Prompt: You have been chosen to become a Dragon Rider! Your entry must include the ceremony, with people lining up to touch the egg and how the egg chooses you. You also must include the hatching of the egg, description and name of the dragon, and your character's first impression, including the Gedwey Ignasia. And if your character does not already live in Ellesmera, you must have them packing up and leaving town.

Score: 10 points (this is before the scoring change, so everyone went to voting)

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Slipping between the elves that crowded the paths of Ellésmera, I catch glimpses of an egg. The egg. Large and smooth, it is polished to perfection. Its surface is a beautiful deep purple color; veins of lilac and white criss-crossing the exterior. It does not seem to be heavy for the elf holding it, but he struggles to wrap both arms around it, due to its large girth.

I edge my way to the front of the crowd. The egg-couriers stand in front of me. Calm, almost solemn expressions grace their faces. The one holding the egg stands next to Arya Drottning, our queen, who is in turn, flanked by her partner, the great, green dragon, Firnen.

“All those who wish to try their luck at becoming the next Rider may, at this moment, step forward and touch this egg,” the queen says in her melodious voice. All around me, elves step forward and create a line that leads to the egg.

As I stand there, I remember the stories my parents used to tell me, with longing in their eyes for the return of times, that were long gone. Stories that they themselves were told by their parents, who had lived during the Du Fyrn Skulblaka, The Dragon War. Stories of fierce dragons, both wild and bonded, whose fire scorched, whose teeth and claws were as long as swords and whose scales glittered like millions of precious gems held under pure light. Stories of the war between the elves and the dragons. Stories of the first Eragon and his great dragon Bid’Daum. Filled with these stories, I step forward, entering the line that has formed before me.

Looking at the egg, in all of its beauty, brings back memories I thought I had buried with the death of my parents. But as soon as they come to the forefront of my mind, I banish them away. No need for such sadness to ruin this day.

After what feels like forever, I am standing in front of the egg. I look up at the elf holding it. He looks bored, but the moment he catches my eyes staring at him, he grins and says, “Touch it. It won’t bite.”

My hand stretches out, and I feel something brush against my mind in the same instant my hand touch the smooth, silken surface of the egg. My heart skips a beat, and I jerk my hand back. As soon as I do, the presence in my mind is gone, yet the elf has a puzzled look on his face. Quick as a falcon swooping in for the kill, his look of confusion changes to one of pure exuberance and joy. The other elves realize something I haven’t, and surround us.

“Look down,” the queen whispers. I do, and what I see, shocks me. The egg is vibrating. Shaking as if it would never be still. Then, a crack, no wider than a strand of spider silk appears. The elf holding the egg shoves it into my arms and watches it intently. The shaking is even more violent now, the crack spreading. Suddenly, a violet sliver of egg is flung to the ground, and the egg itself cracks open into pieces.

Remnants of the egg fall to the ground. What is left, is a small, odd shaped body, covered in a film of membrane. Quickly, I set it on the ground. The couriers are rejoicing around me, others congratulating me, still others are staring, holding their breath until it seems they will turn blue from lack of oxygen. The dragon however, stand still; watching, waiting, its purple scales glinting and shining in the afternoon sun. Tentatively, I hold out my right hand. A small, triangular head reaches out and nuzzles my hand. Instantly, I fall to the ground, writhing in pain. It feels as if my hand has been plunged into Rhunön’s forge. Burning, burning, until nothing is left but ashes. My blood boils, then freezes, then boils again. A bitter taste fills my mouth, and bile creeps its way up my throat. Blood-curdling screams fill my ears, and I cannot tell if they are real or not. My head pounds and my lungs do not seem to be functioning. Then, as soon as it came, the feelings that seem to have consumed me leave.

I roll over and sit back up, fighting the urge to retch up my insides. The dragon cocks its head at me, as if to ask if I am yet alive, its spikes and horns catch the light. Grinning at the movements, I look at my hand. Contrary to what I thought, it had not burned off, however, a bright silver mark covers the majority of my palm. My gedwëy ignasia, the mark of a Rider. Once again, the feeling brushed against my mind, this time making a lasting connection.

Arya Drottning helps me stand, and hands me the dragon, after announcing the gender; a female. All of the elves are rejoicing. The queen asks my name, and I reply simply, “Lothiriel. My name is Lothiriel.”

“Lothiriel!” she announces, “Rider of…” She pauses, looking to me, for my dragon’s name. After a moment, I come up with ‘Daenyris’. A pleased feeling radiates from the new connection, and I know that my dragon approves. “Daenyris,” I tell the queen.

“Lothiriel,” she repeats. “Rider of Daenyris!”