Yess! I can't beleive you can actually post Eragon fanfics! This is so cool!

Disclaimer Dude: Christopher Paolini owns Eragon and Eldest. Miriku owns this story, any characters you don't recognize, and a copy of each book.

Chapter One
The Dragon

"Dragons aren't real."

Kia Ameida gasped, clutching the book she had been reading—Eragon—to her chest. Kia was sixteen, with deeply tanned skin and soft, almond-shaped brown eyes. Her black hair was straight and smooth, and hung to her waist. At the moment, she was wearing a white, tight-fitting T-shirt and a blue skirt. She had a slight problem with her brain—she acted a few years younger than she was.

"How can you say such a thing, Izayah?" she asked in an injured tone.

Izayah Gomez rolled her eyes. She was also sixteen, with long, wavy brown hair that reached her waist, and bright sapphire eyes flecked with gold. Her attitude was one of a skeptic—she never believed what she couldn't see. This made it strange that she enjoyed reading fiction and fantasy stories. At the moment, she was wearing a loose, light blue T-shirt and jeans.

She was the one who had recommended Eragon to Kia—and now, she was having second thoughts. Now the girl was babbling non-stop about how she wanted to be a dragon rider, and join the Varden so that she could help Eragon stop Galbatorix.

"Look, Kia—Eragon is a story. It's not real. There's no such place as Alagaësia. There's no such person as Eragon, or Murtagh, or Arya, or any of them."

She leaned forward to emphasize her point. "There. Are. No. Dragons."

Kia just stared at her for a moment. "Fine. If you won't believe in them, then I'll do it myself." And she re-buried herself in the book.

Izayah sighed. It was impossible to talk to Kia when she made up her mind. "Fine, go ahead and believe." She glanced at her watch. "It's one fifteen—I'd better go."

She stood up, leaving Kia at the library table, immersed in her book. She exited the library, and headed off down the street.

That would be impossible, she laughed to herself. Eragon? Real?

Looking around, Izayah decided to take a shortcut through the park. As she walked, she let her mind drift.

It sure would be amazing, though—if Eragon were real. If she could really see a dragon.

Get a hold of yourself, Izayah! Eragon is a fictional work by a man named Christopher Paolini! There's no way it could be true!

But still…

Suddenly, a glimmer caught Izayah's eye. She stopped, and looked around. Nothing. She caught a shimmer from under a bush and, curiosity taking over, knelt down and burrowed through the brush.

Before her rested an oblong white stone, shimmering faintly in the dim light that reached it through the leaves of the bush. Its surface was flawless, with veins of silver tracing through it. It looked about a foot long.

Something seemed to draw her to it. There was a sense of familiarity about it that was so deep, it felt as if it had been there forever.

Why does this seem familiar? Izayah thought. She reached out and touched it.

The surface of the stone was smooth and cool, like hardened silk. Her fingers slipped right off of it. Curious about its weight, Izaya picked it up.

Suddenly, the world swirled around her. A howling wind blew her off her feet, and she was flung into a swirling vortex of muted color. And then—she passed out.

OooO

"Akh Gûnteraz dorzada! What is it?"

"It looks like a girl—but she must be foreign."

"Very foreign—just look at her clothes! Where would you find such outlandish fabric as this?"

"I don't know."

"Where did you find her?"

"There was a loud noise, and she just appeared—along with that stone. What do you think we should do with her?"

"Do? What we do is we wait until she wakes up. Then we'll ask her a few questions."

The two voices were a blur in Izayah's mind. She barely heard them. All she could hear was a buzzing in her head, compliments of whatever had happened to her.

She stirred, and tried to sit up, but felt a strong but small hand on her shoulder. "Stay," a rough voice commanded. "Open your eyes, if you must, but don't move.

Izayah sank back onto the soft pallet she had been resting on, and opened her eyes. She was in a small room, and standing above her were two very short men. One's hair and beard were black, and he wore a sweat-stained shirt and pair of pants made out of rough linen. The second's hair and beard were reddish-brown, and he wore a much finer shirt of red silk and black pants.

"It's a good thing you're awake," the one with reddish-brown hair growled. "We've got some questions for you. What's your name?"

Izayah quailed under the fierce glares the two were giving her. "I-Izayah."

"How did you get here?"

"I don't know."

The one with black hair growled. "Liar. It was magic that brought you here—the question is, whose?"

"I don't know!" Izayah wailed. "I don't even know where I am!"

The two diminutive men stared at her, shock written across their faces. "This could be a problem," the one with black hair murmured. He looked at Izayah. "I'm Fredric—and this is Orik."

For some reason, Izayah thought she ought to recognize those names—but her mind was still in a blur.

Suddenly, she spotted the white stone in the corner. "That's my stone," she said hesitantly, pointing at it. "May I have it back?"

Orik scrutinized her. "How do you know it's yours?"

"Because I found it!" she retorted.

Fredric suddenly motioned for them to be quiet. "Do you hear that? Listen."

The three of them fell quiet. There was nothing for a moment—and then, a faint sort of tapping sound reached their ears.

Orik and Fredric looked at each other, amazement on their faces, and then, as one, they looked at the stone.

It was rocking back and forth now, and the tapping was accelerating. Izayah stared at it, shock written across her face. She remembered where she knew those names—from the book.

Eragon.

The two men in front of her weren't men at all—but dwarves. Two of the main characters from the book.

And that stone…

With a sharp, ear-splitting crack, the stone burst into fragments. All three of them jumped as a small creature with a strangely angled body tumbled out with a startled squeak.

Izayah gaped. Sitting there in the corner of the room, licking the membrane off its pure white scales, was—

"Akh Gûnteraz dorzada!" Orik breathed in amazement. "A dragon!"

The tiny dragon looked up, and let out a little squeak. It padded over to Izayah, who was still frozen with shock, and bumped its head against her arm.

"Go on, stranger," Fredric murmured. "Touch it."

Slowly and tentatively, Izayah held up her hand. She reached out, and touched the dragon on the forehead.

Ice seemed to run up her arm, through her very body, leaving searing pain in its wake. Izayah fell back with a cry, biting back an oath. Something seamed to be screaming inside her head—she tried to scream too, but she couldn't move a muscle—

And then it was gone. Warmth slowly spread through her body. She sat up, shivering, and stared at the dragon. It was looking at her, eyes bright with curiosity.

She felt a light touch on her mind, full of the same emotion.

"Argetlam!" Fredric suddenly exclaimed. "Look at her hand!"

Amazed and confused, Izayah held up her right hand—the hand she'd touched the dragon with. A silvery white oval had been burned onto it. The skin itched, as if she'd just been bitten by a mosquito.

Fredric slowly shook his head. "Amazing!" he murmured.

Orik was the first to recover. "Get up and follow me," he snapped at Izayah. "Bring the dragon."

Izayah looked at the little dragon, who was still watching her. It touched her mind, and she got the impression of hunger.

"I think it's hungry," she said timidly.

Orik waved his hand dismissively. "That can wait. I need to take you somewhere."

Izayah stood up, feeling strangely light-headed. The dragon rose to its feet and jumped into her arms. The pain didn't come again, which she was thankful for. She didn't pay attention to where she was being led—her mind was in a big whirl.

Somehow, she was in Alagaësia. She was inside the book. She had just met two of the most prominent characters—Fredric the training master and Orik, Eragon's friend—and she was holding a dragon.

The little white dragon bumped its head against her chest, and she began to stroke its head. It made a strange humming noise in the back of its throat, laying back its ears.

"Wait here," Orik commanded. He went through a door and out of sight.

Izayah stood there for who knows how long, running her fingers along the dragon's pearly white scales. She felt that touch on her mind again, full of curiosity, and allowed it to explore a little.

Orik peered out the door. "Come in."

She took a tentative step into the room, and looked around, wonder and shock growing on her face.

At a long table in the middle of the room sat four people—and a dragon.

The dragon was easily almost twice Izayah's height, even when lying down, as it was now. Its scales were sapphire blue. Izayah reluctantly drew her attention away from the other dragon to study the people at the table.

The first was a woman who had dark skin and hair, and wore a red silk dress trimmed with gold. Her eyes were warm, but they had a hardness to them that only great stress could bring.

That must be Nasuada, Izayah thought. Strangely, the leader of the Varden looked exactly how she had imagined her.

The second was another woman, with pale skin and raven hair. She wore a long white dress that reached her ankles, and cut off at her wrists. Her features were aquiline, and her ears slanted upward to a point. Once again, Arya looked exactly like Izayah had imagined she would.

The third person at the table was a blocky man wearing a blue silk shirt and black pants. His hair and short beard were ruddy brown, and his hard brown eyes made it known that you did not want to cross him. Izayah decided that this must be Roran.

And then, she looked at the fourth person. The one who sat farthest from her; the one who was staring at her with the greatest intensity; the one who had the blue dragon's head resting near his elbow.

He wore a white silk shirt, and pants similar to Roran's. His blue eyes were tilted upward slightly at the corners, and his face was aquiline—though not so much as Arya's. Overall, he gave the impression of being not quite human—but not quite elven.

There was no doubt in Izayah's mind who it was, especially since there was only one blue dragon—and that dragon was Saphira.

It was Eragon.

Just a little pronunciation guide, which I'll have at the end of chapters with new words or names or whatever;

Izayah Gomez: Ee-ZI-yah GO-mez
Kia Ameida: KEE-yah Ah-mey-EE-da

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