forest of Du Weldenvarden that was his true home.

Yes, Illarion was an elf. Or, rather, half-elf. He was unsure of the origin of his late mother, but presumed she had been human. He had been raised by his father deep in the heart of Du Weldenvarden, the massive trees providing much-needed isolation from others, no matter the race. There, he had learned the workings of magic and how to wield it, how to shield his mind from others, and turn their own against them. The Ancient Language was what he had learned from the age of a child, and he knew it well.

It didn't take him long to reach the town, having already made it rather far. Only a day or so passed, and he found himself back in Carvahall. It was dark, but he needed treatment. The wounds on his back would not heal easily on their own, and he refused to use magic to heal himself. With a brush of his mind, he halted Erisda and dismounted, biting back a cry of pain as he landed on his bad leg, his knee almost giving out on him. He swiftly put most of his weight on his left leg, jaw clenched as he mentally berated himself for his stupidity. He told Erisda to stay out of sight, putting the satchel on her neck, and made his way to Gertrude's house, gently knocking on the door as he leaned against the house for support. He knew the blood had seeped through the bandages by now, though he wasn't certain how bad it was.

Another knock, and he was rewarded with the voice of an irritated Gertrude.

"Coming, coming!"

Illarion smiled slightly, running a hand through his hair and making sure the onyx locks covered the tapered ends of his ears before the woman came to the door.

The door flew open, and the woman immediately began to berate him. "What could possibly be so important that I be awoken at this god-awful hour-" she cried, but halted her words when she saw who it was before her.

"Rion," she said apologetically, knowing the moment she laid eyes on him that he required her aid. "I apologize, I didn't realize… come in, please."

Illarion nodded his thanks and made his way into the house, limping over to the nearest stool and seating himself in it. "I'm terribly sorry for bothering you at such a late hour," he said, his voice soft and somewhat scratchy. He cleared his throat to be rid of the rasp, and continued again in his typical harmonious tone. "But I was unsure whom I could turn to for help."

"You know I'm more than willing," Gertrude said, a warm smile touching her lips. "What ails you?"

Illarion shifted, and winced. "I had a run-in with some people down in Gil'ead," he murmured, uncomfortable with telling her the whole truth. "I did not fare well." There were few secrets between the two, as he was not only her apprentice of sorts, but she had been the one to find him initially, battered and broken from a fight with Urgals, unconscious for nearly a week afterward while he healed.

The woman sighed and shook her head. "You're always getting into trouble, aren't you?" she muttered, exasperated. "Let me see."

"I have many enemies, Gertrude," Illarion replied, turning his back to her as he removed his simple shirt, seeing that, much to his surprise, the blood had yet to ooze into the material.

Gertrude said nothing, and simply stripped him of the bandages, cutting through them.

Illarion heard a quiet gasp at the sight of his wounds, and he sighed inaudibly. He had known it would be bad, but the woman's reaction painted it in a worse light. However, as per their agreement, she asked nothing of it and got right to work. They made quiet conversation to keep his mind off the pain, and though he could have handled that himself he was grateful for the distraction.

By the time Gertrude was finished, light was filtering in through the windows.

"Thank you," Illarion said as he stood after putting on his shirt once more, inclining his head and pressing two fingers to his lips, a sign to indicate that he was in her debt.

In response, she smacked him upside the head. He raised an eyebrow, looking at her questioningly.

"Don't act like you're in my debt, I did for you exactly what I would've done for anyone else." she informed him. "Now go, I need my rest. And so do you, though I doubt you'll listen to me." And with that, she all but shoved him out the door, closing it behind him.

Illarion stood there a moment before turning around to look out at the town. The soft morning light painted the buildings in warm hues, and he felt a brief pang of homesickness.

Soon.

Soon he would be able to go back home… if there was any home left to go back to.

He sighed and walked out into the pathway, searching for Erisda with his mind, calling to her when he found her. She trotted over, and he patted her neck, retrieving his pack and swinging up onto her back. With a simple thought, he directed her toward the outer edges of the Spine, passing by several people on his way, nodding in greeting.

Upon reaching the house in the tree where he lived, Illarion dismounted, gathered his things, and headed up the smooth stairs. He smiled to himself, running a hand along the railing he had sung from the tree. It was a small house considering the fact that the trees in the Spine were nowhere near as old and stable as the ones in Du Weldenvarden, but it served its purpose.

He sat in the lone chair at the table, taking the sleek, ash grey stone out of the pack and placing it on the table. There was something… strange about it. Otherworldly, almost. He stared at it a moment before picking it up, turning it over in his hands, eyes tracing the black spider web veins on its surface. It was light. Too light.

Illarion…

A sudden realization hit him, and he almost dropped the thing at his whispered name in the deepest recesses of his mind, grey eyes widening in shock. Could it be…? No. No, it couldn't there was no possible way. Had the voice in his mind, the presence brushing against his defenses, could it had come from the stone?

Though… it would make sense. The king wanted to gather all the eggs, after all. But… then why had it been so easy to steal?

Illarion sighed and placed it back on the table. "Well," he said aloud. "I suppose all I can do is wait."

And so he did.

It didn't take very long, much to his surprise.

At noon on the second day, Illarion returned to his tree-sung home to find the stone – or, egg, he supposed it was – shaking in its place on the table, a soft squeaking coming from within. He threw his satchel at his bed and all but sprinted over to the grey object, watching as a piece of the shell broke off, revealing an eye as grey as his own. He stepped back in shock as the small dragon broke free from its dark prison, shaking off the remnants of the shell. The dragon was an ash grey in color, specks of darker and lighter shades littering its scales, spider web veins of black stretching across the wing membranes and from its nose to the tip of its tail. Three small black horns sat upon its snout, curving back slightly, the longest of which resided at the end. A crown of five horns – two on each side, and one in the middle – stretched from the back of the dragon's head, the outer once on each side spiraling like those of a ram, the rest curving back and in toward the dragon's neck ever-so-slightly, backward-curving spikes trailing down the length of its spine, with a decent amount of space between spikes at the meeting of neck and body. A serrated blade extended from the end of the dragon's tail, which whipped around frantically as the small dragon took in its surroundings. Finally, it turned its eyes upon Illarion.

Illarion simply stared at the dragon, feeling a gentle caress against his mind. He reached out a hand, some unknown force compelling him to touch the small creature, and the moment his pale flesh met with the grey scales of the snout of the dragon – his dragon – his fate was sealed by a searing pain in his right palm. He clenched his jaw and soon the pain subsided. He turned his hand over, revealing a silvery glowing spiral on his palm, with lines of silver tracing his veins extending from the mark up. Upon moving his sleeve out of the way, he found the lines faded after reaching his shoulder. The appearance of the dragon was altered slightly as well, the black lines on its body becoming a lightning yellow the farther they extended.

Grey eyes met grey, the two watching each other for a long while before the new Rider felt a gentle caress against his mind. Instinctively, he lowered his guard and allowed the dragon in, the two mingling freely within the safety of their minds.

Illarion…

The half-elf stiffened at the sound of his name once more, his breath catching in his throat.

Illarion, the dragon repeated, a tone of happiness touching its thought-speak. Rider.

It had been nearly half a year since the ash dragon, named Verune, had hatched for the half-elf Illarion, and in that time the two had forged a strong bond. Somehow, Illarion had managed to keep her hidden in the Spine, out of sight of everyone. But now…

Now, something was wrong. He could feel it in the air. And his dragon's words only proved him right.

The farm boy you call "friend", Eragon… something has happened.

Illarion paused in his brushing of Erisda, concerned, but soon resumed when he remembered he was among others.

What are you talking about, Verune? What did you sense? he questioned, feeling a hint of dread beginning to creep into his mind.

There… there is another egg. Verune whispered in his thoughts, her concern brushing against his own and mingling as she projected images into his mind. It has hatched for him… another female… I found her in the Spine. Apparently, Eragon had the same thoughts as you.

Illarion stiffened. It was one thing for him to hide a dragon in the Spine, as he knew the forest nearly as well as he knew Du Weldenvarden. He knew what could and could not be done within the treeline. The boy, Eragon… he was young, inexperienced, and would get not only himself but the dragon killed.

I must speak with him, he decided, putting the brush down. He had ridden into Carvahall with the intent of delivering some herbs to Gertrude – he was still technically her apprentice, after all – but it would seem he had other, more urgent things to attend do. He cast out his mind in all directions, hoping to find the boy in the town. And, miraculously, he was there. Talking to the storyteller Brom, of all things.

Illarion bit his lip, indecision clouding his mind. He desperately needed to speak with Eragon, but he could not do so now without arousing suspicion from Brom. With a glance down at his gloved right hand, he sighed and exited the stable, making his way to Gertrude's house. He had time, and the herbs needed to be delivered. He only hoped that the woman would not insist he stay for a while.

Much to Illarion's relief, Gertrude was not in the mood for talking, and so after receiving the herbs dismissed him almost immediately. With a slight limp – his leg was bothering him today, most likely due to the weather – he made his way toward Brom's home. Eragon rushed out and nearly ran into the older male, apologizing profusely.

"Be calm, Eragon," Illarion said soothingly. "I was actually looking for you… I need to speak with you."

Eragon looked confused, but the half-elf simply gestured for him to follow as he walked off, heading toward where Verune was with the small dragon that had hatched for Eragon.

"It's come to my understanding that you have found some sort of… stone." Illarion said as they walked, his grey eyes sliding over to look at the younger boy, who had noticeably stiffened, looking mildly uncomfortable.

Illarion, the young one is growing restless. She will call out for her Rider soon if you do not hurry. Verune's voice echoed in his mind, her tone urgent. Make this quick, My Arrow. We do not have much time. Not as much as I would have liked to have for this.

Illarion hated to admit it, but his partner-of-heart-and-mind was right. Eragon had not yet spoken, waiting for the older male to continue. "I would like to see it, if you would allow me." he finished, looking at the farm boy expectantly.

Eragon's blue eyes would not meet his own grey ones, and even if he had not had Verune to confirm it, he would have known that the boy's next words were lies.

"I… I do not have it anymore," Eragon said hesitantly. "It seemed more trouble than it was worth, and I could not trade it for meat from Sloan."

Illarion stopped walking, sighing and shaking his head. "I'm disappointed in you, Eragon. Have I taught you nothing of the art of deceit? Not even an old man would believe such lies. Now tell me, boy, where have you kept it?"

Eragon seemed as if he was going to start panicking at any moment, and Illarion had to admit that he had been rather tactless with conveying his point. "Please, Eragon… we are friends, are we not? And in return, I will let you in on a little secret I've been keeping myself." he added, almost pleadingly. He knew naught what was going through the young Rider's mind at that moment, though he could all but see the gears turning within his head. Eragon could trust him, Illarion had never given him any reason not to.

"Fine," Eragon replied finally, though he didn't sound too happy about it. "Under one condition – you must swear to not reveal anything I show you, to anyone. Not without my permission."

Illarion suppressed a grin. "I swear. And I ask you to do the same, as my secret is of great importance." he said easily.

Eragon nodded and repeated the words that had rolled off his friend's tongue so effortlessly, and Illarion could do nothing but hope that the boy would keep his word. After all, half-elf had much to lose.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, the atmosphere between the two now tense as Eragon took point, leading Illarion to where the small dragon was hidden.

We are close. The half-elf informed Verune, and he was rewarded with a rumble of acknowledgement.

I will come when you call, she replied, and he sensed her travel deeper into the Spine.

Soon, Eragon reached the treeline, and motioned for Illarion to follow him into the forest, which the older male did willingly. When they eventually stopped in the center of a clearing, he knew the boy was calling out to his own dragon.

A flash of blue shot out from the trees, the scaled creature peering up at Illarion, who had been removing his gloves while Eragon was otherwise occupied. She was larger than he had expected, about the size of a small horse, and no doubt intelligent enough by now to understand anything he may say to her.

The half-elf knelt down on one knee before the dragon, inclining his head and extending his right hand, palm up, in a sign of greeting. "Eka aí fricai un Shur'tugal." he murmured, his words being said both aloud and just inside the mind of both the young dragon and her Rider.

Eragon's eyes widened, and even the dragon looked surprised. So you are the Rider of the one whom I sensed. The blue dragon said in both Illarion's mind and Eragon's as she came closer to examine the mark of the Rider, intrigued by the silvery lines extending from it and tracing his veins. Rise, Shur'tugal. You owe no honor to me, I am no more than a hatchling. My name is Saphira. What is yours?

"Illarion Naeiirsson," the half-elf replied.

And your dragon?

As Illarion was about to reply, Eragon found his voice, interrupting the conversation between the two. "Wait," he exclaimed, rounding to face his friend. "You're a Rider?! How long were you going to keep this hidden from me?!"

Illarion winced at the accusatory tone in the younger boy's voice. "I apologize," he said slowly, thinking about how he wanted to word this. "But I was hesitant to inform anyone. You are the first whom I have told, and I don't intend for anyone else to learn of this either, at least not until I decide my path."

"But-"

"My secrets are my own, Eragon." The older male snapped in reply, cutting off whatever the farm boy was about to say. "I am sorry for not letting you in on this sooner, but believe me when I say that I would have told you eventually. You are like a brother to me."

Eragon paused, and soon nodded in understanding. "May I… may I see your dragon?" he asked softly, as if hesitant to ask anything of the older male.

Illarion allowed a smile to pass over his sharp features. "Of course." he said sweetly, reaching out with his mind and calling upon Verune. It didn't take long for the dragon to appear before them, wings pressed tightly against her back as wound her way through the trees and into the clearing they stood in.

A full-blown grin found its way to Illarion's lips and he walked over to her. She was rather large at just over six months old, her shimmery grey scales, with their darker and lighter flecks, reflecting the sunlight streaming through the trees beautifully. She extended her wings to stretch them out and be rid of cramps, the black veins trailing across them as they turned yellow, a permanent reminder of the bond they shared. She looked much the same as she did months ago when she had first hatched for him, the only noteworthy difference besides her size being that she had a thin but comfortable saddle strapped to her, where her Rider could sit in the alcove where her neck and body met – the very same place that, when she had hatched, Illarion had noted would most likely be the most practical location for him to sit when she was old enough to ride.

Hello again, My Arrow. Verune said softly, bringing her head down to rest the tip of her slightly-beak-like nose against her Rider's forehead. He hummed in appreciation as he laid a hand on her jaw, smirking somewhat at her nickname for him.

The moment over, she retracted her head and swiveled her neck to place her eyes upon Eragon and the dragon Saphira. Greetings, she said inside their minds, her piercing grey eyes - the same shade as Illarion's - looking at the two of them in turn. My name is Verune. It is wonderful to finally meet you, Eragon; my Rider has told me much about you, his bond-brother.

Eragon, awestruck, simply bowed his head in acknowledgement, and the ash dragon turned her attention to Saphira.

Saphira, she said sweetly, bringing her head down to the smaller dragon's level. I hope you and I will become friends, bonded as our Riders are. I look forward to our first battle together. May our enemies quiver in fear before us.

The sapphire dragon seemed happy to hear the older drake's words. It would be an honor to fight at your side one day, Claw-Sister-Verune.

Illarion sighed softly, resting his weight against Verune's neck, sitting backward in her saddle as he looked up at the sky while they flew. It was a calm day, the weather was rather nice for once. He wished they could stay like this forever, not a care in the world. But of course, it was not to be.

The half-elf shot upright like an arrow fired from a sung yew bow as a roar echoed around the area.

Saphira! he called out, extending his mental reach as he positioned himself correctly in the saddle and Verune took off as fast as her wings could take her.

Illarion, Saphira's mind touched his own and he immediately let her in, opening his mind so Verune could hear the younger dragon's words as well. Stay away from the town. Two men… no, two creatures are in Carvahall, searching for my egg – or rather, the stone Eragon found in the Spine. You are both in danger, as well as my Rider. You cannot be seen, it would mean death for us all.

Illarion cursed under his breath and Verune stopped her breakneck flight toward Eragon's farm. We heard your roar, the ash dragon projected toward her sapphire Claw-Sister. Why would you alert everyone within hearing to your presence?

I… Eragon will not listen. He insisted upon returning to his uncle's house, and I could not stop him. You both were too far away for me to reach... Saphira responded sheepishly, as if just then realizing the error of her actions.

What's done is done. I will take My Arrow to the farm, and meet you in the Spine. You may need my assistance should those egg-breakers decide to fight a dragon alone… they will be in for a surprise. Verune said with a wicked tone to her words, a hint of amusement shining through.

With that, mental contact with the blue dragon was broken, leaving ash drake and her rider alone with their thoughts as they altered course to arrive at the farm Eragon called home.

The sight of smoldering wood and ash that greeted them as Verune landed was far from what they had wished to see. Illarion dismounted before Verune's claws even touched the ground, biting back a cry of pain as he landed heavily. He had to ignore that for now, and hope his leg did not give out on him. "Eragon!" he called, projecting his mental voice out as well, searching for the brunet youth. When he found the younger Rider, Eragon was unconscious and Illarion himself was finding his vision becoming clouded with red as the pain in his leg threatened to encompass him. He got over to the other male as fast as his injury would allow, and immediately began looking for a way to carry him. He glanced back at Verune to see the ash dragon dipping into the Spine and out of sight just as he heard voices coming from the road to Carvahall.

"Help!" the half-elf cried out, trying to carry Eragon farther from the building that had been reduced to cinder, but only able to drag him as he could not find the strength to pick up the other Rider. He saw Baldor sprinting over to them and relief washed over him before he finally succumbed to the searing darkness of pain and saw no more.

Chapter One Part One: From the Ashes - Complete

Eka aí fricai un Shur'tugal - I am a Rider and a friend

It's already partially written, and I know where things will be going. Everything will make sense in time, but if you have questions, do not hesitate to ask. I will do my best to answer them.

If you want to see more in the future, let me know. Leave a review, or maybe even favourite the story. It would mean a lot. Thank you!

Until next we meet,

-DTW