A/N: Hello there! (Kvetha Fricaya.) This is actually the remake of one of my Eragon fanfictions that was written under the penname of "Fasura". I'm still going by that, mind. Thanks for rejuvenating this thought goes to my mom, to whom this story wouldn't exhist without. This is more of a prologue than anything...

Keep in mind that I write for reviews, it'd be awesome to get one from you. No matter what you have to say about it, please take the time to tell me your mind on this. Flames will be used to kindle my new sword.

Warning, major Eldest spoilers ahead!

Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon or any of the characters in it. The only character that I really own as of now is Joden...

Chapter 1

Joden rolled the quill between his fingers, unknowingly creating a hole in the parchment he had been gazing at for the longest time. It was the layout of King Galbatorix's castle, from the massive entrance hall to the basement, where many thin lines depicted the dungeon's many cells. The parchment was completed with a blackened brand of the twisting flame of Galbatorix, a sign that it was the property of the King's.

A thick black line, alien to the rest of the fine ink marks that adorned the leaf, circled around a vast room that was to the western flank of the bulk of the castle, a standalone room that none of the servants or housekeepers were allowed to visit and tidy. That had to be the place were the dragon was. Shruikan.

It was said that Galbatorix's dragon was the size of a mountain, his limbs as thick as trees and fangs the length of a fully-grown man. He was the shadow that kept the common folk wondering about their so-called "benevolent" monarch. What if Galbatorix would really live for all eternity?

The elf knew, it wouldn't be a world he would want to see. Even though the monarch was due to die sometime. (No Rider can live forever.) He would have already planted yet another evil man-monster onto his bloodstained throne. It was time to put an end to it, all of it.

There was only one egg left now, the rumors said, and the news from Islanzadí confirmed. He'd been as shocked as anyone else at the notion that another egg had hatched, and Galbatorix already had his claws into the young Rider. It made him furious. It made him want to take action…

With an aggravated sigh, Joden removed his dagger from its sheath and slammed it down on the chamber he was sure held Shruikan, causing more damage to the already mangled parchment. The small diamond on its pommel shimmered in the dying light from the oil lamp, which was about to give the elf its last bit of energy. "There." The elf breathed.

It was there that the last egg in the land. Under the watchful eye of what he believed to be the last dragon of the olden days, his dragon. Didn't it make sense? Galbatorix had his most powerful ally, the one he could trust the most, guard the valuable possession after Saphira's egg had been stolen. It was reckless to pursue it, but if the dragon inside hatched for any other of Galbatorix's half minded servants, it would be a three to one deal for the Varden and its allies.

Joden was currently in the castle's second level, in a suite that was fit for one of high royal standing. He was supposed to be one of those, an elf with high standings with the King himself, but was actually hoodwinking the man. It started when his memories were bent and twisted quite dramatically on the outside in Ellesméra by powerful magicians that knew what they were doing. Galbatorix had only looked at the outer shell of his memories, not delved more deeply into them. Too much cockiness coming from the man, even though he probably believed at the time that he could crush Joden like a beetle if the elf turned out to be a traitor.

And the oath that he took was careless at best. The ability of an elf to tell the partial truth, but not the whole, worked to his advantage when the line of: "I will not aim to kill you, and by my honor as an elf do pledge everlasting loyalty to you, Galbatorix." And it turned into this, which was still partly true: "I do not aim to kill you directly, and by my honor as an elf, do pledge everlasting loyalty to your land, Galbatorix."

It might seem like a big change on the outside, but it was really a couple of words switched and flipped. First order of business in his everlasting loyalty to the land that Galbatorix had mercilessly abused, and to the people that still tried to live in the existence of the King, was to steal the last egg.

Even if the plan he'd worked out in the time he'd had failed, Joden wasn't going to be a complete loss. (But the fine pin's point that the elves were on with Galbatorix would take a spin, no new elves would be trusted the way that Joden had been.) He'd revealed the names and faces of a small group of elves that had done the unthinkable, turned to the monarch's side. The called themselves the Shadow Hand, a group of elves that believed they had more power with Galbatorix.

Joden himself had been taken into the ranks of the Shadow Hand with open arms. It almost sickened him to revulsion at the thought that his own kind turned to the enemy for what they believed was power. Power was what Galbatorix had, the power to make a troupe of elves think they had him as an ally. Power was what Galbatorix often showed, in his true allies, Durza being the best example of it. The Shade had been the King's right-hand man, and had some of the so-called power himself.

In all seriousness, how many spell casters were out there that could control a great mass of Urgals, all from different clans, to fight together as one entity?

Galbatorix deserved what he got from the Urgals, when the turned to the Varden to help fight against him.

Blindly did the Shadow Hand serve the King, blabbing everything they knew that would interest him. He knew nothing of Oromis and Glaedr though-thank the heavens themselves-seeing as those elves that were blind enough to stumble to Galbatorix were also those that had been deemed too blind to know of the Rider's existence. Those who did, like Joden, had sworn to never tell of it anyway, no elven word trickery involved. And that was the memory the spell casters had spent the most time rewriting.

He was, indeed, leading those elves by a string now. Their identities were known, and no new information of the happenings of Du Weldenvarden would ever reach their ears again.

Joden gave the well-studied map one last glance before ripping his dagger back out of the parchment and putting it back onto its place. The light of his lamp gave out, just as he was pulling a black tunic over his regular one, and looking around the room for anything, anything at all, that he could wear that was black.

A wicked smile replaced his thoughtful look as his gaze fell upon the black sheet, which looked even darker in the gloom to his sharp elven eyes. Perfect. The gentle ring of metal on sheath foreshadowed the sheet's demise.

A shadow moved across the gaps between the torches' glowing fires, not making a sound as he went. Slowly did Joden slip down the stairs and into a passageway that had been well trampled by servants and, perhaps, one very large dragon. The black sheet had served its purpose well; its tattered bits covered the elf's outer clothing perfectly…

It was there, in the passageway, that he had the most trouble sticking to black points, as the torches mounted both sides and magically enchanted fires glowed from the inside of their gilded chandeliers.

This path wound around the western half of the castle, and would eventually be the trail that leads him to Shruikan's nest. It was too easy; Joden knew that there had to be a catch to such an easy passageway to the King's dragon. And there was a couple.

Soon the torches stopped lining the walls, and the only light was in the eerie glow from the ceiling fires. There were no windows, Galbatorix wasn't a fool to the tactical error it would be to have them on the ground level.

And in this half-light, Joden saw his first problem. He was staring at a wall of blank, flawless gray stone. It appears luck is not on my side. The elf thought with a soundless sigh as he thought back to the map, where no little mark gave away the possibility of a solid wall being in the way.

It was too late to return to the map, though. (The parchment had been ripped up, and then used as torch-feed.) Joden had made sure that his room had been left with nothing like a map of Galbatorix's castle lying around, just incase he did get away with the egg, he thought it would be better that he wasn't identified as the immediate source of the problem by meager articles such as that.

With another soundless sigh, the elf raised his left hand and muttered four words in the Ancient Language under his breath. A pang wracked at his side as the stone wall moved to do what was ordered of it, and a split down the middle appeared in the wall. The split slowly expanded, the rock acting like it'd been melted and was now bunching in on itself.

The act of magic had left Joden breathless. Actually, more than that, it had zapped most of his strength. Something like reforming rock shouldn't have taken that much, unless-

Idiot! Joden would had done something stupid, had common sense told him that he wanted to retain his consciousness or he'd be far worse than dead. Of course, Galbatorix would have put something up to stop both normal humans and spell casters, a stone wall that was enchanted…

It was times like this that he wished that he would have remembered to store extra energy inside the miniscule diamond of his dagger's pommel. But he hadn't thought that far ahead.

He finally shook his head and walked through the opening his magic had made, even though it was a bit slower then his usual, and drudged over more lush carpeting, as it hadn't been touched even close to as often as the main hall's carpet or-mostly-stone. Soon a small door came into view, it was colored bloody crimson and was definitely designated for a man, not a dragon.

Joden had his doubts when he approached the door and murmured checks for enchantments over it, this time he wasn't surprised that the knob and lock had been fortified with magic. It just made his job that much harder, Joden dared not try to force the locked door open with magic, just incase he would be caught staring with only a sliver of energy left at a broom closet.

Instead, he took out his dagger and fitted it into the screw of the bottom hinge of the door. His energy began to return by the time he'd managed to get the first bolt out, and began to work on the second. After that one was taken away, the door sagged inward a bit, revealing pitch-black darkness beyond.

The third bolt rocked loose and fell, hitting the ground with a gentle ping! The elf hunched his shoulders, but not a sound came from inside the room, or around in the halls. Cautiously Joden looked from one side to the other before crossing the threshold into a massive room.

Even his sharp elven eyes could not see past the thick blackness of the place, but he was surprised to find that the vaulted ceilings were actually open to the sky completely. The cold light of the stars glittered faint above him as Joden took another step inwards and heard the sound of whistling wind.

Until then, the elf had thought that the sound was coming from the elements, but it wasn't. It took him only another few seconds to realize that he wasn't in a room that was too dark to see in, but that the room was completely covered by something huge and black. Joden had found the dragon.

And now all there was left was to find the egg. Joden headed to one side of the room, to where he believed Shruikan's head was, and swallowed when the dragon's breathing became heavier, as if he had caught onto the elf's scent. And then the dragon let off a massive snore, and settled back into his gentle breathing.

With a soundless sigh of relief, Joden paced gently past the dragon's head and shoulders, to where he was stuck between the wall and the bulky dragon. The elf squinted ahead, and saw that Shruikan had lazily stretched one of his wings out to where the tip touched the wall. Under this shroud of partly transparent wing membrane shimmered a distant point of light that, when Shruikan shuffled slightly in his sleep, was revealed to be what the elf wanted.

Joden dove for it, forgetting to be silent in that moment as he clung to the small, rock-like egg. It was an opalescent beauty, surface unmarred by the ages it'd been around, the shell itself shining in a brilliant form of colors that looked completely white in the wrong light.

The elf realized the breech in quiet and got to his feet more silently, beginning to shuffle back to the entrance. And yet, all the quiet he could muster would do no help now, as the second he'd touched the egg, Joden had affected the sleep of the dragon. Shruikan's gray eye burned at him, the pitch-black slit dilated fully.

The elf realized it too late. Shruikan had already thrown his head back, and was in the beginning of releasing a roar that rocked the very castle itself. There was no time to waste now, Joden jumped up and scrabbled over the dragon's neck, having to jump again to avoid becoming Shruikan's next snack.

From his point upon the back of Galbatorix's dragon, Joden had been raised up enough that he could jump up to the edge of the ceiling and escape that way, or he could fall off Shruikan and try to escape by running through the path by which he had come. He didn't even look at the door as he crouched and leaped.

The flight lasted him to over the edge of the building, he went past that and felt a bloom of heat behind him. But before the dark fire could harm him, gravity took over. Joden toppled into the moat below, clinging to the white egg for dear life.