Hello guys.

Lets get the required stuff out of the way first. IC and all characters (except OC's) are property of Christopher Paolini and as such all rights go to him.

Now then. This is my personal take on the IC. It is going to be a rewrite from beginning to end (providing I find the time and courage to see this all the way through ). We are going to see LOTS more ExA than Paolini gave us. I might even write some M rated parts and either up the rating of this story or publish them elsewhere. So, without further ado, enjoy the trailer and first chapter.

The first snow of the year slowly descended upon the spine – the northernmost mountains of these lands. Eragon watched as one by one, the pristine gifts from the heavens covered the forest in a blanket of white. One fell on his cheek, where it quickly turned to a tear-like drop of water. When it rolled down his cheek, he made no move to stop it. His arms felt heavy, like on those midsummer days when he worked the fields of his late uncle tirelessly. Unconsciously he drifted into those happy memories, finding a small measure of comfort in them.

He wondered where his cousin was. He had only been sixteen when his father passed. Roran had stayed on the farm with Eragon, who was his junior by two years for as long was needed, yet when it became evident Eragon was more than capable of taking care of himself, he had just… packed and left one day.

That was how he lived now. He planets the seeds in the spring, worked the fields by summer, hunted for game in autumn and hoped to survive winter. His face fell to the side, where he could see the perfect crystalline gems of water slowly stain red with blood. His blood. Beyond the snowflakes the ground was seared black and the charred remains of plants smoldered, releasing an ashen smell. And there, in the middle of that newly-formed crater was a rock like no other.

Eragon did not know how, but there, just out of reach, was an egg-like gemstone, sapphire in color and covered with darker veins. The air about it still shimmered with heat. He just wished that whatever higher power it was that sent it, had aimed a little bit better.

Lest he wouldn't be speared through with a branch right now.

Once, a long time ago, when he was handling a cow for the butcher in town, it had kicked him in the stomach. He had been bruised for months. This was worse. The sheer force that had passed through him had likely broken a few ribs. He also couldn't feel his legs anymore. He turned to face the setting sun above him once more.

Slowly, his vision started to haze over with the purest white. He wanted to move forward, embrace it, end the pain that wrecked through his body. Yet some annoying silvery orb was trying to block his way. He reached out to it, tried to move it, but then it was joined by another, a little smaller and orange in color. Then another, and another.

Soon a rainbow of colors was swirling around him. From them, a voice spoke to him. "Child, why are you so eager to die?" It asked. "After all, it is not yet your time."

Eragon knew he would be deceiving himself if he chose to believe them. Alagaësia had a plan for everyone, he just knew it. It simply appeared his plan wasn't so… grand. The realization hurt, but not everyone was born to be a hero, a villain or power of a different kind. After all, those people could not exist as beacons throughout the shadows of history without the ordinary people. People like him. Sure, he was young. He had only see the leaves fall seventeen times.

"Why do you, a mere human, presume to know the workings of the universe. No, it has been decided that you must remain here a little while longer." And then all the orbs rushed forward, flowing into him. He could feel them, feel their radiance, their energy, their memories. They coursed through his blood, filled him to the brim and almost tore him apart.

Then he was on the ground again, sucking in air like he had spent an hour under water. With effort he tore the branch from his midriff, cursing and yelling loudly as he did. Underneath his fingers flesh and bone knitted back together, forming whole, undamaged skin once more. Violently he coughed up blood, struggling onto his hands and knees to avoid getting covered in it. What was happening to him?

Eventually he managed to right himself, noting that by now the moon dominated the night sky. He knew that his bow had flown off somewhere into the brushes on his left when the stone had appeared in a blast of fire. He should have had trouble to find it underneath the dense shrubbery by night, yet he could see everything. Every little critter, every single twig and leaf. His bow was right there, scratched, but whole. He took it and slung it over his shoulder. There would be no game for him this winter. Then his eyes landed on the stone – perhaps he could sell it.

Carefully he lifted it into his pack. It was strange, for he should be feeling tired at this time of night. Yet for some reason his mind did not feel dulled, he didn't feel any aching muscle either. No doubt fatigue would catch up with him some time, but for now he just opted to keep walking. If the snow came early this year, he would have to hurry back to his village fast.

By the first night he was getting worried. He hungered not, tired not. By the second afternoon he found a small puddle of water, a crystal clear mirror embedded in the white landscape around him. When he took in his reflection, something somehow seemed wrong to him. He just couldn't quite place his finger on it quite yet.

Then he saw his eyes. They had been a dark blue at his birth, turned hazel by his third year and stayed thus. Now, his left iris was a hue of icy blue azure and the right one had turned a dark shade of violet. As if that didn't stand out enough, they were both lined with vibrant dashes of silver. Also he didn't know if it had to do with the cold, but his skin looked a shade or two paler than he remembered as well. Eragon didn't quite know how to feel about it. Something had altered him without his prior knowledge, that much was clear. Yet he found himself admiring this around him he had simply never noticed before. Things he could not see before.

He walked for another day and another night before he finally came to the outskirts of Carvahall, his birthplace and the village he called home. It was just past noon, but with winter approaching the rays of the sun just barely grazed over the high mountain peaks that shielded this place from the outside world. When he reached the edge of the forest near his home, he rested for a moment. The villagers knew him, and they would instantly know something about him was off. Would they accept the new him? Of course they would. Surely they would not turn their back on him after all the years he had lived amongst them.

Just as he was about to step out of the trees, he saw something that gave him pause. Two figures, robed in black, were questioning Sloan, the village butcher. Their voices sounded off, warped and muffled. Between every word there was a strange clicking sound, as if they closed their jaws with unnatural strength. With them was another man, regal with long, crimson hair and skin of a sickly color white. He made to move forwards anyways – he had done nothing wrong after all – and go home. He could still search out a merchant tomorrow.

When his body moved forward, the wind about him died and an unnatural silence settled on the world around him. He saw Farold, one of the villagers, frozen in mid stride. "Hello Eragon." He whirled around to face the deep male voice that spoke to him. The same voice that had spoken to him on that field where he had lain dying.

"Show yourself." He demanded when the forest behind him seemed empty. From behind one of the trees a hooded figure emerged. Although his eyes were shrouded in darkness, Eragon could clearly see the slight smirk playing about on his lips.

Eragon's eyes drifted across the figure opposite him. At first glance there appeared nothing extraordinary about the hooded man. Upon closer inspection however, what he had first assumed to be the shadows of the forest actually seemed to move with every breath the man took.

"What are you?" Eragon asked.

The shadowy figure chuckled. "All in due time, Eragon. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Icarus, a… gate keeper of sorts. I have been tasked with keeping you mostly alive."

"Mostly?" Eragon asked curiously. "Tasked by who?"

"Suffice to say that you live by my grace, Eragon." With that the figure raised his head, revealing his eyes. One was pierced with a pure azure and the other with violet. "And it is not important for you to know who it is I answer to. In any case, I am here to save you from a world of hurt. See those three?" Icarus gestured to the crimson haired man and his two companions in black. Eragon nodded.

"They have come to kill you." Eragon blinked and drew breath for his next question. Yet when he opened his eyes again, Icarus was gone. The world around him came back to life, Farold continued walking like nothing had happened and he heard Sloan say something to the three men.

"If he isn't at that ruin of a farm of his he is probably frolicking around in the mountains with his toy bow. With a bit of luck he will even get himself killed if you ask me." He silently cursed Sloan to the deepest pits of hell.

"Thank you for your cooperative attitude. It is heartening to know that even so far north our King is looked upon with reverence." The crimson haired man said. Eragon immediately shuffled back into the trees. Instead of taking the road home he stuck to the cover of the trees. When he got to the clearing that held his farmhouse he didn't immediately press forward. Had those three shady figures been here? If they had been they had done a good job at concealing their tracks. He waited for another hour before he was convinced it was safe.

Hurrying across the open field he entered his home. The roof was leaky and the cupboards empty, but at least it was his. He finally felt the previous few days catch up to him and with a last ditch effort he pulled off his clothes before dropping into bed. From his bag he retrieved the stone, holding it up above him as he lay on the mattress. This time when he closed his eyes, dreams did find him.

And it was a dream unlike any other. Around him was a fine mist, it brushed around his fingers and parted as his body cleft through it. It was cold, but not uncomfortably so. Then it occurred to him that his feet were not touching solid ground. The clouds around him broke revealing the most breathtaking sight any human would ever behold.

A sprawling, lush city of white unfolded itself underneath him. Somewhere in the back of his mind a name came to him. Ilirea. A being of perfect white flew next to him. Upon closer inspection it was a dragon! And a huge one at that. It craned its giant neck to look directly at him. Its jaws opened, revealing sharp teeth and a barbed tongue. Then it spoke to him

"Eragon, wake up."

It reached for him with his huge, clawed paw.

"Wakey wakey." And it tapped him on the forehead.

Eragon frowned. Whatever was tapping against his forehead this early in the morning would face the wrath of a thousand gods. He would tear it to shreds and-

"squeak."

And apparently it squeaked kind of cutely. Wait, squeaked? With a start he opened his eyes. Whatever it was it was small and scaly and licking his face. Sitting up to put some distance between his face and his assailant he watched as a most peculiar creature made its way into his lap.

It looked remotely like a lizard, but had proportionally large wings made from a leathery type of tissue. In the moonlight its scales lit up a magical blue hue. A dragon! Looking to his left he saw polished fragments of the stone he had found. A thought occurred to him.

Had the stone been an egg?

Tentatively he reached out to the lizard creature, who had settled on his lap much like a cat, curiously staring up at him. Ever smaller drew the distance between him and it. Then the palm of his hand touched the leathery snout of the dragon.

Big mistake.

A searing pain cut through him, not much unlike when the orbs had possessed his body three days prior. Eragon did not know how long he remained there, curled up on his bed while the dragon silently kept watch. After an eternity in his private universe of pain he regained control of his body. The dragon appeared to sense this too, for it hopped down from the bedpost and nudged him expectantly. When he didn't do anything it demonstratively started gnawing on one of his fingers. Eragon's eyes drifted to the silver mark, smack in the center of his hand with which he had touched the dragon. Hopefully it didn't clash with the eyes, he mused.

"Of course you are hungry." Eragon mumbled to himself, getting up from the bed. "Let me see if I have anything. You stay here." He commanded the dragon in a stern voice. It appeared to have understood him, for it got comfortable on his bed.

A brief search of the house turned up a few remaining strips of jerky and some salted pork. Opting for the more easily chewable pork he returned to his bedroom. Piece by piece he fed the meat to it, watching as its belly noticeably bulged out.

"Congratulations."

Eragon's head whipped up, only to find Icarus lounging lazily against the door. "You know, you could stop popping in at the most inopportune moments." Eragon scolded

"Fortunately every time I appear time stops, so actually when I am here there is no moment."

"Wait, what?"

"Never mind." Icarus said, waving the confused Eragon off. "Fact of the matter is that when your dragon hatched for you it caused a shift in the world."

"Caused one how?"

Icarus stared at him with a look as if he were contemplating if Eragon was truly the most ignorant creature on the face of Alagaësia. "Dragons are the embodiment of magic in its purest form. Magic flows to and from the land. The birth of a dragon – especially with so few remaining in the world – creates noticeable waves of power."

"And those hunters from before, they have felt it?" Eragon asked cautiously. Icarus nodded in response.

"It is not a precise art, but a dragon is hard to hide. My best guess is you have about five, maybe six days before they find this place and burn it to the ground when they discover you gone."

"Well, what am I supposed to do with a dragon? I doubt it will learn endurance flight in the next five days." Icarus gave him a long, penetrating stare, as if he tried to peel back the layers of Eragon's soul and see what was within.

"The solution will present itself in due time. If I were to simply give it to you, I meddle with a future that does not yet exist. Fret not, Eragon. I shall answer a few of your questions. I suppose that with what lies in store for you – the only rider other than the evil king – I can do at least that much for you." Icarus strode forward, pulling with him the shadows around him, as if they were attached to him. He sat down on the bed next to Eragon and picked up the dragon, placing it in Eragon's lap once more. "You get three questions."

Eragon nodded slowly and thought hard for a few moments. "How do I know I can trust you?" He asked.

"Well, I saved your life and I have warned you against impending doom twice. What is more, I could literally yank your soul from your chest right now. The fact that I have not done so means that either I am plotting some really elaborate, painful scheme involving you, or I simply have your best interests and in turn my best interests in mind. Look into my eyes, Eragon. Tell me what you see."

Eragon did not need to look for very long. "They are the same color as mine were changed to."

"Indeed. That is because I imbued you with my power. It was the only way to save your life and in doing so I substantially weakened myself. Regardless of what consequences this will have for you in the future, it means that a part of me is now in you. In harming you, I would harm myself."

"If it is indeed true that, as you claim, you can halt the passage of time, why do you only appear to me?"

"As I said before, a part of me exists within you now, keeping your spirit inside your body. It is through that bond I can speak to you. Only to you." Icarus replied. They sat in silence as Eragon thought of a way to best formulate his last question.

"Do you… exist?" He finally asked.

"Obviously, otherwise you would have been dead. I know that is not what you meant to ask. Yes, I have walked this earth for eons, but that was a long time ago. Long before the elves sailed across the ocean and the dwarves made their home in the south. Since then my corporeal form has ceased. What remains of my bones now rests in the ground, far to the south. As you have probably guessed by now, though I may look human in appearance. That, however, is an illusion that only runs skin deep, for no human could exist as I currently do. Rest now, Eragon. Tomorrow will be a busy day for you."

Icarus was gone. Eragon only managed to sleep for a few more hours before the first rays of sun slipped over the horizon. He awoke to find the dragon – his dragon – curled around his head, quietly slumbering away. It squawked in surprise as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. After he finished washing himself he stared down at his hands. Having the unusual eyes was bad enough, but he couldn't very well walk around with a glowing hand. From the corner of his eye he saw his worn working gloves. It wasn't an ideal solution but it would have to make do.

After ensuring his dragon had enough to eat, he closed all the curtains and set out towards the village. It took the better part of an hour, but eventually Eragon found himself standing outside of the old story teller's house. Brom was a grumpy old man, generally inconsiderate of others. After Eragon had helped him stock wood for the winter several years back, however, Brom had started to take a shining to him. If anybody knew what to do, it would be him.

He knocked.

If you enjoyed, please do not hesitate to review. It makes chapter two come all the faster. May peace live within your hearts.