Purple Stone

Chapter Fourteen: Silence

Eragon barely slept that night, after only sitting solemnly nearly the entire day. It was no different when he laid his head down to rest.

Arya's words constantly bombarded his consciousness, guilt and shame pursuing him."were you too selfish and only thought of me, only because you love me and I deny you ..."

"So she knows," Eragon thought mildly, contemplating the matter for the thousandth time.

"She's always known about your love for her," Saphira replied deeply, completely drowsy.

Before dawn, Eragon had abandoned attempt of sleep and had wandered off through the forest, colelcting wild berries and nuts and fruits. Although they grew unattended by farmers or care, they were among the best food Eragon had ever eaten. Or maybe it was because he hadn't eaten properly in over a week. . .

After first light seeped through the cracks of the towering trees of the forest they were in, Eragon had managed to make a tastey salad with berries and fruits and had placed it in leather-skin bowls form the saddle bags and carved wooden forks from fallen trees.

Arya had been dowsing the fire and packing up her sleeping mat when he approached tentatively.

"Hungry?" he asked, carefully.

Eragon held out an extended arm while he sheepishly glanced at her.

At first, it looked as though she would ignore him, but Arya finally half-smiled and gently took it from him.

It didn't take long for the both of them to finish devouring their salads; and it didn't help that Saphira was imaptiently flying above them, noisly fluttering her wings.

Apparently, she was anxious to leave.

"Not until tonight," Arya boredly stated, tossing aside her bowl.

Although it was still early, the humidity from the morning dew made it unbearably hot. Tossing aside his bowl, Eragon threw off his olive green overshirt and rolled his blue long sleeve shirt up to his elbows.

He made as if to leave, but Arya had stopped him, stretching out her arm in front of him. "I have something for you," she calmly explained, as Eragon gave off a quizzical expression.

Swiftly glancing upwards, Arya seemed to have muttered something under her breath, but less than a second later Saphira had landed in front of them.

She beckoned for Eragon to come closer.

Perching marvelously in the slanting sunlit rays, Saphira seemed to have been enoying herself as Arya approached and withdrew one of the larger saddlebags. Saphira, cat-like, began to lick at her talons.

Eragon half-smiled at his dragon, and then attentively observed Arya unleash what seemed to be a sword in a brown leather sheath, with a silver hilt and handle. Arya faced him, serious and stern.

"I want you to have this, it belonged to my father," she said, grasping the hilt and retrieving a brilliant, navy blue sword of excellence Elven craftsmanship. It had wonderful, cursive caligraphy in the Ancient Language in silver engraving on the sides of the sword.

Eragon was so amazed by the beauty of it that he didn't waste time in reading the caligraphy, and instead eagerly took it from Arya's giving fingers.

He couldn't tell what Saphira had thought of it, she seemed to be pleased but for some reason, Eragon thought she would be disappointed because the color was too deep and dark of a blue to match her bright saphire scales.

"It's fantastic!" he exclaimed, examining it jubilantly. Arya actually smiled, her emerald eyes gleaming. Eragon actually laughed out loud at the thought.

"With all these pretty colors flashing I'll blind myself!" he joked mentally.

Saphira chortled, rumbling against the ground as she straightened upwards. Grasping the sword firmly, Eragon animatedly gazed at it form all angles before Arya softly said, "It never dulls, breaks, and will never slip from your fingers. If this sword is taken from you when it is not in your hand, its' damage will cease at you and those that you love - so your enemy can never use it against you."

Eragon finally, reluctantly, put it in the sheath and tied the belt around his waist.

"I really can't thank you enough, Arya Svit-Kona . . . it is gorgeous."

Arya brushed back her hair, and glanced form Saphira to him.

"I know it is not the color of your dragon . . .but it is the color of your eyes."

Silence.

Saphira rustled, shifting positions once more - Eragon flushed.

He truthfully had never really examined his eye color. In fact, the last time he looked at his appearance was the night that the dragons had transformed him; but even then, he merely glanced at his changed appearance rather than study himself long enough to know that his eyes were - as hinted - gorgeous.

Eragon blushed once more, lingering over the word. He had never applied that to himself before, nor had he meant to a few seconds ago. He half wished he didn't compliment his new sword so lavishly for it to only rebound back to him.

"I appreciate you giving me this sword, but . . Arya . . I'll understand if you really want to keep on to it because it was your father's," he reproached, almost expecting her to act sentimental.

On the contrary, Arya's composure seemed animated and more self pleased than upset over handing away her father's sword.

She firmly shook her head. "I have my own craft, and you are in desperate need of your own. What better for me to do with my father's possession than to give it to you? I would not allow my mother to give it to Galbatorix for extra money for her monstrous luxuries."

Eragon sheepishly grinned, staring at his boots nervously.

Even though his eyes were completely averted from her, Eragon could clearly see exactly how lovely and graceful she was - as she was wearing a sleeveless white tunic with a v neck and a steel, triangular arrow head hanging around hre neck through a thin strand of rope.

His eyes embedded upon his boots, he suddenly saw a pair of slender feet in leather sandals stop in front of him. Eragon looked up expectantly, as Arya was directly in front of him.

"Eragon . . ." she spoke quietly, near whisper.

They were so close that their faces were no more than a foot and a half apart, emerald clashing against navy . . .

"Yes?" he inquired cautiously.

Saphira stirred in the background, intently observing.

"I'm sorry if my words hurt you last night. I had never planned on saying them aloud."

Eragon nearly recoiled, instant pain and fear smashing inside his consciousness. He knew good and well she had meant those things and was only sorry for allowing him to know of her disgust towards him.

"No . . . I - " he stammered.

Eragon couldn't talk. The most beautiful elf was standing in front of him, looking at him as a close friend as he looked to her as something a thousand times more . . .

He forced his eyes shut, beginning to struggle for breath. Eragon could barely tolerate the stress . . all he could focus on was leaning forward ever closer to kiss her and embrace her . . .

"Careful, little one," Saphira warned, perching upwards.

" . . . Nothing to apoloize for . . you spoke the truth," he muttered, locking his eyes shut and rubbing his face feverishly.

Arya remained silent, most likely unsure of how to respond to his strange behavior - which, undoubtedly, was becoming to be somehting on a regular basis.

Words tumbled down his brain and into his jaw, pounding on the back of his teeth as if to force him to say what he was trying so desperately to avoid.

"Eragon," Saphira snapped. Although their mental link was very strong, Eragon's thoughts and intentions were so jumbled that she couldn't half predict what he was about to do.

Arya stood before him patiently, gazing at him.

Eragon stopped rubbing his face, and blatantly opened his eyes, tears forming.

"I'm so sorry about Faolin . . . and how you miss him so much. I couldn't imagine living life if someone I loved that much died . . . and-"

Eragon stopped himself, silent tears streaming, as he noticed Saphira's shock and Arya's own sudden sadness. Her own beautiful green eyes watered, and she immedaitely threw her arms around him in a tight hug.

When they pulled apart, Eragon quickly and bitterly rubbed his eyes dry and shuffled uncomfortably. Saphira eyed him suspiciously and Arya seemed calm yet somewhat distressed.

"Thank you," she mumbled, turning to walk away.

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