Fall of the Empire
Chapter One.
Torn Heart.
Eragon sat sorrowfully on his stool in the tent. The sun was setting, and darkness was enveloping the camp.
Three damn days…
It's been three days since the battle. Eragon, go talk to Arya. That may lighten up your mood.
Aye.
Eragon got out of his tent and began walking down the row of tents. He only stopped once he reached the tent at the end of the row, which belonged to Arya. Stepping inside, he found Arya staring at the ground blankly.
"Arya Svit-Kona?"
"Yes, Eragon?" she murmured, without looking up.
"Arya, you seem troubled."
"Perhaps… it is just the windings of fate. Where will we be lead from here?"
"I do not know. That is something you must not be afraid of, however." Although unsure, Eragon sat next to her, and grasped her hand in his. Arya winced.
"Eragon…" she trailed of warningly.
"Arya. You know I cannot help my feelings towards you. I will leave you alone only if you answer this question in the ancient language. Do you love me, not as a friend, not as anything besides a lover?"
"No, Eragon I will not answer."
"Very well. I have my answer anyways." He got up, and Arya only managed a glimpse at his face, and could see a few tears. He moved to get out of the tent, but he was stopped by Arya. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Eragon. I broke your heart. You don't deserve this. You should not torture yourself like-"
"No Arya. You didn't break my heart. You tore it apart."
Without another word, he left her tent, leaving her to ponder what had just happened.