Personally, I despise the eragon/Arya ship, but this is my attempt to write a decent fiction on this ship, and maybe if people actually read something that's palusable, not 'she was hiding her feelings' stuff that always happens, maybe we can all gain some fresh insight on it. And maybe I can make myself have the stomach of steel.

I look over the battlefield, still shrewn with the bodies of our enemies. The final battle was over a few weeks ago, and still they sit there. The traitor's head now sits upon a spike; his eyes partially picked out by a buzzard. I look at it stonily, and hear the soft footfall behind me. He stands next to me, looking at the same sight I do.

I hope he stays silent. I make no move to look at him, or even acknowledge his presence. To be honest, I love it as it is now- easy. Why complicate perfectly fine things? He breaths deeply, and I look at him. Still so young, but his features are clouded, as they have been since he brought upon Galbortorix his death blow. I sigh, and put my hand on his shoulder, keeping it stiff and straight; a warrior's greeting, I know.

So long as I stay like this- stiff and untouchable, perhaps any foolish ideas of his will be stayed. I realize he is not the type to hide things- as I am, but I feel as though my asking him to restrain himself is not to large a price. All I want is friendship. Because, really, our friendship is perfect. However, he prevents it from being just that.

I assume a cold voice, completely void of emotion, "You have cleared the land of a terrible stain. Do not allow it to dishearten you." he clasps my shoulder in a similar fashion, but is still distant. I continue, "You did your duty."

He says nothing for a while, and I drop my hand from his shoulder, crossing my arms in front of me as we overlook the horizon. Finally, the easy silence is broken by his words, "What is left now?"

I glance up to see Saphira flying amongst the blue sky, the black dragon by her side. It was our agreement; I would worry for Eragon's well being, and she would worry for Shruikan's. I keep my eyes fixed upon her; a symbol of hope for all, "Freedom. Sadness. Hope. And, most importantly, strength." As soon as the words part my lips, I know they were the wrong thing to say. I do not wish for another tedious speech, another unexpected kiss.

You see, with his endless wooing, he doesn't see that I like just fine what we are now: Companions. He thinks he can heal my broken, tortured heart. But, the thing is, is my heart isn't broken. It isn't tortured. It's just fine. He turns to me, his shadow lifting momentarily.

That's what I do to him. I give him false hope.

"And, healing?"

He asks it so simply, I nod. "For Alagaesia," I clarify, so he doesn't ask about me.

"And of you?" To late. He's on a roll, now, so there's no stopping him.

I look at the ground, "I have been healed. Faolins death no longer festers at me. And, did I not ask to leave this subject alone?" Really, why can't he leave it be? But he can't, he's a hound dog on the scent of a fox.

He remains cool and calm, "But if it is healed, why can it not be open?" A most excelent question, Eragon: Because I can not speak of him without you pressing your suit.

I stare back, my voice cold and even, "Because, this is not about him. It is about you. It is about you and your trying to press your suit with me, and I will not have it! We are friends, Eragon? Why can that not simply be left? You are so young, and I so ancient, comparatively."

I hate when he does this.

He looks as though I have slapped him. He looks at me, so filled with hurt.

He takes a breath, "You are right, Arya. It is about me. And it is about you." I expect him to stop now, but he doesn't, "And it is about how you let me see one part of you, that leads me to believe one thing, and then you speak another. What is it that you are denying?"

This.... boy.... is far to bold. My red ears give away my immense anger at him, and I struggle to keep my voice calm, "I am denying nothing. It is you who are in denial. You are choosing to look past the truth: We are nothing but friends, and if you wish that to remain. You will stop this."

Apparently it all is weighing down on him, because instead of letting me go, he pulls me close and kisses me.

He crushes me to him, tangleing his hands in my hair, proding me, trying to pour passion into it, but I won't let him. When I think he may stop, he instead pulls me closer, as I push him away.

My eyes are widened in shock as he finally lets me go. I glare at him, "And you have just lost that. I will put up with this no more. Goodbye, Eragon. May our paths be straight from this point on."

He knows what I have said: I do not wish to see him, ever again, and I turn and walk away, leaving him there.