Chapter Nine

Giving In

Tiny worlds, Arya thought as she examined the rain

Tiny worlds, Arya thought as she examined the rain. They are like tiny worlds in a kamikaze dive for the ground, each one soaked in pain. Arya wanted them to engulf her, crash into her the way they did the miniscule canvas tents. Even her mind, old in comparison to most, could not handle this remarkably human emotion. She could feel the love, pain and regret swimming in her veins, torturing her. She could do nothing but submit to it. If she continued to push him away, she feared that their loves would be too great – a holocaust of emotions that would ravage both of them, leaving behind mere ashes of the people consumed.

She turned slowly from the tent opening, eyes focusing on the boy… no, the man before her. He was shirtless, body sleek and glistening with sweat. He looked pathetic, face exhausted by grief, rag barely maintaining its spot on his forehead. His muscles bunched, preparing, she suspected, for her refusal. And his eyes… she couldn't look at them. But, even in that state, he was every inch the hero.

"Help me," he had pleaded, breaking into the armor she had placed around her heart. She felt it tumble inside her, the great fortress that was Arya becoming a simple mound of rubble. How could he do this to her? A human?

She could imagine that he saw the war going on inside her, despite her efforts to mask it. Maybe he didn't see it in her face, but in the moment where her feet shuffled in the sand, indecisive. Every muscle in her body tensed as he rose onto his elbows, pulling the rag away from his face.

His eyes shone and Arya knew that neither one of them could handle another rejection. Another chip in their friendship and she feared it would be no more. And a life without Eragon… could she handle it?

She moved toward him, kneeling gently beside his mat. She wasn't sure when it had begun to rain, or when Eragon had begun to mean so much to her. "Lay back down," she whispered, voice barely above a murmur.

She placed her hand on his chest, putting a slight amount of pressure there. For a moment, his body refused to go down. No, don't be defiant now, Eragon… Then, he collapsed back onto the mat, eyes closing momentarily to regain his composure.

Arya picked up the discarded wash cloth, tossing it into the bowl of water. She reached out a hand to smooth over his trembling shoulder, but thought better of it and coiled them together in her lap.

"Arya," he said sadly. "I will… try to put aside my feelings for you." Eragon's teeth clenched together as he spoke the words, as if some distant pain still enveloped him. "I can not live like this. My mind torments me." Eragon closed his eyes, turning his head away from her.

For a moment, they both fell silent. The rain beat frantically onto their canvas covering. Once again Arya's gaze was drawn to the sparkling droplets outside, so much like tears that it pained her.

"Eragon…" her words left her and she knew that she had no other choice.

Distantly, invisible to the world below, Saphira swirled through the clouds. She could feel the storm raging below her, knowing that it wasn't merely a natural occurrence, but a battle of wills. Eragon's emotions, so powerful and ancient, buried themselves inside her, causing her bones to ache.

She wanted to dive through the clouds, past the lightning streaks and to his rescue. But, alas, she knew she couldn't. Eragon needed to be strong, needed to be the man she knew he was.

Saphira? The elven voice echoed inside her mind, so unexpected it caused her to falter in flight.

Upon regaining her control, Saphira asked softly, How is Eragon? I feel- Her thought died off, head hanging in sadness. She could feel him, suffering inside. She knew his pain was great but it was also internal. Saphira knew that she could do nothing for the boy. His life rested in the hands of a stubborn and strong-headed elf.

He's awake… I, Saphira… I was hoping that you would allow me to voice an issue that has been troubling me. Arya's voice held a weight that Saphira couldn't measure and didn't understand.

What is it? Saphira questioned, worry for her Rider already causing her to divert her course and turn back.

I'm tired of us both suffering. Life, I feel, is too short – even for us Elves. We are at war… what happens if I die tomorrow.

What are you asking, child? Saphira questioned quietly, her voice holding a small amount of hope.

I'm asking your permission to be with Eragon, to love him as a human woman would love him, to love him as an elf. Arya's voice shook slightly, but held no sense of regret or false pretenses. Saphira could feel Arya's relief at finally and truly admitting her feelings for the young Rider.

Looping in the air, Saphira let out a jubilant whoop. Already, she could imagine Eragon's horrible dreams disappearing, replaced by only joy and content. This elf was what he needed to be whole, what he needed to forget. He would be stronger with her by his side, that Saphira knew. Arya, I have been waiting for this moment. Do you even need to ask? The dragon could feel an immense burden lifted. Saphira's eyes shone brightly as she thought, perhaps there are good things in times of war as well.

Arya brushed Eragon's hair from his forehead, feeling his heated skin. He hadn't spoken much since his confession, instead laid there with his eyes gripped tightly shut. Arya wondered if it wasn't in attempt to squeeze away the nightmares.

She reached for his hand, holding it tightly in hers. Eragon raised his gaze, lips barely distinguishable from the rest of his pale face. She could tell he was suffering in his emotional turmoil, drowning in it.

A cool wind whipped inside their tent, bringing with it a splattering of icy raindrops. They hit Arya across her cheek and splashed Eragon's chest but neither flinched from the wintry daggers.

Eragon pulled his hand from hers and lifted it ever so slowly, as if he was Atlas and had to raise the burden of the world. His fingertips grazed her cheeks softly before curling in on themselves. "I'm sorry," he murmured, ready for retreat.

"No," Arya caught his fingers, holding them to her face. "Don't pull away, not this time." She sighed heavily, closing her eyes. "I have pulled away enough for the both of us. Now, it is time." Opening her eyes, the sea-green pools deepened, allowed Eragon to see for the first time all the emotions that she had been hiding.

His eyes widened and he pushed himself into a sitting position, bringing himself closer to Arya. His hand fell to her side, resting lightly on her leather-encased legs. Hesitating briefly, Eragon asked, "Do you mean it?"

Smiling hesitantly, Arya nodded. She meant this one statement more than she had meant anything in her life. She had finally convinced herself that the age between them was just a number in comparison to happiness.

Eragon felt, for that moment, that all his vengeance, bloody desires, and hatred dispersed. He pulled her toward him, bare skin meeting with her body and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.

Arya touched his arm lightly, drawing away from him. He was reluctant to let her go, mumbling, "I have dreamed of this."

"So have I, figuratively speaking." Arya felt Eragon's hand slid into her hair, smoothing out her heavy tresses. She turned into it, reveling in the feeling of his touch. "For far to long," she added, turning her attention back to his face. She leaned forward, inhaling his earthy scent, before catching her lips with his.

Outside, the crashing worlds halted, slowly allowing the sun to peak through the clouds. Even if, on the horizon, darkness loomed more dangerous than either Elf or Rider alike had ever imagine.