NOTICE: I do not own the characters in this story. Christopher Paolini is the rightful owner of them (duh). I have decided to write this story just because. This takes place after the battle of the Burning Planes, I guess a few days after, or right after and the meeting with Carvahall never happened, or hasn't happened yet.

Stressful days

Eragon stood at the edge of the small creek. It was right after the battle of the Burning Plains and he had finally gotten away from his duties to take a break. He and Saphira came down to the creek to wash up some and to do some thinking.

Saphira? Eragon asked his dragon after a long period of silence.

Yes little one?

What is going to happen to us now? Murtagh, he-

He has left you swordless. She finished for him. And I know not of what the future has in store for us. Maybe you should take a trip to Angela? Saphira suggested with a chuckle.

Eragon did not reply to his friends joke. He was clearly not in a joking mood. His knees suddenly buckled from under him, leaving him on his hands and knees in the creek bed. A sob escaped his throat as it clenched up on him. His chest became tight and he found himself crying into the slow flowing creek.

Shhhh... Little one do not cry. She crooned to him.

"Why shouldn't I?" He angrily snapped as he quickly stood up and knocked away her wing that she covered him with for comfort.

Eragon. She began in a warning tone. Everything will turn out ok.

"How can you say that? After everything we've been through? It's been one bad thing after another!" He snapped back at her, using his hands for emphasis.

Eragon, believe me, I understand-

"No you don't!"

Eragon...I... She took a half step toward him.

"Leave me alone!" He yelled at her with one final dismissive swing of his arm.

Saphira took a step back, confused and hurt by his out burst toward her. She spread her wings and flew off into the dark sky above, the whole time her heart felt like it was being stabbed.

Eragon sniffled and walked back toward his tent. He was still fuming with anger and confusion. He hadn't cried since that day in Du Weldenvarden. That seemed like ages ago. Eragon was still on the verge of spilling more tears as he clumsily wondered back to his tent. His vision became clouded once again as he saw Arya standing several yards away in front of him. She glared at him with an intensity that could burn through your skull.

"Arya..." He softly mumbled as he walked up to her. He was half tempted to hold out his arms and embrace her, but he pushed that thought away.

She was still glaring at him as she took a step forward. Eragon was too drunk in despair to notice anything that she was doing. He was merely staring at the earth floor, wishing she would take pity on him and hug him. But that dream was shattered when Arya's hand came in contact with the left side of his face. He stumbled backwards with a shocked gasp. His hand held his throbbing cheek as she swore.

"Barzul ono Argetlam!"

He suddenly knew the error of his ways. All of the pain he had previously felt dissipated, and a new, more powerful one emerged up through his stomach and into his chest. He staggered as he clutched his chest and soon became bent over in agony.

"I hope you feel Saphira's pain well enough Argetlam." She sourly snarled at him. She left him there, bent over in pain, and returned to her tent; fully satisfied with her actions.

Eragon sat on the ground for quite some time. All the while trying to dull the pain so he could at least walk again. He had to get to Saphira. He knew where she was, on the other side of the camp on a grassy knoll that had a clear view of the stars that night.

After he was sure he had dulled the pain enough, he stood up and began walking. Along the way there were sparks that sometimes pinged into his chest, but he ignored them the best he could and kept trudging along, closing the distance between himself and his life partner. It had seemed like they knew each other all their lives. He wouldn't be able to stand it if she was taken away from him forever.

He was reaching her at a quicker pace now, he could see the knoll, and her massive body laying atop of it. There seemed to be a few other figures surrounding her. It seemed like eons had passed when he finally reached her. He lightly touched her side, signifying his physical presence. She craned her large head around to see him. Eragon walked around to her other side where he found Orik and Solumbum. Saphira gently nudged them away. They left, albeit reluctantly. She then turned to Eragon wearing a hurt expression.

Saphira... I'm so sorry. I don't know what got into me... I deserve more than a slap in the face by Arya. Eragon began. The dulled pain began to subside, slowly, gradually.

A man on the outside, but still hints of a boy in the inside. Your confusion and pain is understandable, little one. I feel it every day just as you do. But do I bite your head off for it?

Your right... I am so stupid! I have no right to carry the gedwey ignasia or to be called Argetlam! Only men carry those honors and titles. He told her as he paced back and forth flailing his arms about. He hit himself in the head.

Do you want to know what I think, Eragon? She asked of him as she craned her neck toward him to comfort his swollen cheek with a gentle touch of her nose.

What is it Saphira?

You are under pressure and stress. No one really knows how much one can take until they over flow. And you are a fine Argetlam. She pulled back from his cheek and touched the place on his forehead where he had hit himself.

Eragon patted her on the nose lovingly. I don't expect you to forgive me... A regetful and sad expression shown in his eyes.

You have already been forgiven little one. Next time though I wont be so lenient. She told him as she laid her head on the soft grass and blew smoke out of her nose for emphasis.

Eragon chuckled. You may char me if you would like.

I would enjoy that. Was her sarcastic statement.

Silence grew between them. Eragon settled himself in the curve of her neck and used it as a pillow. Her scales glittered beautifully in the yellowish moon light.

Then finally he spoke. Saphira?

Yes?

Thank you.

Your welcome, Eragon.

And...

Yes?

I love you.

I love you too little one.