Alright, so I'm rewriting this story, since I really think that it could stand to be improved. The story itself will stay the same, I'm just adding more details and trying to make it flow better. I'll be replacing all of the chapters, but one by one as I rewrite them. It might take a while, since I don't have the books on hand and can't get dialogue straight from the text. But I'll do my best.
Enjoy. (Though it starts off a little dark).
The Fall. A terrible battle that all but exterminated the Riders.
The culprit. Galbatorix.
Traitor. Oath-breaker. Murderer.
Killer of Vrael, and murderer of many other besides.
Master of the Forsworn. Thirteen traitors to the Dragon Riders. Thirteen Riders and their dragons, following Galbatorix in his quest to destroy all that stood before him.
Enough to tip the scale.
Among the survivors of the Fall were my parents, my grandfather, and their dragons.
That was nearly one hundred years ago.
My name is Ciara, one of the last two members of the noble house Thrandurin. My grandfather and I are the only ones left in our family, as my father died shortly after I was born.
A strong and noble elf, my father was a Rider known for his egalitarian views on the races of Alagaesia. Which is why my mother was a human princess turned Rider, the elder sister of the last true king of the Broddring Kingdom, now known as the Empire, under Galbatorix's thumb. Her brother was the late King Angrenost, the last king before Galbatorix murdered his way to the crown.
After the Fall, my parents helped my grandfather and his dragon to escape, as bot of them were heavily injured. The two of them were the only members of the Council of Elders to survive the battles.
Shortly after my birth, Grandfather Oromis and his dragon, Glaedr of the Gold Scales, were the only paired dragon and Rider left. My parents left the safety of Du Weldenvarden with their dragon partners. Zenithar, my father's deep, emerald green dragon, and Turina, my mother's dragon, as blue as the sky at twilight.
The four of them left to confront Galbatorix when I was only days old, leaving me in the care of my grandfather. And in a battle that rocked the land itself, they fought to their last breaths. Leaving me alone with my aged grandfather in the endless forest.
My grandfather has raised me since birth, teaching me art, history, botany, medicine, philosophy, and about the natural world. Thanks to him, I am also quite fluent in many of the languages that dot the land. His teachings of reason and logic allow me to hold a conversation with him for hours, something not easily done. And most importantly, he also teaches me magic.
It was an accident, discovering my powerful magical talents, but not unexpected. Even without their dragons, my parents were exceptional spellcasters, and with them, they were nearly unstoppable.
Nearly…
My magic training began when I was six years old, after an incident that very nearly burned down his house. Grandfather was the only one to see the potential in me. He was the only one who cared enough to train me.
To the other elves, I am seen as something lesser, something unclean. They pretend to be above discrimination, to value equality and social niceties above all. But I suppose that those courtesies do not extend to a halfling, a half blood. The child of an elf, and a human. They avoid me as though I am something contagious, though for the most part, they do not insult me outright. However they do not need to, for the isolation that it brings is punishment enough.
At the age of ten, my life changed forever.
Grandfather was out meditating, as is his usual ritual in the middle of the day. Though he had assigned me nothing to do, and I quickly grew bored and restless.
I thought to do a good deed and take care of cleaning his house. Sweeping and dusting, rolling up scrolls and putting them back in cubbies where they belong. I continued on to laundry, making the bed, and airing out the entire house.
But as I moved some blankets to wash them, I found a chest. And though I knew that I should probably leave it be, my ten year old curiosity would not allow it.
Trying to touch it, I found a ward repelling me. My curiosity and my reason fought for dominance, my curiosity winning out. Grandfather had taught me how to make and break wards, and with a small application of magic in just the right spot, the ward holding me back disappeared.
I opened the chest to find something hard, and covered in silk cloth. After moving the cloth away, I found a beautiful green stone, about two feet long, and heavy enough that I was forced to put it on my lap to examine it.
But whatever it was, it seemed pleased to be free. The stone began vibrating and rocking in my lap, clearly desiring to be free. Knocking on it once, I hadn't expected much to happen, let alone what happened next.
It cracked.
Lines appeared on the stone, no, the egg, cracking in every direction. Pieces bobbed up and down, wobbling and wiggling, until a tiny green head poked its way out of the mess.
As pieces fell away, I realized that the stone was an egg. A dragon egg. And if it hatched for me, it could only mean one thing. As the little green creature looked up at me, peering innocently into my eyes, I reached out my hands to hold it, to pull it closer and feel its warmth. Then and there, a flash of light, and a burning sensation in both of my palms marked me.
As the flash of light cleared, I looked to my hands, which were no longer burning, and saw two identical silver shapes in them. Two halves of the same whole. A gedway ignasia, the mark of a Rider, split between my hands.
I'd turned to the dragon and begun reciting names of people, dragons, animals, plants, anything that might seem to fit him. Eventually, I came to the name Sorin, to which he gave a happy chirp.
My grandfather later found me on the floor of his house, playing with the newly hatched green dragon. And instead of berating me for breaking the ward and sneaking into his private chest, he simply sighed and announced that it was time to begin my Rider training, a day that he'd known would come since the day I was born. Since the day both of us were born.
I spent the next five years in training with my grandfather. I learned Rider lore, and a few alterations and additions to my basic lessons. But for the most part, it was training like I had always had it. Only more intense, and more coordinated to account for Sorin's presence. We quickly progressed to the highest levels of telepathy, perfected the self-awareness gained through meditation, and memorized as much Rider and dragon lore as Oromis and Glaedr could tell us.
My favorite lessons were flying lessons, something that Sorin and I could do together for hours. And after flying, my favorite lessons involved independent research into the healing arts, which I was both eager and quick to master. Transformative magic came close behind, as I found myself growing unique plants and even changing my own appearance slightly to suit me.
The elves always seemed to think that I looked too human. But I'd stopped trying to live up to their expectations, preferring to live and look the way I wanted to. Using natural pigments and a hint of magic, I'd put streaks of green and gold into my hair, which otherwise reminded me of the color of oak trees. I changed the pigments in my eyes to give them a richer hue of green, matching well with Sorin's scales.
And lastly, I devised a way to insert pigment under my skin using magic. Swirling the pigment around, I created patterns that flowed and curved with my growing body, planning to cast a spell on them to change their color according to my wishes.
Not all went to plan, as Sorin had become curious about my experiments. Curious enough that he decided that he would like to touch them. And the moment his snout touched the markings embedded in my skin, magic flowed from him into me as he accidentally cast a spell.
Over the following days and weeks, I discovered exactly what Sorin had done to me, in his youthful excitement. Instead of shifting colors according to my whim, the tattoos shifted with my emotions, changing colors along with my mood. When angry, they would turn a violent scarlet. When happy, they would lighten to an almost golden yellow. And when using particularly powerful magic, they would shine as bright a silver as my gedway ignasia. Sorin had unwittingly made me even more unique than I could have dreamed.
Coming towards the end of my training, I am the only able-bodied Rider in Alagaesia. Apart, of course, from the traitor Galbatorix. My grandfather can no longer fight as he wishes, and Glaedr, one of his legs cut off during the Fall, is crippled in his own way.
As I am a valuable, yet vulnerable piece, my grandfather opts to keep me close to him, essentially confining me to the forest of Du Weldenvarden. But I also know that it is because he does not want to see me killed like the rest of the Riders. And so, I must remain until I am older, wiser, and more powerful than I am now. All that remains for him to do is to train me in combat, something that we have avoided until now, and that I've never had an interest in learning.
The days pass quickly, and word of a new Rider has reached Grandfather's ears. He likely did not mean for me to find out so soon, but as he was telling Glaedr, Sorin overheard and informed me of the new developments.
A new Rider and dragon! Glaedr and Orimis were talking about a new Rider and dragon! And they've called the two of them here to Ellesmera!
This is certainly a development that I did not foresee. Then perhaps we aren't as alone as we thought…
According to the two of them, they're located in Farthen Dur, the dwarven capital. There was a large battle against Urgals, and against the king's army! And that's not all. Apparently, his teacher was Brom.
Brom…? Now that is a name I haven't heard in a very long time. I had the pleasure of meeting him on one occasion, when he came to visit Grandfather. He spoke plainly and bluntly, with not time for pointless small talk.
I loved it.
Unlike all of the elves who politely skirt around topics, he approached our conversations with frankness and a true equality, if something of a slight hierarchy because of my youth.
What I liked most about Brom were his stories. As I've ever been outside of the forest, I've never had the opportunity to see what has been going on in the rest of Alagaesia. His stories would give me a small hint of what the world outside of these trees is like. In fact, I've never ventured more than an hour's flight from Ellesmera, and never to the other cities. Sheltered takes on an entirely new meaning when applied to me.
My excitement grows day by day, with constant reminders from Glaedr to control my emotions, since they quite literally show on my face. As well as nearly every other part of exposed skin.
So, to keep myself calm and collected, I spend much of my time in my garden, tending to my herbs and flowers. All of the excess energy from my excitement goes towards making my plants grow and bloom, coaxing them into growing so quickly that they should soon be ready for harvest.
My garden is located at the base of the Crags of Tel'Naeir, down at the eastern edge, next to a small stream. The location is perfect, and there is enough magic in the air that the climate is well suited for growing nearly every medicinal herb and plant in the land.
It is here that I make my own home. A home in which I await the arrival of a new Rider.
