I'm so sorry for not uploading in a while, I've not had any time available to work, and this weekend was also super busy, but I finished this, and I'm pretty happy with it. Enjoy!

Winter came and went, bringing on one of the coldest seasons they've ever experienced, and almost everyone was ready for the telltale signs of spring. Most of the farmers had been forced to throw out most of their food, it went bad when severe frost hit, and most ended up having to sell valuables and the like to buy meat.

Sloan, the bastard, had jacked the prices on almost everything, gaining a pretty penny for the villager's troubles, but no one died, and those who almost did had either contracted pneumonia or had gotten the flu.

On her farm, Arya was very glad that she had managed to get enough meat from her hunting trips to get them by, for they too had a lot of crops that went bad, due to the weather and the fact that Roran was busier than usual, and with Arya gone, it was only Garrow most of the time harvesting his crops.

Roran, who had taken an apprenticeship under Horst, the blacksmith in town, to both help, get money to provide for his aging father, as well as get enough money to buy his own home. Horst was a hulking man who had been the blacksmith in Carvanhall as long as Arya could remember. He had two sons, a wife, and provided Arya her arrows, making the tips and silently supporting her goals and dreams. His wife, however, despised Arya and, whenever in her presence, would make scathing remarks about her. Their sons were the same, just not as vocal.

Arya, who had taken to solitude in a grotto not far from her house, which also housed her ever-growing dragon, which had grown to about the size of a large dog and spent almost all of her time there. It was a heavily blocked part of the Spine, which had a run-down path that led to its entrance, and inside was a small patch of land that you could barely see out of, but light still shown in through the top of the trees. It was the perfect place for her to hide in, for her dragon to hide in, and was the perfect sanctuary for them.

It took a while to find, and in the meantime her dragon had started living in a nest that she had made, keeping it off of the forest floor and outside the reach of the predators that ran about the Spine. She had almost gotten caught, both by her uncle and her cousin made it, as well as sneaking meat out to her dragon, which she had named Firnen.

*flashback start*

Arya, with her newly acquired sword in tow, just climbed through her window, entering her room, and as soon as she did, her dragon leaped out of the bundle of blankets she had wrapped him up in. It squeaked happily, racing back and forth on her bed, and Arya had to hold it like a baby to calm it down.

After peaking outside of her door to see if her uncle or cousin had heard her, she silently closed the door, and sat down on the edge of her bed with her dragon on its back, sitting comfortably in her arms, its amber eyes staring at Arya, with its head cocked.

Cooing softly, Arya gently ran her fingertips under the dragon's mouth, near its throat, and it let out a deep, baritone noise that vibrated her fingers and it reminded Arya of a cat purring. Remembering what Brom had told her earlier that evening, she stopped petting it and began looking around its body trying to decide the creature's gender. Seeing nothing, and not wanting to investigate further, she sat it back down in her lap, content to just watch it relax in her arms, and then she remembered the multiple names that Brom had named, and tenderly began to shake the creature awake, or at least to get it to open its eyes.

Huffing a bit, obviously disturbed from its peaceful sleep, the dragon blearily opened its eyes and curled back into Arya's warmth. Arya, who was giggling at its behavior, lifted it in her arms and began rocking slowly, muttering sweet nothings into the dragon's ear in an attempt to wake it. It worked, and the Arya could make out the amber eyes of her emerald companion as it began to shake its head awake, getting rid of any lingering drowsiness from its awakening.

"Hello, little dragon!" Arya couldn't help but let out a gentle laugh at its expression upon seeing her, it instantly perked up, its tail wrapping around her forearm, chirping loudly and it seemed to sigh in content. "I just got back from Carvanhall, I'm terribly sorry for leaving you alone like that, but you need a name, little dragon. And I don't happen to know anything about the dragon riders, much less what certain dragons were named. I have a few if you'd like to hear them." The dragon, who Arya suspected was trying to make out the details of her face, perked up again and it sat up in her arms, sitting on its back legs which rested on her left forearm, which was the arm on the outside of her hold on the dragon, its wings draped over her arm, the webbing a slightly darker color than the rest of its body, which was a pristine viridescent hue that allowed for the sun to sparkle against its scales.

The naming took longer than Arya suspected, and she only found out her dragon was a male when he repeatedly denied female names that Arya had put in order specifically to figure out its gender, and Arya almost gave up hope, until her dragon, newly dubbed Firnen, chose his name, which was the last one Brom had told her.

*flashback end*

Throughout winter and its end, Arya had to sneak strips of meat from the cellar to feed her dragon, for Firnen did not like vegetables, which Arya found out after he scratched a squash into tiny pieces after taking a small bite out of, and as he grew it also grew more difficult to sneak food to Firnen, as even when he was small, he required a plentiful amount of food.

Their bond was unlike anything Arya had ever experienced before. She could, almost always, tell what kind of a mood her uncle or Roran was in, even Brom for that matter, but she didn't actually feel their emotions as her own. But with Firnen she could feel his emotions and, if she weren't aware of his presence in the back of her head, she could've easily claimed them as her own. Touching Firnen brought out the strongest emotions, and they were more enriched, and she could barely tell where her mind ended and he began. But as she distanced herself from him, say a trip to Carvanhall, his presence, and emotions in her mind grew more diluted and she could tell which feelings were his and which were hers, but she was still able to communicate to him.

Talking with Firnen at first was mainly sending a particularly strong emotion to him which was associated with an image, for he didn't know what words meant and, for a certain time, actions were how she communicated with Firnen. But eventually, after a lot of word-image association, and simply explaining what words meant to Firnen, he was able to understand what words meant. One-sided conversation between them was how Arya spent most of her winter, either hiding from her uncle in her room or visiting Brom in Carvanhall. The snow was rough most days, and a few were so bad she couldn't even leave her house, but with her lightweight coupled with boots she had made that allowed her to drift on the top of the snow, she was able to escape her home and visit the town.

His first words were her name, and his voice was a rich baritone that sounded like it should have come from a forty-year-old man, not a three-month-old dragon, but she was glad, nonetheless. He didn't speak often seemingly used to Arya's rambling and let her rant more often than not about any number of things, letting her fulminate, then offering his input about the situation. The only topics he was openly verbal about were her uncle and Brom.

Simply put, the dragon loathed her uncle, for he was a man who would torment his kin, without any concrete reason too. But Brom, from what he learned from both Arya talking about him as well as what emotions he felt from Arya about the storyteller, was honest if a bit crude, a man who had his respect.

Arya, who just sneaked out of the house with a chunk of meat in tow, broke into a light jog, heading into the forest, and inside the forest her grotto. She had to now wake up earlier than her uncle to sneak off to Firnen, for the chunks of meat he now required for food wouldn't fit under her breeches and didn't even fit under the few dresses she had.

Upon her arrival, which required her to traverse a trail covered in underbrush, Firnen leaped up playfully from where he was basking in the sun to embrace his rider. Arya let out a boisterous laugh at her dragon's actions, going to her knees and wrapping her arms around the neck of Firnen, who upon her touch, began purring.

"All right you lazy dragon, I got your food!" Arya untangled her arms off of Firnen, and unwrapped the parcel she was carrying, it is having wrapped a hefty chunk of meat which she had cut out from a deer, and after she set it on the ground, Firnen devoured it, blood spattering on the tall grass that occupied the grotto. Firnen, who wasn't allowed to hunt this close to Carvanhall, due to hunters and the fact that he could be seen, hadn't had food in a couple of days, and the food he did manage to get in the grotto would not sustain his growth rate.

I'm not lazy, Arya. The deep, booming voice of her companion rang throughout her head after he finished his meal, and they both went back to the rock in which Firnen had been lounging before she had arrived. Leaning against the rock, with her dragon draped above her on the plateau of said rock, Arya let Firnen wrap his scaly tail around her right arm, with his head resting on a dip in the rock, which allowed for him to almost surround Arya's entire backside, along with her shoulders.

"I plan on going to Carvanhall today, to see Brom again," Arya said in a quiet voice, after a few minutes of peaceful silence between the two. Even with a bond of only around three months, Arya and Firnen were content to just be in each other's presence, absorbed with the other's emotions.

That forsaken town, Little One. The one where only a few select people accept you? The endearing term Firnen had for her only became his nickname for her after, from Brom, he learned that he would gain the size that would supersede Arya's, but now it brought giggling to Arya every time he used it.

"Yes Firnen, we need to know more about the riders, and the only person I know who knows anything remotely important about them is Brom. And besides, you like Brom." Arya had reached over with her left hand, stroking Firnen's snout as he stressed over her impending trip to Carvanhall. The last few times she had been left alone, but Firnen knew better, from her memories, that everything was fine and dandy regarding Arya and the locals of Carvanhall.

That doesn't mean I have to like it, I am aware of how much you despise that town, you know? Arya huffed in annoyance at Firnen's knowing tone, but she knew he was right. "Fine, if it satisfies you, ill try to avoid people and keep my hood on at all times." Firnen nodded his head and squeezed her right arm with his tail. You know I only dot on because I worry for you, right. I can feel your hatred and abhorrence for that town, but I also feel your fright, and you're longing for approval from them. But know this, Little One, I will always love you, as will Roran and Katrina, and even Brom. Wiping a stray tear from the heartful monologue Firnen just gave, she adjusted herself so she could lean her forehead against his snout, she nodded, kissed the tip of his nose, and left the grotto, leaving her haven of peace, for the town of Carvanhall.

*time skip*

Without incident, Arya had managed to navigate Carvanhall devoid of contact with either mothers on porches, or boys playing in the streets. Thankfully, Brom, due to the weather, was staying inside which allowed for her to avoid the tavern and occupants inside, which would've most likely ended in an encounter she would've preferred to avoid.

Knocking a few times, with her hood pulled over her face, Arya waited for the old storyteller to hopefully answer the door. Minute's pass and Arya is about to knock again, when the door suddenly jerks open, its opener being Brom in a navy-blue tunic and a pair of baggy cotton breeches.

"Whaddya want?" The old man barked, both upset about being awoken and also being disturbed during his teatime until he saw Arya on his doorstep. Visibly relaxing, Brom sidestepped away from the door, waving his other hand into his house, for he knew that saying Arya's name out loud would certainly inform people of her arrival. And while most people only talked about her behind her back, there were always those who sought violence to resolve their differences.

Arya quickly entered the small house, taking off her cloak and wiping off her shoes on his entry rug, she then followed Brom to the living room. The old man was lighting up his pipe, taking a few puffs, then sitting down and motioning Arya to do the same.

After a few moments of undisturbed silence, with only the crackling of the fire sounding from the hearth, Brom spoke. "I assume that you have more questions?" He took another puff from his pipe, and then readjusted himself in his chair, seemingly readying himself for a barrage of questions.

Arya, who was fidgeting with the string of her breeches, nodded, trying not to show Brom how anxious she was about asking more about a subject that in recent years had become borderline taboo. "I heard… well… a man at Horst's, when I was getting my arrowheads, mentioned a few things about the dragon riders, and they contradicted some of the other things you and a couple of others had told me, and I was curious." Taking a deep breath, Arya, who was looking at her feet, waiting with bated breath about what Brom was going to say.

"Well, I suppose you should specify what you wanted to be cleared up." The grave voice of Brom reverberated throughout the room, and Arya nodded, perking up at the knowledge that she would have her questions answered.

"What made the riders special? Besides having dragons and elves in their "group", what made them any different than say a knight or a captain. Did they have magic? Did they have advanced reflexes" Did they go through extensive training? If so, what did that training entail? Did their dra-"

"Enough. One at a time" Brom interrupted her tirade with a raised hand and when Arya nodded, he relaxed back in his chair. "The rider's power was only known to members of the order. Very few people knew what they were, much more what they did, and only perhaps a select family of riders or spouses knew what their powers were. The rider's sanctuary was an island on the west coast of Alagaësia, known as Vroengard, and it was made uninhabitable after the war. Anywho went in search of their secrets never returned. It is thought that they most likely had some form of magic, similar to that of the elves, for some of the things they accomplished, were extraordinary. They also believed that they did have enhanced reflexes and augmented abilities, such as improved eyesight, agility, strength, etc. They also were believed to go through strenuous training in order to become an official member of the riders. For a simple knight or captain, would have no chance at fighting a shade or a band of Urguals, yet most riders could, excluding the shade, with remote ease. No one knows the secrets of the riders, at least no one you will be able to find here, or even in Therinsford. Only in places such as Gil'ead or Uru'Bean or with the elves, which are also unknown, would you find such knowledge. With King Galbatorix's coronation, most if not all of those books or scrolls regarding the riders were either confiscated or destroyed." Brom took another hit of his pipe and watched as Arya processed this knowledge. She looked down at her right hand, more specifically her palm paused, then looked back up again at Brom with furrowed brows.

"Were there any ways to identify a rider, outside of obviously their dragon?" Brom laughed quietly at the joke, then proceeded with his answer. "It is rumored that whatever source of power that the riders had was channeled through a mark, on the hand that first touched its dragon. A silvery colored shape would appear on said hand and was rumored to glow when certain ones used "magic". Of course, this was never proven, and the fact that gloves or even mud would be able to cover said mark makes it unreliable to tell if one was a rider, for most of them did wear gloves or had dirtied hands, or if their hands were clean, no one was able to look into them." Brom noticed with an inquisitive glance that once again Arya looked back to her palm, but he couldn't see what she was looking at in the dimly lit room. She lifted her head, then, almost hesitantly, she brought her gaze back to Brom.

"What about their dragons?" Brom once again noticed the almost pleading look in her eye, and also could tell from her body language that she was anxious about something, but what? Deciding to ignore that for now, he put the piece of info away and instead answered her question. "Born from eggs that were often mistaken for gems, or people thought looked like gems, the dragons bonded to their respective rider after the dragon hatched and the rider touched it. Dragons could've been born in the wild, but those were rarer and more often than not, those dragons were born from previous wild dragons, who usually resided in the northern part of Alagaësia. If an egg were meant to be born to a rider, it would be taken around the Alagaësia to various cities or towns, often by an elvish ambassador or rider, and people of all ages would go before it, and the egg would see if they were worthy. Most eggs hatched relatively quickly, but some took decades or even centuries to hatch. They grew in their age, and some of the biggest were bigger than houses or even a tavern. Each one also varied in color, ranging from blue to red to even colors like purple and gold, each one was unique. Their eggs were the color of their scales. Their actual bond with their respective riders is another unknown factor of the dragon riders."

Brom then went on to answer other various questions through the day, some being childish, others having actual meaning, but he answered them nonetheless, and went he could tell it was nearing dusk, he sent the still curious girl away.

Arya, somewhat satisfied with the answers she received, began the trek back home, when she stopped in the middle of the road, the oncoming sight bringing warmth to her heart.

Her cousin was wrapped up in the arms of a copper-haired girl, both of them kissing each other deeply, unknown to their audience, and she knew that Katrina had gotten the letter she sent her. Katrina was a copper-haired girl with fair skin, and was only a year older than Roran, and was slightly taller than Arya. The daughter of the town's butcher, Arya had interacted with her often when she managed to not catch anything during her hunts and then had to go barter with Sloan for meat for the winter. They had been courting for almost three years now, and Arya was happy for her cousin. Katrina was a strong-willed girl, always standing up for what she believed in, and always backed up Arya when she could. Arya also knew that her cousin had plans to marry her, but with only sometimes working for Horst, and the fact that that was not a well-paying job, Roran was to wait until he could go to Therinsford to get a job to both afford a house as well as a family.

The couple breaking apart from a rather heated kiss, they hugged, and, from she could tell, her cousin was whispering sweet nothings into her ear, gently stroking her back. And, when they broke apart again, she leaned up, kissed him one last time, bunched up her dress, then headed off.

Arya, who was giggling at the expression on her cousin's face, socked him in the arm and Roran jumped slightly. Arya, shaking her head at her cousin's antics, grabbed his hand, and began to head home.

Thanks so much for reading, please review if you have any questions or need anything clarified.

Again thanks!

-xkid11