Hey everyone! I just wanted to let you know this fanfic is movie-based (though it does take place after the movie). I just felt the movie left things so much more open-ended so I could work with them easier. So sorry that the movie messed the book's plot up but I promise this fanfic won't be awful.

Idril should meet up with the characters from Eragon extremely soon (like next chapter!), I promise.

Chapter Two

The Treasure

Idril was contemplating the short poem she had read on the wall. A treasure? More precious than gold? Whatever it was, it could be her one shot to get away from all the thieving and a painful past. Idril was determined to find that treasure, sell it, and take the money to buy herself a small farm. There was just one problem: where was it?

Idril looked all over the cave. She eventually even made her way back to where she set up the fire earlier. It was no where to be found. Granted, she had been looking for a treasure chest or some other fantastic article, so it wasn't all that likely she'd find it in the first place.

She thought back to the poem. "For the right soul to unwind." Maybe the treasure just wasn't meant for her. Idril quickly gave up on finding this 'richer than gold' item. She realized her fantasy was ridiculous anyways. The seventeen-year-old knew she couldn't 'settle down' on a farm. She couldn't even spend more than one night in a single location. With her father still out there, she'd never rest.

The thought of this exhausted her. She sat down near her fire, which was just embers now, and sighed. Her lack of zeal for things had always gotten her in trouble. She distinctly remembered her father slapping her in the face a couple of times for such a vice. Why should she bother to look for this treasure? It wasn't like she'd ever find it. She was a failure, just as her father so often told her.

Idril suddenly felt tired. Perhaps it was all the running and the falling and the sighing. She glanced outside. It was dark and the only source of light was the moon and the dying embers. She looked behind her at the wall of the cave. There was a small boulder lying against the wall. The perfect pillow for the imperfect thief.

Idril inched her way along the dirt floor to the rock. Immediately as she leaned her arm on the stone, it gave way. For such a large rock it moved so easily. So much for her pillow. Idril wasn't paying attention to gravelly floor where the boulder had been previously. She just attempted to lay her head down to the ground.

She couldn't. There was something there. Some sort of smooth-surfaced, cold, and rounded object. The drowsiness from all the running was just too much to bear. Idril pushed the object aside, yawned, and fell asleep.

Idril awoke just after sunrise. She yawned and stretched her arms over her hand. As she brought her arms back down to her side, her fingers brushed against a chilled surface. Idril jolted awake and was teaming with curiosity. She immediately looked down at the object that she had pushed away last night.

It was oval and shiny. The surface seemed to be marble-colored, white with gray streaks every here and there. At first, Idril believed it to be just another strange rock (there were apparently so many in this forest!), but as she looked closer she realized what this was. A dragon egg.

Memories flooded back to her.

Idril's father led her down a long corridor. Every so often the two would pass a door, which was always guarded by some type of personnel, and continued. Idril thought this hall would never end. A nine-year-old's mind can only be attentive to one thing for a short period of time. She was undoubtedly bored. She started playing a game she liked to call 'Don't Step on the Cracks,' where she did her best to avoid the cracks in between the stones on the floor. As a result, Idril slowed down considerably to steer clear of the cracks.

"Idril, hurry up!" Her father sounded angry as his eyes stared deep into her. She suddenly didn't have the same will to play 'Don't Step on the Cracks' anymore. Idril ran to catch up with her father. When she did, she held her hand out and tried to grasp her father's hand. He noticed and quickly stepped away. Idril looked down and pouted.

Before long, Idril and her father had arrived at their destination. The end of the corridor. Here, there was a large door with ancient language written above it. Two guards stood at either side of the wooden door, each with a spear in their hands. Idril's father nodded to them and turned his attention back to the door. The door suddenly opened. In walked Idril and her father.

There were three things inside this room. A pedestal, a purple and gold pillow, and an oval-shaped object. The object was resting on the pillow and the pillow was resting on the pedestal. This day was getting stranger for Idril by the minute.

Her father directed Idril to the pedestal. "Do you know what this is, Idril?" Idril looked at the object and saw nothing special. Just a red stone.

"A rock, Father?"

"It's not just a rock, Idril. It's a dragon egg." Idril knew exactly what that was. Her father had always made sure to tell her bedtime stories about dragons and their Riders. "Go ahead, Idril, pick it up." There was something in her father's tone she had never heard before. Anticipation. Idril inched toward the egg and reached a hand out to touch it.

The surface was cold. Idril picked up the egg and held it close to her face. While she was inspecting it, her father stood behind her, looking very angry. "I thought for sure you would be the one." He grunted, walked towards his little daughter, and took the egg away from her. Idril was angry, but she didn't say anything for fear of what her father would do to her. He carefully placed the egg back upon the pillow and turned to face Idril. "Let's go. This was a waste of time. You're a waste of time."

It was as if someone had stabbed her in the heart. Waste of time! Waste of time? I'll show you who is a waste of time! She wanted revenge and she wanted it now. Of all the terrible things her father had said to her, that was by far the worst. She never really was quite the same afterwards. She distanced herself away from her father and mother. She built a wall around her heart. She wouldn't let anything trouble her. She was the ghost of a person.

It was two days after the egg incident that Idril had seen her mother lying on the floor, eyes wide in surprise and dull. Idril hadn't really ever seen a dead person, but as soon as she saw her mother something in her brain just clicked. Her mother was dead. Idril had died inside. She didn't even cry at her beloved mother's death. She did nothing but build up hatred for her father, the killer.

This egg could change her past. She could start over. If the egg wasn't meant for her (she was almost positively sure it wasn't), she could sell it or trade it for something. And if all else failed, she'd take it to the elves in Ellesméra, who would offer her a large sum of gold and make sure the egg wouldn't fall into the hands of Galbatorix.

Idril had determined to take the dragon egg with her when she left the confines of the cave. She carefully grabbed the egg and placed it in her satchel. Idril then stood up, made sure she hadn't left anything in the cave, and walked into the daylight. The sun was so bright that Idril had to raise a hand over her eyebrow to deflect it. The sky was a beautiful, clear blue and the clouds were fluffy and small. Today would turn out to be a wonderful day. No rain, no hail, no thunder. This all meant Idril could enjoy a nice walk through the forest.

As the sun was high in the sky, Idril sat under the shade of the tree. It was hot and she was tired. She nibbled on a chunk of bread while she pulled the oval egg out of her brown leather satchel.

The dragon egg really was beautiful. She could tell the dragon inside would be too. Idril found herself fantasizing about the creature. She sat there for almost an hour dreaming about what it would be like to be a Dragon Rider, to soar above the clouds, to have such power. After these fantasies, Idril knew she loved the egg. She wouldn't let it go for anything. Not treasure, or riches. It was hers. Truly hers.

As Idril suddenly realized she'd spent far too long staring at an egg, she placed the dragon on the pine-needled floor. She reached in her bag to put the rest of her bread away. When she had finished, she turned to the egg to do the same.

Idril gasped. She'd never thought this could happen to her. She never imagined something so great could happen to her, the daughter of an evil man. The egg was shaking. The dragon was trying to stick its little head out in the world. This could only mean one thing. Idril was a Dragon Rider. And this was her dragon.

Idril helped the baby dragon hatch. She pulled away bits and pieces from the egg until the dragon could move around freely. The dragon's scales were mainly white, but every so often the color would switch to gold in one scale. Its eyes were big, gold, and filled with curiosity. There was a tuft of what seemed like white hair atop its head. The little guy couldn't have been bigger than Idril's two hands. It was maybe the cutest, most beautiful thing she'd ever seen in her life.

Idril was eager to pet the dragon. She leaned a hand towards it and the dragon complied. Her hand just barely tapped the dragon's head when a blinding light shot out in all directions. Pain shot up through Idril's hand. She winced.

Soon both the light and the pain had faded. However, a strange symbol had appeared on Idril's right hand. It was a dragon in a swirled shape burned into her skin. Idril suddenly remembered her father speaking to her about this burn mark. Didn't he say something about all the other Dragon Riders would know if you touched your dragon for the first time? If that was the case, Idril had to move, and she had to move quickly.

The young Dragon Rider picked up the egg shells (she didn't want her presence to be known) and whispered to her dragon, "Come on, little one. We have to hurry." She picked up her dragon and lightly placed him in her satchel. She quickly looked down and smiled at it before standing up and taking off.

A man sitting in a rather large chair called to his servant. "Durza…would you like to explain to me HOW THIS HAPPENED!" Durza shrank away from his master.

"The egg…it was ancient. Most didn't even believe it existed. It was supposed to be hidden so well that only the one who concealed it could find it."

"And yet, Durza, here we are. You have failed me yet again. First, you let the farm boy have an egg, then the very same boy killed you and I had to bring you back, and thirdly, this egg has been found too! I am beginning to doubt your competence." Durza kept his head hanging lowly.

"Forgive me, Master. I have not properly healed from the farm boy's little act of courage." Durza spit the words 'farm boy' out with such contempt that it sounded almost like a serpent hissing. The man in the chair was silent. He let out a sigh.

"I shall give you one task. If you should fail this as well, I'll kill you myself. You wouldn't be brought back. You are to find this Rider and bring him to me. Understand?" Durza nodded and turned on his heel. "Oh, and Durza?" The shade turned to face his king. "Make another excuse and I'll run my sword straight through your heart." Durza nodded again, this time a bit more frightened. He turned away and exited the room.

An eighteen-year-old woke in a slightly large room located in the Varden. He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until the pain in his hand made him arouse. He sat up and stared down at his hand. Slowly, he began to understand what was happening as the sleep lifted off of him. His dragon, Saphira, was lying in the corner next to black-haired young man. The man was two years older than his friend who had just awoken, and was sharpening a knife. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. That wound really must have hand an effect on you to be sleeping at noon."

Eragon rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Murtagh, there's a new Dragon Rider. We have to go find him before Galbatorix does." Eragon instantly stood but Murtagh just sat, staring at his younger friend.

"We have plenty of time, Eragon. Durza is dead and the Urgals with him. What trouble could possibly find the Rider before us?"

"Trust me, Murtagh; Riders have a way of finding trouble in the strangest of places."