Arya's eyes cracked open with a sigh as the light from the sunrise had started entering her room, lighting up the said room and shining into her eyes, and she turned around to her side and grabbed her pillow, covering her face, shielding it from the intruding sunlight. But the damage had been done, and a jittery Arya sat up in her bed, the blankets falling at her waist and the young woman stretched like a cat, getting rid of the ache in her muscles from spending another night on her rock-hard mattress.
She gazed around her room, sighing because now that she was home, she had chores to do. Chores on her own were fine, and even more fun with Roran, but with her uncle around, they were often repeated until perfection was acquired. Arya could spend hours doing something as simple as cleaning the barn until it meets his "expectations".
Birds chirping brought Arya from her daydreaming of the day to come, to the open window, and she spotted a few birds nesting in a tree that's branch was close to her open window, and Arya flopped onto the floor and made her way over to the window to see the birds and their nest.
But in doing so, she nudged something cold and hard, and when she looked down, she saw the gem, or rather what was left of it, and instantly began to panic as someone had either broke in and tried to steal the egg, or it froze overnight and cracked when the temperature rose, and angry tears began to form in her eyes as she began scouring around her room for any sign of a disturbance.
After looking in the hall and around the window she made way for the bed, and when she looked under it, she was given a sight that would change her world forever.
Under her bed, and with the remaining pieces of the gem, now discovered egg, was a dragon, or the creature appeared to be a miniature version of what she had seen from Brom's drawings, and she immediately backed up, propelling herself to the edge of her room with her feet, dragging her bottom on the floor, and went to grab her bow and arrow.
But the creature, now defiantly confirmed as a dragon, jumped out of underneath the bed playfully and walked carefully around the room, its emerald scales glittering beautifully in the sunlight and it ran its body alongside her left leg, like a cat. Arya, who was now petrified with shock and wonder, dropped her bow onto her dresser and went to squat down to look at the creature that was still brushing its body around her legs.
From what she knew from Brom, and other storytellers that often traveled with the Merchants, dragons were now extinct, only the king had one, and dragon riders themselves, excluding the king, were also gone, and Arya mind was racing with both questions and she was flabbergasted.
As if the dragon knew she was coming, it reared his head up from her foot where it had decided to rest, and cocked his head at her, as if questioning her intentions. Arya, unknown of what was about to happen, carefully reached out her arm to the dragon's head, trying to make any sort of contact with the tiny creature, and as her hand scraped the tip of the dragon's snout, a shock raced up her arm, her body freezing on its own accord, and an icy feeling that chilled her entire body to the bone encased the now unmoving girl who had now had a silvery teardrop-shaped mark on the palm of her right hand. After a few moments, Arya went again to touch the dragon, and instead of acting with trepidation this time around, the dragon practically leaped into her arms, snuggling into her chest as it sought to warm itself.
Arya, who was still in a rather bedazzled state, stood up straight and went to sit on the edge of her bed, seemingly lost in her thoughts as the dragon started to let out a humming sound oddly close to a cat. On one hand, she was now a dragon rider, sworn defender of the land and the people, but she had no one to train her, no one to teach her how to be a dragon rider. And Galbatorix was most likely to either kill her or ensnare her allegiance, both of which she would wholeheartedly refuse, for she knew from Brom that he had killed the dragon riders that opposed him with his Forsworn and was often characterized as cruel and brutal. But she was also terrified. Terrified for the dragon was sat in her lap like a newborn babe, and terrified for her cousin, and also for herself.
As if It understood her thoughts, the dragon, who she really needed to name, lifted its head and climbed up her body, and perched herself on the young woman's shoulder and started purring louder and rubbing its face against her cheek, and oddly enough, it did.
But she knew how her uncle would react, either would kill the dragon and again ridicule Arya with harsh vocabulary or would inform the Empire about the newly hatched creature, which would only go bad for everyone except him.
Struck with a sudden protectiveness, Arya stood up and turned around, grabbing the dragon, and bundling it up on her bed, building a "nest" of sorts to keep it warm while Arya went out for chores and breakfast, which was fast approaching.
After the dragon was secured in its bundle of warm, comforting furs and blankets, Arya began to leave, but a desperate chirping sound brought her frantically back to the dragon. "Hey! You can't make any noise while I'm gone! My Uncle will have us either ridiculed and you are dead, or the empire upon us, both which end in our demise." Arya stopped her little rant and scoffed quietly to herself, sat down on her knees, and lowered her head so that it was level with the dragons' amber eyes. Even though it seemed to be only a few hours old, Arya felt deep inside her that it would understand her, but only in simple terms.
"I know you don't want me to leave. But I have to, for food and work. As well as food for yourself. I'll check in on you every so often, ok? I'll also bring in some extra meat after breakfast." The dragon seemed satisfied with that answer and Arya brushed her fingers over its snout a couple of times absentmindedly while thinking about how she would sneak food into her room to give to her newfound companion.
Determined to not let her dragon starve, Arya rebounded up the baby dragon and set out for breakfast.
*time skip*
Breakfast was as quiet as usual, with Garrow putting in pointlessly jerkish comments about her hunting, but she was able to grab a couple of handfuls of meat from the cellar and was able to make her way back to her room without her uncle noticing.
Immediately upon her entry, the bundle of blankets shot up like a blur, jumping from the edge of the bed onto its rider's shoulders and Arya let out a small giggle at the dragon's antics. Plopping down onto the bed, the dragon was a wad of energy, leaping from side to side, its tail shaking like a metronome, back and forth, and Arya unrolled out the package of meat that she had hidden in her leather pants. The dragon followed Arya's right hand, which held the meat, with a predatorial gaze, and almost as soon as she set the meat down, it was feasting upon a strip. Managing to rip it into smaller halves before it managed to eat the entire first strip, Arya was able to cut up the other strips of meat into smaller-sized bites for the dragon. With the final piece cut up, Arya was able to watch as the creature ravaged what meat Arya cut up for the beast, and once it was finished, it rested on Arya's lap with a bulging stomach but a contempt gaze in its eyes.
Arya, who gently held the tiny dragon that was nestled on her legs, was slowly dragging her hand alongside the side of the dragon, and soon enough it fell asleep, with the sun heating its scales and a look of content of its face.
*time skip*
With her chores completed, and a message from her cousin to his lover, Arya grabbed her cloak and made her way into the heart of Carvanhall, to gain more information about dragons and their respective riders.
The trail that went from her house, which was in the center of an empty field surrounded by farmland, to Carvanhall, was quite long. A few leagues at least. And it always made Arya remember when she used to live in the city when her aunt was still alive. Their old house was near the butcher shop, in fact, that was how Roran met Katrina, and her aunt sewed for a couple of couples as her source of income, while her uncle was both a farmer, for there was some room for limited farmland, and he also hunted and would sell his spoils to Sloan.
Lost in her thoughts, before she knew it, Arya had arrived at the town that had caused her so much distress and grief in her early childhood.
Carvanhall itself wasn't particularly big, but it did have a "gate" and a "wall" that protected the city from potential threats, but over the years parts of it had fallen over, and only two of the original six towers were still standing. But there was a butcher shop, a blacksmith, farmers, and countless other villagers that did work around the town. The tavern, however, which was named the Seven Sheaves, was her destination. One of the bigger structures in the hamlet was run by a man named Morn, and his wife and most of the men of the village could be found thereafter working hours, either escaping from their wives or seeking company.
After gaining entrance into Carvanhall from whoever was on watchtower duty, Arya made her way to the tavern, trying to avoid the scornful looks she received from a woman who was sitting on their porches, or the disgusted looks she received from the young men that played in the muddy streets.
But she made through accident-free, and entered the bar, flipping off her hood and perking her head up, trying to eye arguably her favorite person who presided in the village, and there he was.
Brom was an older man, one who had silver hair with specks of black and had a slightly wrinkly face, and a pair of grey eyes. Known commonly as the old storyteller in the town, he had a house near the eastern edge, but spent most of his time collecting money telling stories of dragons and Urguals to young children, and, to Arya's knowledge, had lived in Carvanhall for most of his life. He always carried around a staff, one that was covered in muddy, knotted, and distorted wood and was seldom seen without it.
The bard, who Arya could tell was slightly drunk, either didn't notice her arrival or didn't verbally acknowledge her arrival, therefore alerting the other man in the tavern, to her presence.
Brom, who was in the middle of a tale, took another swig of his drink and began his story anew, and Arya took one of the few booth seats near the corner of the bar, for hardly anyone ever ate there, and it was quite dark considering the raging fire, not thirty feet from where she was sitting and waited.
*time skip*
Arya, who had managed to get a small bowl of soup accompanied by some bread and a cup of water, suddenly jerked a bit in her seat as Brom sat down opposite of her in the other booth seat. "Arya." She nodded back in greeting and he took another mouthful of his drink. "What could poss-"
"I have questions that I would like to be answered and seeing as you are one of the only few people who accept me in this godforsaken village with any sort of intelligence, I would appreciate it if you would answer them." Breathing heavily at the end of her tirade, Arya stared right back into his steel-grey eyes, she watched as Brom nodded, put some coins on the table, fastened his cloak, and went to leave, Arya tight behind him with his hood up. They made their way through the streets, avoiding contact for Arya's sake, and eventually, they made it to Brom's house. The old man fished out a key, and they both made their way inside.
After managing to wiggle into a chair, one that wasn't surrounded by stacks of parchment or old, dusty books, she took a few moments to look around the house that she had only been in once before. It was a simple design, having only a small living room, a kitchen, and a bedroom, but it was covered in books and papers that seemed to never end. The fireplace had just been light, and Brom left her to her thoughts to get some pipeweed for his pipe.
After a few quiet moments, save for the crackling of the fire, Brom returned cloak less and in brown breeches and a blue tunic, his grey-black beard showing itself, and he took the other remaining seat in the small room.
Arya watched closely as the old man took a puff of his pipe, removed it, and breathed out smoke that smelled to Arya of late nights alone in the spine. She shook her head, gaining her thoughts, and began to ask questions.
"I wanted to ask some questions about the Dragon Riders. I mean, I know that they rode dragons and everything, but why aren't they there anymore? What were dragons like? What did they achieve and what training did they receive?"
"An extensive topic, I'm not surprised," Arya made a face at that and Brom let out a hearty chuckle, more smoke blowing into her face. "But one that I could cover, however vague, in a single evening. You and your dammed questions." Giggling to herself, Arya snuggled into the arm of the chair with a fur blanket and watched, captivated, as Brom began to answer her questions. That was one thing she loved about the grizzly old man. He always answered her questions and was never really angered by her curiosity.
"The riders, or Shur'tugal, as they were also called, were people, of all races, who were chosen by dragons in eggs, and bonded to the dragons that choose them. They were the protectors of Alagaësia, they kept order in the land and took care of dangers such as shades that would threaten life itself in Alagaësia. Many Scholars and others tried to discover the true power of the riders, but most of what they heard of was gibberish and made them out to be gods on earth, which is rubbish. Separating fact from fiction, especially on a topic as extensive as the riders, is quite difficult, but I know where to start."
Arya, who was enthralled with what the old storyteller was telling her, went on to listen to the old man ramble on for hours, and when he had finished, it was dusk, and Arya knew she had to head back soon. She made to stand but then she remembered her own dragon, nameless, and asked Brom for names of dragons that he had heard of.
Brom let out a heavy sigh and began to list off names. "Let's see… there was Agaravel, Beroan, Ënurfala who stole magic from a spear on a mountain, Gretiem, Hírador, Ivarros the red, Mimring the Brilliant, and many others…" Brom then went on to name at least a few dozen more names, but at the end, he said one so quietly that she almost didn't hear it. "…Firnen." Arya thought he wiped a tear from his eye, but her eyes must have fooled her. "Does that satisfy your seemingly never-ending curiosity?" His voice was gravely from extensive use and Arya nodded, ran forward, and hugged the man. He patted her back affectionately and after she broke the hug, got up from his seat and went to a small chest that sat in the corner of the room.
A gleam of red caught her eye, but the lid was closed just as fast as it had opened. Brom came back with a seemingly small item, almost the length of her forearm, and it was wrapped with a yellow cloth. "This was supposed to be your last birthday present, but I was out of town, and found this." Unwrapping the present, Brom presented Arya with a short sword, that was slightly shorter than the swords that Horst, the blacksmith, usually made and the sight brought tears to her eyes. Outside of her bow, this was probably the best gift that someone had ever given her. Practically jumping into the old man's arms, she clutched to his torso while sobbing quietly, her shaking body the only evidence that she was in fact crying into his chest.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you…" After calming herself down, Arya pulled back from his embrace, gave him a sloppy wet kiss on the cheek, and went home to show her gift to Roran. She never saw Brom's eyes, slightly misty from his own tears.
This one was slightly longer than the others, I just felt like it needed to be, and the next chapter will be soon. Please rate and review!
-xkid11