Eragon whipped the sweat off of his brow as he once again performed another pull-up, with the dull throbbing in his muscles made his teeth clench. His hands, which were riddled with callouses and scars, ached a bit, but that pain was manageable.

In the free time he had now, which would've been occupied with Durza's torture, Eragon was able to get himself back into physical shape, as well as mental shape. The shade has almost eroded his mental shields, and after his workouts, he would reinforce them, vigorously. His meals, which were now removed of the sedative, were still terrible, but they sustained his exercise.

It seemed that the guards and Durza were content with Eragon getting himself into shape, for they probably believed it was all for not, which it likely was. The elf had never met the King before, at least in person, but he knew how powerful the man was. That, and Eragon had knowledge that was critical and very valuable to the King, and he was likely to stop at nothing to get said information.

Jumping down from the roof of his cell, Eragon pulled the now sweat-drenched shirt he was wearing over his head. The exercise paired with his humid cell left Eragon in a constant state of slight dehydration, and he always tried to get more water from the guards. Only about one or two entertained his requests. Most of them would curse him, then spit on him, and then would ramble on and on about whatever they felt like rambling about. It didn't get to him most of the time, and he simply chose to ignore them, but spit in his eye infuriated him and he almost attacked a guard.

SIghing to himself, he sat down and assumed a meditation pose he had been taught by his mother. Closing his eyes, he breathed in and out and went through the motions of the meditation.

Minutes pass, and when the elf opens his eyes again, he feels much more relaxed. Well, as much as one can be relaxed in an enemy's castle. Magic was fickle in the castle, and the wards must have been designed in a certain way that only Durza could do magic. He could feel his magic, but he couldn't access it, and that frustrated him.

A knock on the door, paired with a loud boom broke Eragon out of his stature and he carefully walked over to the door of his cell.

Magic, Arya had decided, was an odd thing. For one, it exhausted her beyond anything she had ever done before, which meant she had to eat more and also sleep more, and sometimes it pissed her off. Not being able to string along a few phrases to do a series of tasks made Arya royally mad at however had made magic. And two, it was a lot of memory or a more generalized understanding, that was needed for using magic and by extension the ancient language.

But Brom, as usual, had been an excellent teacher, and by the time they reached Terim, she had most of what Brom had told her down pat.

Their travels, on the other hand, were much more straightforward. The Ra'Zac were monsters, simple as that, and she witnessed that first hand. Multiple small villages had been massacred by the Ra'Zac, and Arya's hatred for them grew tenfold every day. Brom and herself were still tracking them down, and they were still hot on their trail, but it frustrated Arya with their lack of progress. Teirm was different than Carvahall, and she found she disliked large cities in general. They were too crowded and she often found herself checking over her shoulder, her paranoia kicking in. Ever since her encounter with the Ra'Zac and Sloan, she had found herself distrustful of most people, and she also found herself spending more time reading and profiling people than actually interacting with them. She found Firnen made for great conversation and felt that most people weren't worth talking to.

Firnen had grown even more since they had left Carvahall, and now he cleared over Brom's head. He was also ridable now, and while they could only do it at night, she tried to ride with Firnen whenever she could. Flying, or the feeling that came with flying with Firnen, could only be described as Euphoria and she knew she could spend the rest of her life alone with Firnen.

The future, or lack thereof, worried Arya. From what she had learned from Brom and Jeod, mainly about the Varden, her life could easily go about three ways. One, she could join the empire and subsequently the King. She had no desire to do so, frankly, she would rather die, and from what Brom had told her, she and Firnen would be used as nothing more than a slave. Brom hadn't told her much about the King, only that he was very strong, but she was told that it had been rumored that Shruikan, the King's dragon, was infertile. Which meant that Firnen was the only fertile male dragon, and even without a female, he was still valuable. Two, she could do nothing. She could live alone in the Spine or the Hadarac desert, and live out the rest of her days alone. But she didn't want to do that, be an idle rider instead of an active one like in the stories she had grown up on. And Three, the option that seemed the most viable, was for her to join the Varden. Like the King, Brom hadn't told her a lot about the Varden. She knew that they were a rebel group and that they were rebelling against the Empire, but that was the extent of her knowledge. She didn't know where they were, or even if they existed, and that scared her.

She didn't know what she was doing.

Brom sighed heavily as he took a long hit off of his pipe and then leaned back against the log that was by the fire. The old man hated lying to Arya, his daughter for crying out loud, but he knew it was necessary. It had all started when he had taken the emerald egg, now Firnen, from Morzan, who had stolen it from Hefring, who had been the thief who had stolen it in the first place from the empire.

The theft was supposed to be easy, and it was, but that damn thief had to lose his cool. He had fled, to who knows where, and that was when Brom had chased Hefring around the lands, but Morzan got to him first.

"Morzan…" Brom kicked a rock angrily at the mention of the Forsworn's name. They had been friends when they were training as riders, hell he practically praised Morzan, and when he had heard of his betrayal it sent Brom into a catastrophic depression until it happened. His dragon, Firnen, had been his entire world, even before Morzan's betrayal. His other half, if you will, and when Morzan killed Firnen, it sent him to an irate state that made him an anger-filled individual hell-bent on revenge. So when he found Morzan with the emerald green egg, it was the perfect opportunity for revenge. Killing Morzan, along with his dragon, had been hard. More so than any other thing he had done as a rider, but only in his anger-fueled state did he find himself hunched over Morzan, holding onto his sword which was protruding from Morzan's body.

After that, Brom fled Gil'ead and afterward went in search of Selena, his wife. She didn't start that way he had originally been sent to kill her, but he slowly found himself becoming enamored with the woman that was Selena, the black hand. But as a gardener in Morzan's garden along with Selena's oath to Morzan, he couldn't act on his feelings until Morzan left. After her name had changed, they were able to consummate their feelings and were married, with only the priest as a witness. But when duty called, he was forced to leave, he came back to a dead Selena, and only rumors about what had happened. The grief from that and killing Morzan almost made Brom kill himself, but when he learned Selena was pregnant, he flew off to Carvahall. There, he found Garrow and his wife, along with his daughter. With Selena's hair and eyes, a beautiful little girl awaited him, but when he learned of Garrow and his wife, he instead chose to live in Carvahall, under the guise of a storyteller.

And that led him to here.

Darkness warped Arya's vision as the scenery of her mind changed from whatever she had been dreaming about, to a prison cell. The cell was ordinary enough, had no windows, but the person inside really captivated Arya.

He was unlike anyone she had ever seen before, and he was probably the first person that had piqued her interest. He was tall, and slim, with shaggy brown hair. His body was unlike that of any human she had seen before. Most males in the village had bodies of a bear, thick but still muscular, but this male had a body of a wolf. Slim and angular, but definitely muscled, he was also definitely different. His ears were pointed slightly, and he had a very chiseled face with no stubble.

He was also covered in bruises as well as scabs, it was obvious that he had been attacked or even tortured.

Who the hell was this guy? And what the hell was happening to her. She had never had one of these visions before, and the fact it was a mysterious man locked in a prison cell of some kind made her question what the hell was going on.

The man muttered something in his sleep, and she only saw a stray tear leave his eyes before she shot up in her bed mat, which had been spread out under the space that was made from Firnen's wings. Sweat had pooled by her hairline and she wiped it off before rolling back over, now laying on her side.

What the hell… Arya thought to herself. What is troubling you, Arya? Firnen inquired.

I don't know, Firnen. Some weird… vision? I guess? I don't understand. Maybe I'll ask Brom. She pried open Firnen's wing and made her way over to the Old Man's bedroll where he laid. Brom, it seemed, was already awake, and when she walked over to him, he straightened up and removed his pipe from his mouth.

"I had… a weird vision." Brom furrowed his eyebrows and spread out his legs.

"Vision? What kind of vision?"

"I saw a man… in a prison cell. He had been tortured to some degree, at least I think, and he looked different." Arya began pacing in front of the dying fire as Brom eyes closed and he rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

"You, in some very odd way, have performed scrying. Which is seeing someone you've seen before using magic. Usually using a bowl of water, scrying allows for you to see people and communicate with them from any distance. What I don't understand, is how you performed it. You said you've never seen this man before?"

Arya nodded and once again Brom's eyebrows furrowed. "Describe him to me again?"

"He had pointed, I think, ears and shaggy brown hair that went down to his eyes. He had a slim angular body and was covered in scars that covered his entire body. His cell was pretty tiny, had no windows, and had only a bed."

"What do you mean, pointed ears?"

"You know, instead of being round they ended at a point."

"Describe his scars."

"They were all over his entire body, some large, some really thin, but there was one that went across his chest. It was pretty big and went around most of his torso. It was also pretty deep like someone had tried to cut him open. He-"

"Did he have any tattoos?" Brom stopped and had grabbed a piece of parchment, drawing something on it. "Like this?" He showed her a complicated, intricate drawing that must have been some symbol. And now that she thought of it…

"Yeah! On his left shoulder blade!" Brom deflated at that and then dropped his parchment.

"Shit…"