Chapter Four

A Cry for Help

Eragon felt the familiar twang in his stomach as he caught sight of Arya, but he did his best to control his emotions. I gave my word, he thought sullenly. He shut his eyes for a moment, willing all thoughts of Arya away to the recesses of his mind. It was futile, of course, but it made him feel better.

He stopped a short distance from Arya and began to raise his fingers to his lips in the traditional greeting.

"Stop it, Eragon," she murmured. He ended the gesture abruptly. "There is no need for that, and you know it."

"Very well," Eragon said. It sounded stiff and angry to his ears. "Very well," he said again, this time in a softer tone. An awkward silence followed, and Eragon found it increasingly difficult to refrain from staring at Arya's perfect figure.

"I saw you with Roran today," Eragon said at last, shattering the quiet. "What…what were you two talking about?"

In the past, Eragon would not have been able to detect any sign of emotion on Arya's face. After the dragon's gift at the Agaetí Blödhren, however, his senses had been heightened immeasurably; which was how he was able to detect the anger betrayed by an almost unnoticeable twitch of muscle in Arya's left temple. She opened her mouth to speak but Eragon cut her off.

"That is not what I meant, Arya. I promised I would stop being… foolish around you, and I will keep my promise. I simply wish to know what it was you spoke of. Roran has grown distant of late, and I worry about him is all." Eragon broke away from her gaze and looked away. Inwardly he knew it was a lie, and looking so deeply into those orbs of liquid emerald always made him feel…naked; as if his entire soul had been exposed and all his thoughts laid before her on exhibition. The feeling was unnerving, to say the least, but it was always accompanied by an odd sense of hope that somehow, in the process of exploring the recesses of his being, she would see how he truly felt for her, and not just view him as a foolish young boy.

"…is troubling you –" he heard her say.

"What? Sorry. My mind was elsewhere." She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and Eragon suddenly realized how his comment must have sounded. "No! I didn't –"

"Do not worry, Argetlam. I understand. What I was saying was that something is troubling you – I can see it in your eyes. What is wrong, Eragon?"

"There is nothing…" he began, and trailed off. He wondered whether he should tell her about his dream and his apparent lust for violence and destruction.

"Yes?" Arya said after a moment. Eragon looked up into her eyes. No, he thought. She will only think less of me. This must remain a secret between Saphira and me.

"There is nothing wrong," he repeated. Arya stared at him and after a moment Eragon broke away from her gaze, unnerved.

"Very well," she said at last. "One day, perhaps, we will learn to be open with each other."

Eragon felt anger surge within him. "The last time I was open with you –"

"That is not the only way to be open, Eragon. I simply hope that, one day, we will be able to look at one another as…friends…and share what is on our minds." Something in her voice caught Eragon's attention, but he refrained from outwardly showing that he had noticed it.

Or perhaps, he thought to himself, I am deluding myself with fantasies once again. "Arya, there truly is nothing bothering me," he murmured. "Would you tell me, though, what it was you and Roran talked about?"

"Katrina," Arya said simply. "He is worried to the point of exhaustion about her; she is all he thinks about anymore, and it is tearing him apart."

"I wish there was something I could do to ease his pain," Eragon murmured. He thought of Katrina, locked away at the top of Helgrind, constantly tortured by Galbatorix's foul minions. As he brooded, his thoughts switched unexpectedly to Arya when he had rescued her from Gil'ead. He remembered in vivid detail the horrible wounds upon Arya's tortured flesh, and somewhere, deep within his mind, he felt rage begin to build up. He imagined torturing those responsible for Arya's pain, envisioned himself hurting the soldiers responsible in horrible ways. The rage was soon accompanied by a sort of sick pleasure. I could get lost in this, he thought absently. It feels good…

"Eragon!" Arya's voice shattered his thoughts and brought him back to the present.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding slurred as though he had drunk too much mead.

"What were you doing?"

He became aware that his fists were clenched tightly and he looked down at them. He opened his hands slowly, noting the smears of blood where his nails had broken the flesh of his palms. "I…was just…" He faltered. What do I tell her? "I was thinking about…the Ra'zac, and I became angry…" He trailed off. Best not to dig the hole any deeper, he thought. "It was nothing."

Arya ran a hand through her hair and breathed an annoyed sigh. "Fine," she said stiffly. "Don't tell me." She turned and began to walk quickly away.

"Arya…" Eragon said, but realized the gesture was futile.

You have a knack for making her angry, little one, said a familiar voice in his head. Perhaps you should try telling her what is bothering you. I would tell you that your current course of action does not seem to be working, but hopefully you have already figured that out for yourself.

I do have a knack for it, don't I Saphira? He heaved a mental sigh. Am I not supposed to be happy? Am I just some sort of tool put here to do a job and nothing else? It seems that way lately. I just wish she felt the same way about me that I do about her. Saphira did not reply. Saphira?

He sensed turmoil on her end of the mental connection, but Saphira must have realized this because he was cut off from it almost immediately. I am sorry, little one. I do not know how to help you with this. A wave of sadness and frustration hit Eragon like a tidal wave.

Well, it's no use dwelling on it, Eragon said. I will return to the camp shortly. I need some time by myself first, though.

Very well, Eragon.

Eragon severed the connection and sat slowly down on the ground with his legs crossed. He closed his eyes and tried to meditate as Oromis had shown him how to, but his thoughts strayed incessantly back to Arya. Why? he thought morosely. Why?

Saphira felt Eragon sever the mental connection between them and returned to her meal – a freshly caught buck. As she ate she mulled over her conversation with Eragon. Her Rider had grown so troubled after the dream. She wished she could find an answer to Eragon's problems, but her mind left her perpetually in the dark. She finished the deer and licked her lips. Then a thought occurred to her.

Arya, she thought.

A moment later she was answered. Saphira?

Yes.

What do you need? Arya's thoughts were laced with emotion; Saphira could feel the elf's anger and frustration almost physically. She looked deeper and realized that the frustration was not simply because of Eragon's refusal to let her know what was troubling him. There was something else as well…

Ahhh… she thought inwardly. How interesting…

Saphira? The emotions faded quickly; Arya must have felt Saphira probing them. There was still a faint trace of them, however; no matter how strong an elf was mentally, they would never be able to match a dragon.

I need to talk to you about Eragon, Saphira said. She felt Arya's irritation well up again, and this time it was accompanied by another emotion – sadness.

What is troubling him Saphira? I know there is something wrong, but he will not tell me.

I am sorry, but it is not my place. Saphira felt Arya's rage rise. You will have to wait until he is ready. Do not expect him to bare his soul to you so soon, Arya; you dealt him a terrible blow at the Agaetí Blödhren and I do not believe he will be ready speak to you so openly for a long time.

I had no choice! There was the agitation again and…regret. Saphira raised an eyebrow, but the feeling was hidden almost immediately. A wave of desperation joined the fray soon after. We cannot do anything foolish while the war still rages! It could mean the end of us all.

And after the war? Saphira could almost feel Arya's stomach flip at the question.

I do not love him. The reply came belatedly and lacked conviction, but Saphira did not press the matter.

Do elves dream? Saphira asked, deliberately switching topics.

Do elves – what? Saphira could sense Arya's confusion.

Dream. I was wondering if elves have ever been known to dream.

I…have not heard of it. Why? Is that what is troubling Eragon?

Saphira grimaced. Well, why shouldn't she know? she wondered. It cannot hurt.

Yes, she said at last. He dreamt he was on the Burning Plains.

Well, perhaps he simply retained some of his human aspects in the transformation. Arya responded, but she sounded unsure.

He said he enjoyed inflicting pain, Saphira added.

I see. Not exactly an admirable trait, but –

He is worried, Arya. Worried that he will turn into another Galbatorix.

Arya's response was immediate. Eragon another Galbatorix? Never! How could Eragon possibly think that?

You are that certain? Power is a tantalizing brew, Arya – drink too much of it and it begins to corrupt even the most kind-hearted person.

But not Eragon, Arya said firmly.

Perhaps you should tell him that.

There was nothing but silence on Arya's end of the link.

Arya?

I heard you.

He says the urge to kill becomes almost irresistible. That is what he is most worried about, Arya. Perhaps all he needs is a little help from someone other than me for once.

But he won't let me in, Saphira! How am I supposed to help him if –

He will let you in, Saphira said. You just need to show a little kindness.