A/N: Yeah, so… It only took four chapters to get around to explaining how all this started, and what Neige intends to do about it. Heh. This is why I usually don't show people my stuff until way past the editing phase. I'm really not entirely happy with this one, but I can't put my finger on what exactly is wrong... Someone wanna give me some pointers? *crickets* Ah. Oh well. Good practice for letting people see my imperfections... and other such psychological trollop that's really just a cover for my laziness/desperate cry for attention.

... What? *looks away shiftily*

CHAPTER FOUR

The bed was a good a place as any to sit and explain. Neige perched himself right on its edge, Delibird – who had flapped upstairs to see what all the hubbub was about – settled on his knees. Neige stroked his feathery head idly as he watched Eragon setting down his wooden bow and empty bag, followed his movements as the other sandy-haired boy stoked up the ashes of the dead fire.

"Brisingr," Eragon muttered, glaring hard at the criss-cross of splinters. The tiniest wisp of fire bloomed right in the heart of the pit, only to sputter out of life when Delibird flapped his wings excitedly. Eragon huffed. "Brisingr!"

A slightly sturdier flame flickered under the wood; Neige watched, fascinated despite himself, as it caught, spread steadily to the rest of the splinters.

Eragon sat back and wiped his damp brow. His eyebrows were knitted low over his brown eyes. "This has been much harder since leaving Alagaesia," he said. "Your realm is not compatible with the magic of the ancient language, it seems."

"Well, at least we're warmer, I guess," Neige said. Delibird hopped off his knees and snuggled up the side of the fire, just shy of its reaching yellow fingers.

"Indeed. Shame I could not catch us something to eat, as well." Eragon eyed his empty bag, and then turned, shaking his wet hair. A flash of lighting outside made the room glow gold for a split second, and the adjoining thunder blocked the sound of Neige's rumbling stomach. His dwindling supplies called out to him from his bag, but for some reason he didn't want to mention them just yet. Not until he could be sure he could trust this guy he'd only ever seen in a movie.

"Never mind that now, though," Eragon continued, apparently not noticing the flash of guilt his voice had suddenly induced on Neige's face. "Tell me how I've come to be here… and without my dragon."

"Ah. Yeah. This story." Neige scratched the back of his neck. Readjusted his bag's and sword's position behind him on the bed. Tugged his cap low over his face. Ran out of ways to stall. "Well, you see… ah… do you know about this thing called the Fourth Wall?"

"No," Eragon said.

"Of course not," Neige sighed. "Didn't think you did. Okay, well, in our world, we have movies. They're, like, well, they're moving pictures. On a screen. Or a wall. Well, where they are doesn't really matter. God, I'm bad at this…"

"Continue," Eragon said. His back was to the growing fire, and its shadows made his face seem longer somehow. More intimidating. And were his ears kind of pointy for a human kid's?

"Well," Neige said again, making a mental note not to use the word 'well' for another fifty years at least, "in movies, a bunch of people in costumes make pretend that they're acting out stories—"

"You mean actors?" Eragon said, smiling slightly like Neige was amusing him. "We have those in Alagaesia too. They act in plays."

"That's it exactly!" Neige said, seizing the similarity and wondering how he hadn't thought of it. He really was bad at this, he thought. "A movie is just a play up on a screen."

"And how does that affect me?"

"Uh… well, you were in a movie. About you. Called Eragon. After you. Obviously."

Eragon looked impressed. "Really? So… so you know all about me already?" He flicked his hair back again, sat up a bit straighter.

"Uh, kind of. But that's not really the point. The point is, between every movie – or story, or game, or whatever – there's a Fourth Wall separating our world from the world of the story. And I guess… uh… all of them kind of broke. Because of… me."

He glanced quickly at his worn sneaker tips, not wanting to see Eragon's accusing stare. But when he chanced a quick look upwards, he was surprised to see Eragon was still staring at him like he held all the secrets of the universe in his little finger.

"If you've seen me before, in this 'movie' about myself, then you'll know my mother. Was she beautiful?"

This was not what Neige had expected. "Um. What?"

"Beautiful. You know, appealing. Pretty. I was left on my uncle's farm as a baby, you know. She disappeared back to gods-know where afterwards, and up until a couple of months ago I was a farm boy, living off the land and training with my cousin, Roran."

Even Delibird raised his feathery brow ridge. Neige's mouth hung open slightly. He hadn't asked for any of that information, and yet…

"With swords," Eragon added thoughtfully, but it didn't make Neige's lips snap shut any quicker. "I can spar with the best of them now. I also learned to read in a week."

For a long time, Neige could think of nothing to say. He didn't remember seeing any of this in the movie – especially the bit about him learning to read in a week – but then maybe movie-Eragon took some inspiration from book-Eragon. It had happened in movies before, however rarely.

"Okay. Well, yeah. Anyway. Now the Fourth Walls are broken and I need to find a way to send everyone back into their own worlds—and keep them there. And make sure my sister is alright."

"Your sister?" Eragon asked. It seemed he was finally paying attention, though not to the part that Neige probably would have preferred. In fact, he was starting to get just a hint of a narcissistic vibe from this guy.

"Yeah. You know, the child your parents have before or after you who is a female."

Eragon didn't deign to respond to this. Neige huffed.

"Don't you want to know how I plan to fix things?" he asked irritably.

"Pray explain the plan to me," Eragon said.

"I can't."

"Why ever not?"

"Because I don't have a plan."

"Then why-?"

"Because I'm stuck and I broke the world and I need to complain and you're the only one I can complain to." Neige said all this in a big rush, burying his face in his hands.

Eragon poked impassively at the fire again with an errant stick to keep it from going out.

"Perhaps you ought to start at the beginning," he suggested. "How did all this start? What did you do that made it happen?"

Oh joy, thought Neige. I couldn't even explain movies well. How am I going to explain reviewing?

"Well, my job is to basically talk about these movies. I analyse them. Except occasionally, a character will say or do something to break down the Fourth Wall."

Eragon tilted his head like a curious cat. Shouldn't he have some kind of reaction to all this? It was kind of unnatural, Neige thought. "How?"

"By addressing me. Us. The audience. They acknowledge that we are out here watching their every move. And that shatters the Wall."

Eragon thought about this. He turned to the fire, the flames making shadows dance in the hollows of his cheeks, in the pockets under his eyes. He did look significantly thinner than he did in the movie; his hair, now it was drying, was hanging in tangled clumps around his face. His hems needed patching, and the fabric on his elbows and knees was wearing so thin Neige could see his pale, scratched skin through it.

Neige cleared his throat in the silence, suddenly feeling the need to fill it with something.

"It was Team Rocket that did it."

"Team Rocket?"

"Yeah. They're, uh, kind of bad guys. In this series called Pokémon. I don't think there's much point in explaining any further than that, to you, anyway. Except that they're really friggin'annoying. They broke the Fourth Wall all the time in my previous series, but I guess there was a limited supply…"

Eragon stared at the fire again. "It sounds to me as though you're rather stymied."

Stymied? Neige thought. Weird word choice…

"I guess so."

Another moment of silence followed. Then Eragon climbed to his feet. He scooped his bag and bow from where he left them in the corner and made his way silently to the door.

"Hey," Neige said, glancing up at him in surprise. "Where are you going?"

Eragon held up the bag and smiled slightly. "We need to eat if we're going to claim ultimate victory, correct?" Then he turned and walked down the hallway. Neige heard his footsteps on the stairs, then in the hall. Then the front door opened, letting in a great rush of noise and wind, and it snapped shut heavily behind him, leaving Delibird and Neige alone in the house to remark silently on how their luck may have finally just turned.