A/N

I have replaced the teaser in the previous page with a backstory - please read that before continuing here. Below is the full Chapter One of Part One.

There will be four parts to the story, each suggesting a big change in Eragon's personality and life events. The numbers in brackets (15-18), identify Eragon's age.

Plot: Pre-Saphira, Arya meets an eighteen year old Eragon, whom she trains and travels with. Follows a twenty year timeline of their interactions before he becomes a Rider.

PART TWO

Part Two: Chapter One
(18-20)

"Fate finds the Fool"

The Varden soldiered on into the depths of winter. The days were shorter and shorter and the mountain light reflecting off the snow above cast a silvery glow into Farthen Dûr no matter day or night. This season had a particular type of silence and stillness.

In the same abandoned courtyard within Tronjheim every time, he would watch in awe as Arya lit large baskets of fuel with one quiet word, the lamps coming to life with her power. The hot breeze from these flames would be a welcome relief to the skin of his face – he would often come early in order to warm up his fingers before they began.

He did not ask why she used her free time to train a stranger in the art of war but did as he was bid - for that she was thankful.

The first time they met in this way, Eragon simply bowed and greeted her by putting two fingers to his lips. "Arya svit-kona. Atra esterní ono thelduin."

She was pleasantly surprised. Then understanding passed across her face, Brom.

Returning the required greeting, she then drew her sword. Eragon watched the small red light dance between her fingers as she ran them down the edges of the steel.

He passed his to her when she beckoned, and she did the same to dull his too.

"Prepare yourself," Arya called as she stood with her sword by her side.

Eragon stood with his legs apart, his sword held in front of him.

She came to him so quickly he was caught off guard; he barely caught the first blow, but she did not let up her assault. It was a short duel, as her sword came to rest at his neck. Eragon looked at her with large, shocked eyes.

"Dead," She saw him shiver at the cold edge on his neck and in her voice. "Again."

He soon realised that she was waiting for him to attack; to show her what Brom had taught him. With a shout, he sprung towards her.

She did not move to defeat him again, as he understood the lesson, but merely wove a cage of steel around the two of them as she guided his sword and feet using certain movements. Soon he picked up her intention, learning the rhythm of blows; the strategy involved in the chess of fighting. He watched her intently.

"Your foundation is sufficient," Arya told him finally, sheathing her weapon.

Eragon was bent over with exhaustion, his hands on his knees.

"You will now learn how to fight more than old men and undisciplined soldiers."

So it began that Arya trained him every evening, between dinner and his shift on the night watch.

First she would instruct him in certain stances, before ordering him to run through sequences again and again. When she finally approved of his form, they would face each other with swords dulled and drawn, where she proceeded to turn him black and blue with bruises as they fought until she called the end.

There were never many words spoken, for she was a very focused elf, and the distraction from her dark thoughts was paradise. Eragon was far too intimidated to ask the questions burning on his lips, and did not want to risk losing such a expert swordsmaster. So they simply bowed to each other respectfully at the end of the lesson, and went their separate ways.

A murmur rose from the crowd, Roran craned his head behind them to see what was going on. Eragon's shoulders were tense under Roran's hands, and his eyes were glued to the current fight before them.

It was the day of the trials, Roran had woken before the dawn to the sound of a sword being sharpened. He had sat up, groping along the floor for his hammer before Eragon had apologised sheepishly from the other side of the tent. Roran had cursed his ancestors (whom they shared), rolled over and slept until the sun pieced his eyelids when Eragon had crawled out of their tent.

"It's the elf," Roran said in a hushed voice, "The one we brought to the Varden!"

Eragon jerked around.

Looking aloof and unaffected at the all the interest she was amassing. She looked right at them. Her arms were crossed, and there was a clear space all around her no one dared breach.

"That's unusual, why would she be at a trial for new recruits?" He said out loud to his cousin. Before Eragon could answer, their attention was diverted, as with a loud clash, one man was brought to his knees. They cleared the area by dragging him out.

Eragon and another's name was called out, and with a slap on his back and kiss on his brow, Roran shoved him into the ring.

The other man was bigger and well-muscled. But once facing his opponent, Eragon's hands did not shake as they did on the sidelines. He looked almost relaxed.

Roran watched as he swung his sword a few times in preparation, his grip familiar and controlled.

Bowing to each other, the two turned and took five steps back each. The horn sounded and they circled each other warily.

With amazement, Roran followed Eragon's lithe display. Once or twice, he was almost overpowered, but was quick to turn wily in defense when he understood the other man's power. He was strong as he darted in to strike; then caught the edge of the man's sword on his, and with a quick tug, it fell too far to reach.

He won.

Lowering his sword, he turned to look at Roran with a beam. His eyes travelled over his shoulders and then frowned.

Roran turned too; the elf had left.

Eragon bowed to his opponent, and returned to his family.

"Hellfire, Eragon!" Roran roared as he took the youth into his arms, "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"You fought well, Eragon Bromsson," Arya greeted. "Your training may conclude."

He bowed low to her, and welcomed her in the elven fashion.

At the end of their final session the day prior, Eragon had timidly informed her of his coming of age celebration; Arya had felt compelled to briefly deliver her felicitations.

"Greetings elf!" Roran interrupted, both hands full with mead. He handed one to Eragon, and one to Arya. She took it with a suspicious eye.

"My name is Arya," She corrected. "I am the ambassador of the elven nation."

Roran peered at her, "I am aware. We delivered you to the Varden, but besides glimpses of you in Nasuada's entourage, we have not been made your acquaintence."

Eragon elbowed him in the ribs for his rudeness, but Arya merely tilted her head in acknowledgement.

"Arya svit-kona has more than paid her debt by training me," He revealed quietly. "She's the one responsible for my win today."

His cousin crossed his arms impressed. He was also very calculating.

"What do you want with us?"

Arya was amused, "Where Brom's blood runs; fate will follow. I am curious to see how it unfolds."

Roran scratched his head at her cryptic reply. Eragon smiled, "We are honored."

"I suppose if you're joining us; you may as well join us," Roran grunted. He swept his arm out towards the fire where what remained of their village made merry.

In the first five years of serving the Varden, when she was young and eager to be a true ambassador by embracing the races, she had naively joined the celebrations that others had deigned to invite her to. However she found the men to be disrespectful the friendlier she got, and the dwarves to be more cunning. By curating an air of coldness instead, it put everyone in their place.

Since he did not know this; all Eragon did was smile earnestly, and ask her for a dance.

She was wary of the villagers, and they were so of her in return. Despite knowing her as the woman they had protected on their travels to join the army; an elf seemed a mythical creature that had decided to return to their midst.

Until she reluctantly followed Eragon into a spirited jig, where he proceeded to be her patient teacher instead. Eragon laughed breathlessly as they swung around and around. Despite her utter humilation as she failed to keep in time, she touched her face only to find it was spread into a smile too.

Afterward, they sat down on the grass beside Roran and were approached by others of his hometown. One by one, they politely introduced themselves though the night.

Arya thought later, stretched out on her cot, that maybe some humans were not so bothersome after all.

From that night, Eragon had a shadow in the shape of an elf.

She came and went in a schedule known only to herself or in between her duties, but slowly, she became part of an unconventional new trio.

Roran had some men under his command, Eragon was his right-hand man, and with a shrug of unspoken agreement, the cousins let her watch their training; let her sit with them in the mess whilst they ate, a silent watchful companion.

Still confused at the cousins' new counterpart, the men whom were not from their village, complained that women did not fight, or wear the clothes she did, nor spend time with unmarried men like Roran and Eragon. She was not even of their kind.

They were convinced when one day, she unsheathed her sword. She had decided today to be his dueling partner as Eragon was now far too well-taught to find equal competition.

In a few blows to Eragon's pride, she relieved him of his weapon.

He let her pull him up, and hand him back his sword. She threw him a slightly apologetic expression, as they both knew she had finally lost her patience with the small-mindedness of men. Most of the time, she was unreadable as befitting her station as the elven ambassador, but Eragon found he rather liked it when she threw a fit – he nodded his forgiveness right away, trying not to grin.

"My lady," Someone said behind them nervously. "Will you watch my form?"

There were more voices of agreement.

Even faster than elves could move, the men had her whisked away.

Arya shared warriors handshakes with the men in Roran's command on the way to the front. "Fight well," She said to Baldor firmly. She gripped Albriech's shoulder fleetingly and they nodded at each other.

Eragon and Roran stood side by side waiting for her.

"Arya svit-kona," Eragon greeted, standing still for their pre-battle routine. She started to layer wards on him.

The atmosphere was heavy in the tunnels they stood within. Every so often, they would leave the safety of Farthen Dûr to weed the Empire out of the surrounding mountains. Eragon liked to think of these raids as, 'Spring Cleaning'.

"Roran has decided to get married in the spring," Eragon started conversationally, to break the tension. "He's leaving me all alone in our tent!"

When he looked from Arya to Roran, an understanding smile stole across Roran's face, before it morphed into something devious. Eragon was very well-acquainted with this expression; he immediately began to wish he had said something else as this morale boost was surely going to be at his expense.

"What about that girl you've been seeing behind the armoury, Eragon?" Roran laughed at Eragon's dismay. "Maybe the tent will be a more appropriate place to show her your sword!"

Eragon wanted to melt into the ground in embarrassment at his cousin's crudeness. Arya looked only faintly disgusted. He could see her deliberating on whether to heed her feminine outrage or help in the cheer.

She is spending too much time with humans, he thought.

"I should like her to show me her sword skills before Katrina and I accept her as ours," Arya said then, mildly. Roran howled with laughter in the background, and the men within earshot chortled, their armour clinking. A small smile cracked her stern countenance.

Eragon covered his face with his hand, hoping to die today in battle, only to be laid to rest with this mortification.

Arya tapped his arm to indicate she had finished. He lowered his hand to her dancing eyes, and he couldn't help but smile even while shaking his head. They swapped helmets, kissed the brow in a blessing, and gently eased it onto the head of the rightful owner.

Roran was still grinning, but Arya knocked it off his face with his own helmet. He allowed her to ward him; they clasped hands as comrades. Eragon and Roran did the same.

There were no horns, for they were to sneak upon a knot of urgals sighted by their scouts only a day prior. The march into the Beors commenced. For these vile enemies were creatures of the night, the Varden set upon them on the second day.

The battle was fierce.

They had started out next to each other, but were slowly parted with each successive wave of enemies and the hours that went by.

Roran had commandeered a loose stallion, and was currently smashing his way happily though a sea of empire helmets.

Arya was still close by, as she always was during battle. Coolly sliding her way through the mass of bodies, she twisted and stepped, with each efficient movement dispatching urgals every side of her.

Eragon tried to keep an eye on both at once.

His heart lurched as he saw Roran almost pulled off his horse, and in his moment of distraction that was a second too long, took a slash to the leg. He cried out in pain, the same time as he heard Roran roar. He looked up to see his cousin kicking away an urgal and clinging to his horse.

He heard someone yelling his name, and looked left. Arya looked furious.

"Eragon," She charged over and grabbed his arm. "Beware the danger of unrestrained emotion while fighting! For your distraction may cost you your life."

The lull in the fighting picked up again, and turning, she cut down a charging urgal. Flicking her sword to rid it of excess blood, she took him by the shoulder and gave him a little shake.

"Know the larger situation, by all means, and where your comrades are, but channel those emotions – rage, despair, fear - into something more suited to war, into focus; into action!"

This was a lesson she had tried to make him learn over the couple years, but one that was a hard one to remember. He was constantly distracted by those he loved beside him, despite knowing they excelled in battle much more than he.

Eragon took a deep breath. She nodded and they entered the fray once again.

Arya almost walked past him, but as her footsteps came to a slow halt, he knew he had been caught.

He looked up and offered her an overly cheery smile.

"What," Her brows narrowed into a sharp V before she continued flatly, "Have you done?"

Chastised, he showed her the large gash in his arm, and the smaller one on his thigh still bleeding sluggishly.

Arya made to heal him with magic, but he stopped her with a hand on hers. "Save your power for the men that need it desperately."

"Eragon, if you welcome an infection, please, go forth and wallow in more dirt…"

When she saw he was very serious, she sighed in defeat and impatience.

"If it does not need magic, I will not use magic," He explained calmly.

With a look that made it clear she did not appreciate his uncooperative attitude or agree with his reasoning, she reached into the bag by her side instead.

A needle, some thread, salve and some bandages were in her hands. Shoving them all in his lap, she proceeded to close and bind his cuts surprisingly skillfully. At his surprised look, she smiled slightly, "I have lived with humans for forty years … many of those without other elves."

A dark shadow crossed her eyes. Eragon had seen this particular look before, but as his questions about her past were usually met with a stone wall, he swallowed all his questions.

"Thank you," he said earnestly, touching her arm when she finished. She nodded, squeezing his knee in return, before moving to the next patient in the medical tent.

"Roran," Nasuada called.

He turned and bowed, standing aside while others filed out of the room.

It had been a very long meeting, each captain had given their account of the battle and their forces one by one. It had taken two days to count the dead and resume a semblance of order, and a minimal amount of those days had been devoted to rest.

Nasuada sent away her scribe as soon as he had finished his furious recording of information.

She beckoned to him, and he walked back towards her. Both waited for the tent to be clear.

"You are one of my most trusted captains," She looked him in the eye. "I have a sensitive job I need to have completed. Is there someone under your charge, that is worthy of this same trust?"

Without a moment's hesitation, he had a name – "Eragon. My cousin."

"Very well… so he can be trusted, but can he fight?"

Roran nodded, "He is the best of my men. Arya – er, Lady Arya, herself trained him."

Nasuada's brow twitched slightly. Roran did not react to her surprise, but wondered if he had revealed too much.

He knew there were politics at play between the elves and varden; placing Eragon and if she delved deeper, his heritage, in the midst of it was more complication than he wanted to place on his cousin's shoulders. But there was no taking it back, and with an inward sigh, he always knew Eragon was meant for greater things.

"Send him to me, if you please, Captain."

Be ready, my brother.

As soon as Eragon limped in, he saw Arya's face pale.

She turned immediately to Lady Nasuada, "No."

Eragon was taken aback, and looked questioningly at his mentor. She ignored him in favour of engaging in a staring contest with Nasuada. He was somewhat surprised at Arya's presence, and wondered what the Varden's leader wanted with him that included her, but had the marked absence of the whole council.

It was a little uncomfortable; no one had commented on her association with he and Roran for so many years that he had thought it had become nothing of import. Now his connection with Arya was about to be brought into political entanglement.

He was naïve; it seemed that no matter that whilst he lived simply day to day, interesting things seemed to find him – he supposed it would have happened sooner or later.

His own father had been an essential part of the Varden, and Eragon had both heard from his own words and whispers within the Varden as to his past feats. Battling the Forsworn, stealing the dragon egg … !

Eragon glanced from one woman to the other; when neither deigned to speak, he cleared his throat. Taking a few steps into the room, he bowed. "Greetings, Lady Nasuada, Lady Arya."

The Lady of the Varden broke off her contact with Arya. Turning her attention to him, she ignored Arya with an ease and coolness unexpected of her age.

"Eragon! We are well met, my lord."

Eragon blinked at her words, completely derailing the order of the conversation. "You must be mistaken - I am no lord, my lady."

The young woman looked at him curiously, "Your father was; does the son not inherit his father's name?"

"My lady," He replied, a little ashamed. "I was born a bastard."

Nasuada did not seem deterred in the slightest, but cleverly returned, "Many men are born of bastards. I think it much less of a burden to be borne of a man who was both noble in name and spirit. Would you not agree?"

He smiled back at her gratefully. "Thank you, my lady. I am heartened at your words."

Arya watched this exchange without speaking, but he thought he could recognize some fondness in her gaze as she looked upon him.

The lady of the Varden then returned to business at hand. "We have only met once before, when you first came to the Varden. Over the years, I have heard reports of your commitment to the Varden. I offer my thanks."

"It is no more than what I owe to the Varden for their sanctuary," Eragon said carefully, knowing there had to be more to this meeting than Lady Nasuada offering her praise. "I do my duty."

"This duty," Nasuada probed, "Do you wish for it to lead to greatness? Do you desire to be known?"

Eragon was thrown at the pointedness of her queries, but took it to some serious thought. He did not often reflect on the nature of his life. "My lady, I do dream, and I seek approval; I dream of freedom and safety, and I seek my family's approval."

Nasuada looked him over critically, whilst he stood as straight-backed as he could. If she found what she was looking for, she did not divulge it. "Well-spoken, Eragon. This settles me, for what I am about to ask you is a task that requires a heart like yours."

"Nasuada," Arya said, rousing. She was controlled but firm, "Let us speak alone."

"Arya, the Queen of the Elves and I have both agreed to proceed," the younger woman said pointedly. "You have received her letter of which I am sure she mentions this."

"No," Arya crossed her arms, looking unreadable again. "Not him."

Eragon felt betrayed, and very small at this point. He struggled to keep an attentive and polite expression on his face. He was glad both women were not looking at him in that moment.

Nasuada spread her hands, and assumed a strict expression. Eragon could see how she became the leader of the Varden as she revealed her mettle. "It shall be so."

With a reluctant sigh at Arya's hard expression, she continued, "If you would like me to consult with Islanzadí Drottning the reasons pertaining to my choice in soldier, do let me know."

Arya went even paler.

Nasuada softened, "You trained him; you fight by his, and his cousins' side. There is no better proof that my token of trust will not be misplaced."

"He is Brom's only son," Arya whispered.

"I know. My father has told me of the Rider's great deeds in the name of the Varden." With that, Nasuada smiled at him and gestured for him to sit at the oval table beside her.

Looking him straight in the eyes, she said firmly, "The hand of fate rests upon your shoulders by birthright; you shall have a bright future."

No one spoke.

Arya finally moved from her position as a statue. She came to the table also, and sat herself across from both himself and Nasuada, casually draping herself across the chair with the ease of born nobility.

Eragon knew that despite her posture, she was still conflicted and angry, having been cornered into agreement. He was impressed at Nasuada's manipulative skill despite himself.

He wasn't the only one. "You are formidable, my Lady Nasuada," Arya finally sighed. Eragon knew that Arya must have held Nasuada in her arms as a babe, but she did not patronise the other woman with this fact – and merely acknowledged their equal footing.

Then, the elf leaned forward and looked at him carefully. "Eragon, I serve the Varden as the dragon egg-courier. Every few years, I ferry the dragon egg between the elven nation to the north, and the cities that are secretly loyal to the Varden to the west."

He tried to hide his surprise but Arya knew him too well at this point. Eragon had known she was the elven ambassador, and despite her offhand dismissal of her role when he asked, he suspected her political clout to be immense.

Neither she nor Brom had found it necessary to mention to him, her other, more important duty.

She looked slightly apologetic, but continued at his nod, "We do this intermittently for these reasons; first - in one cycle, there may be no worthy children. Therefore, we must wait for the next generation to come of age. Secondly, if Galbatorix cannot predict a pattern to the year or cities we visit, we have a greater chance of protecting the egg."

Nasuada laid her hand on his forearm at this point. She was very stern – "You must swear in the Ancient Language you will not reveal any of this information we speak of today."

He did so.

Fluently, to Nasuada's surprise. Little did anyone know, Arya had been tutoring him on the elvish language.

As soon as he finished, his liege began to explain, "We shall begin the cycle once again. Your role is to accompany Arya, for your presence in the human cities may help to foster trust and thusly we shall see more volunteers step up for this responsibility. Human memories are short, and people fear whom," She glanced at the elf. "And what they do not know."

Nasuada looked at him gravely, "Will you accept?"

Taking a moment to control his response to this overwhelming request. Eragon looked from one face to another, and as evenly as he could, said solemnly - "It is my honour to have been entrusted with this task."

She came to their fire that night.

Long familiar with those of his home, she waved to some others before sitting beside him.

"Eragon," she sighed. "I would like to explain myself."

She knew that it stung when she had dismissed him so easily in front of the leader of the Varden.

"Arya svit-kona, I am not the best fighter, nor experienced map-reader," Eragon said very seriously. "But I will be one of the most loyal companions you could ask for, and I shall not shirk my duties. I would die before letting them take the egg from you."

She felt her shoulders ache from her tense pose. When she finally spoke, her voice came out strained, "That is what I fear to pass."

Eragon was confused, but she could tell he tried to be patient, for he could sense this was not an easy past for her to express.

"I had two elven guards who accompanied me for many years," Arya said, concealing her pain. "When a demon of magic, called a Shade, defeated us and stole the egg … they were slain."

"But you were spared," Eragon concluded with understanding.

"I was … fortunate," If that could encompass the torture she had endured before Eragon had come to free her. "They needed information about the egg and the elven kingdom. Perhaps they thought I would be the easiest to break."

And because she was the princess; a bargaining tool. She kept this to herself.

"You do not have guards now… "

"It is easier to travel alone, or in a pair. If it came to a battle, all lives but perhaps one would be forfeit," Arya found it hard to think of Glenwing, Faolin; of their deaths, orchestrated by her selfishness of wanting company over long years of travel.

"We were very close," She said tightly. "I do not want you to befall the same fate."

Eragon looked very solemn; thinking about her words.

He gestured to the small home the village had made on the outskirts of the Varden, "Most of my friends here would have rather stayed safe and poor in Carvahall, living a life blind to the existence of dwarves, or their crystal halls, of the way you gut another man, or the different insects that change each hundred league."

Arya could see the wonder in his eyes as he recalled his journey away from all that he had known.

Eragon smiled, "But I accept the unknown, if only I get to see the beauty and people and cities of the world outside my village."

"You truly are your father's son," Arya said fondly to her memories of Brom.

"I visited him when I could. Everybody else thought him mad. But when Uncle went to Carvahall proper and stayed the night, he brought me, and I was allowed to spend my evenings with Brom … he wove stories of magical things – strange creatures, evil people and dangerous adventures," Eragon joined her in his recollections, his voice distant.

"Let us not hope for danger, for danger will surely find us without the help of our wishes," Arya said softly, not wanting to disturb him from his memories. "Very well, I can see that you are resolute. We shall depart in seven suns, after your cousin's wedding."

Eragon's eyes cleared, and he laughed. "Ah that is indeed fortunate. It is two moons before the night I had plotted for my new tent-mate's demise," he revealed. "He snores very loudly."

A/N

I'm also still looking for a beta/s! Feather, how do I get in touch with you?

Glad to know there are still a few people around to share this with. I appreciated all your messages! As always, I'll upload the next chapter regardless, but reviews with some feedback would be great so I'm not flying blind.

It's also a bit hard to cram twenty years of relationship development in, so it's mostly Eragon / Arya scenes and minimal plot. If anyone has any mini-plot ideas for me, during their travels as egg-couriers together or downtime back at the Varden, by all means, enlighten me!