All credit to Paolini.

After his visit to Islanzadi, Eragon went to the kitchen tents to find something to eat for dinner. Saphira was still sleeping, making his head a much quieter place than usual. By the time he was finished eating, the sun had set, darkness enveloping the Varden's camp.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of the end, commencing the final battle between the Varden and the Empire. Eragon shivered at the thought, for he knew that tonight might very well be his last. He started back to where Saphira lay sleeping. He or Saphira could be dead tomorrow, and he intended on spending the night with her.

Inspiration struck him when he caught sight of his sleeping dragon. Instead of walking straight for her, he veered off a few meters from her, and instead approached Arya's tent. Knocking on the support pole, he waited for her to answer his summons.

In a few moments, Arya appeared. She tensed visibly when she saw who had interrupted her evening. Clearly she had been expecting a visit from him, and even more obviously, she was afraid of what he would ask of her.

Eragon smiled openly, attempting to put her at ease. He touched two fingers to his lips in the elven gesture that showed he would not distort the truth during their meeting. "Arya, would you like to spend the night with Saphira and me?" he asked boldly.

As Arya's emotionless mask slipped into place, he thought he must have misspoken. His doubt hardened into certainty at her response, "I am sorry Eragon, but no. My reasons are the same as for why I would not hear your true name. I will not act rashly simply because we teeter on the brink of destruction."

Backtracking, Eragon sputtered, his cheeks growing warm at what she was insinuating. "No! I don't want—I mean…wait. Let me start over. Arya, will you spend the night with Saphira and me, only to sleep, with nothing else expected from you?"

Arya studied him for several long moments as if to determine the extent of the truth he was telling. Finally, she relented and smiled at him, amused at his discomfort. "Alright," she began slowly. "I would like that very much."

He shivered at the amount of vulnerability she showed by telling him that she wanted his company as much as he wanted hers. Silently, he took her hand and they walked over to Saphira's sleeping form. Tapping her on the side, she lifted her wing for them, and they crawled under. As soon as Saphira put her wing back down, she fell back to sleep.

It took elf and Rider several minutes before they were able to get comfortable. Neither undressed partially because Arya wasn't ready for it, but mostly because it is unwise to be unprepared on the cusp of battle. If the Empire attacked, Eragon didn't want to have to fight in his sleepwear.

They lay together in silence for some time, Arya's head settled between his shoulder and neck, her hand resting on his chest. Eragon had one arm under her, holding her close to him, and the other placed gently on her back. He sighed contentedly, breaking the silence.

Arya stirred, and looked up at him. "Eragon?" she began tentatively. "May I ask you a question?"

Preparing himself for the worst, he murmured, "Of course."

"Why do you not have hair on your chest? Do not most human men have hairy chests?" she asked, her eyes still on his.

Eragon laughed in astonishment. That was not the question he had been expecting. Answering, he said embarrassedly, "Well, I don't really know. Sometimes it takes awhile to grow. I guess I'm one of the men who won't get it until I'm older."

Arya nodded that she understood and closed her eyes.

Her question had finally given Eragon the opportunity to ask something that had been plaguing him since he rescued her from the dungeons of Gil'ead. "Arya?" he asked, her eyes opening again. "Your scent, is it natural or do you use magic?"

"My scent?" she repeated, confused.

Eragon shrugged. "Yeah. You always smell like crushed pine needles. It's one of the reasons I sometimes have trouble being coherent around you: your scent is intoxicating."

Stymied, Arya was silent for some time. Eventually, she answered, "I suppose it is both. It was not a conscious decision I made, but my subconscious must have chosen the scent of my home."

"What do you mean?" Eragon asked. Oromis had told him that elves used magic to shape themselves to their ideal form. If Arya hadn't chosen her scent, then did that mean she didn't alter her appearance? He voiced the last question aloud.

Again, Arya paused. "I think," she began slowly. "I have never used a spell to change my appearance. However, elven children imbue everything around them with magic, so my form must be a result of how I wanted to appear when I was a child. Had I taken the time to change myself, I do not think I would have chosen to bear such a resemblance to my mother."

Eragon thought about that for a while. It was true that mother and daughter looked remarkably similar. As a human, he had never considered that strange: children often looked like their parents. Now as he thought about it from an elven perspective, he realized that it was indeed peculiar. Arya and her mother did not get along, and hadn't for a very long time. Wouldn't it have made sense for Arya to distance herself from her mother by making sure she looked nothing like her? In hindsight, it was obvious that Arya didn't share the vanity that marked the rest of her race. She cared less about her appearance than most humans Eragon knew.

Arya spoke again, shaking Eragon from his reverie. "Have you ever considered altering yourself with magic?"

Eragon blushed again. Arya had an incredible talent for asking him the most embarrassing questions. "I've thought about it," he replied. "I've thought about making my muscles bigger and—" he stopped. What he had been about to say wasn't something he could say to a girl, particularly not one who was terrified of intimacy. "Never mind," he said quickly before continuing, "But the transformation I underwent already changed how I look so drastically. Had I changed anything else, I would have been unrecognizable. That's problematic for the figurehead of an army."

Arya smiled. "I am glad you did not change your form. You are a perfect blend of human and elf; a bridge between the two," she informed him. "Besides, I enjoy your appearance."

Eragon laughed, making Arya blush. It was the first time she had ever admitted that she found him attractive. "You're beautiful," he said simply in response. Arya turned her head so her face pressed against his shoulder. She still had trouble accepting compliments. Lifting a hand off her back, Eragon reached up to stroke her cheek.

"Hey," he said, pausing until she met his gaze. "I mean that. You're more precious to me than anything but Saphira, and you deserve to be treated like it. And I'm going to keep telling you until you can accept it."

Arya did not respond. It scared her to hear Eragon tell her how much she meant to him because she didn't understand it. Everything in her life served to counter his words, and yet he seemed so certain. Sighing, she gave up trying to understand, and snuggled against him. Recognizing that it was time to sleep, Eragon closed his eyes, grateful for the way the evening had gone.

A/N: I had a really sucky week, and I needed a light chapter. I guess some of it was deep, but the majority of it was silly. One question: where do you guys want to see this go? I have a couple of ideas, but nothing set in stone. The battle will loosely follow Paolini's because I didn't have a real problem with it. I guess I'm referring to Eragon and Arya's relationship. Yes. Where do you want to see their relationship go. Now that they're together, I don't care that much. I can do PTSD from any plot.

Also, Elemental Dragon Slayer, your reviews are freaking awesome. They always make me laugh.