The War Inside
His eyes held secrets,
His eyes held wisdom,
His eyes held age.
They held the experience of a thousand generations,
But also the Impish ire of youth.
He was conflicted,
And selfless,
And brave.
He was strong,
Yet weak,
So Independent,
Yet reliant.
He was afraid too,
And cautious,
And lacking.
He wanted to burn the world until it fell at his feet,
And yet also to meditate until he understood everything.
He was balanced,
And unstable.
He was one with all nature,
Yet so separate from it.
She knew not what she thought of Eragon,
But knew exactly what she wanted.
Her face,
A blank mask,
Holding back a tidal wave of emotion,
Concealing her identity,
Arya didn't even know herself anymore,
She had been hiding for so long,
She forgot who she was.
She was numb,
There were times when she thought her blank mask was actually what she was feeling,
And times when her emotions were indescribable.
She needed peace,
Balance.
Eragon was balance,
A refuge,
But one she could not seek out,
A forbidden hope,
A lost cause,
A painful comfort,
Bittersweet.
Her feelings befuddled,
She couldn't think straight,
Her heart beat in time with his,
She could feel his prescence a thousand miles away.
The birds and beasts,
The very wind itself told of his coming,
And she longed for him,
But she resisted still.
She could not approach him,
She had to turn cold,
She had to ignore the desire that is perfectly natural,
She had to be cold,
And dark,
Miserable,
And unnaproachable,
She had to reject and scorn him,
And remain strong so as to not give in to temptation.
But could she for much longer?
Her internal war raged on,
Ravaging her soul,
Tearing her apart,
Making her numb.
She knew how to ease her pain,
But she couldn't,
She had to stay strong,
For him.
So she lay in her tent,
And prayed she didn't give in.