Chapter 49 – Anything for Her

The treehouse was in darkness, but he knew she was there on the upper floor. Before he climbed the stairs to meet her, he tried to remember the moments they had spent there together. There weren't many being the time together always so scarce, but he could see in his mind the first time they shared a bed, or meals they had in that small kitchen. When she lay on the couch to read a book, one of the epic poems he had written with her in mind, as he tried his best to keep his eyes off her but failed miserably.

"So? How is she?" She asked with expectant eyes as he stepped to the bedroom.

There was only one candle lighting up the place.

"She is well. They all are."

She let out a relieved sigh.

"A baby boy then?"

"Healthy and beautiful. His name is Eric."

"A little earlier than expected, so this is great news."

He agreed with a nod. Their friendly chat was only a way of stalling the real talk.

"We should talk," he said in a hushed voice not so certain that they really should.

"Can we do this tomorrow?" She squinted her eyes as she was trying to hide her emotions, and Eragon already knew she feared the worst. "Or we don't have to do this at all."

"Arya, we must. I must."

"Are you sure?"

"I cannot be with you when I know I'm risking your life for it."

She came close to him to look him in the eyes and say with all the pain in the world, "Let us have tonight then. And never speak of us again. One last night, it's all I ask."

It was hard not to relent. He ended the distance between them to press his body against her, and without a word he nodded, taking her face in his hands, analyzing every bit of her. Her shimmering eyes, bright green, her honey skin tinged with little freckles here and there, almost imperceptible. His index finger traced the tip of her pointy ear that probed through her midnight hair. If he had to leave her, he would also leave the memory of their love engraved in their minds forever.

The way they kissed was new to both. It was filled with anger and frustration. Arya corresponded his roughness in the same manner, and soon they seemed like they were having a competition, to see who hurt the other first. His hands locked behind her head so she couldn't escape his kiss even if she tried to, which she wasn't doing. In her turn, Arya's fingers worked to undress his shirt without any tenderness, but when she reached for his belt a growl of frustration resounded in her throat.

"Damn belt," she said against his lips.

It was always funny to see her struggle with the spell that kept his belt safely buckled for anyone except him, but that wasn't the case that night. Damn belt indeed. With a motion of his hand, it fell to the ground, and Arya was quick to rid him of the rest of his clothes. He liked that she took the lead in their intimacy, but that night he was the one leading, so he pushed her to the bed just when she tried reaching for his groin.

He shook his head to make her understand that it was his decision to separate, it was his good-bye to her. So, he undressed her torturously slow, his fingertips grazing her skin in all the right places, leaving her panting in want. Wishing to taste her, he placed himself between her legs and it was without surprise that he felt her thighs closing around his head as his tongue savored her. She squirmed as his tongue pleasured her. The sounds she made would forever be ingrained in his memory.

Moving on from that was hard for both, but mostly Arya, who begged quietly for him to continue.

It was his good-bye, after all, so he would taste her the way he wanted, and he was resolute to take his time.

His tongue found its way to her navel, then in between her breasts until he found her exposed neck, as his hands played with her nipples. At that point he allowed her to run her nails on his shoulders, but when she motioned to hold him there, he retreated again getting on his knees between her legs.

"Not yet."

They played their game of hide and seek until he was pleased with the way she pleaded for him to take her, panting in his ear as his fingers explored her intimacy. When he did, all games stopped and they couldn't take their eyes off each other, knowing very well it would be their last time. For a romance that should outlive empires, it was quite fast and intense. Or not fast at all, depending on the perspective.

Eragon finally let her hold him close, almost restricting his movement. He rested his forehead on hers as they breathed the same air. He had the impression that she wanted to slow down time just to keep him there, between her legs, inside her arms, inside of her. A feeling that he could well understand since leaving her was a dreadful idea.

When they were finished, she still held him in place, staring deep in his eyes as she was trying to memorize his colors, and she probably was. Then, as she had remembered something she had to do very urgently, Arya rolled him to the side and headed to the washroom. The candlelight threw shadows against her slender figure, her Yawë was just a dark spot on her shoulder.

"When I come out, you shall not be here anymore," she commanded without looking at him, and Eragon knew they were over.

She wasn't mean or heartless. It was her heartbreak speaking, and it would speak for the rest of their lives. Of that he also knew.

Leaving the treehouse with a bag in hands was simple and clean. He didn't have to explain his motives nor bear seeing her crying. Instead, she sent him away. Dominant as always. It almost made him laugh if it weren't for the tears that fell heavily from his eyes.

Saphira came into the night and swooped him off the lawn, and as he clutched himself against her, he couldn't stop smelling the aroma of crushed pine needles that stuck to his skin and thinking that there was nothing he wouldn't do for her, even if it meant the end of him.


Do you regret not telling him about that?

Fírnen asked while they were waiting for the others on the Tialdarí Hill along with Elva.

I regret not being the one who told him. But if I had told him before, we would never be together. I cannot regret that.

He must be angry with you.

I am angry with him too.

Can you blame him?

She shrugged. A movement perceptible enough for Elva to eye her and wonder if she was all right. She knew Arya was suffering, so the little signs the elf gave were as meaningful as blunt words.

I wouldn't end our relationship now that I know that I want it. I would also trust he is capable of fending for himself. So, yes, I can blame him.

But that's you. He is different. He has different fears, different ways of dealing with trouble.

Exactly. And now we are angry with each other. It helps with the separation process, I suppose.

She tried to sound strong, resolute, but her eyes stung and her throat tightened. Fírnen knew how she felt, so his next words meant it would not be easy to cut ties with Eragon.

We'll see.

The sight of Saphira approaching the hill put an end to their discussion. But Arya had the feeling that Fírnen could bite Däthedr's face off if he had the opportunity. And to be honest, Arya wouldn't mind if he did.

How about the miscarriage? I had the impression you wished to tell him last night.

I did, but then I thought if it would change anything between us.

And?

He would feel even worse about splitting up, guilty even. I'm mad with him, but I still wish him the best. I will always want to protect him.

Looking at Eragon and Däthedr together was as uncomfortable as a punch in the guts. She was angry with Eragon for making the wrong choice and incredibly hurt, but she was furious with Däthedr for playing his little mind games. The truth was hers to tell, but the control was taken from her. She hated feeling adrift, without a choice.

"Ready to go?" Eragon asked without getting to the ground.

Arya nodded avoiding his look. On the outside, her cold mask was flawless, but on the inside, her heart was aching with all the feelings she repressed.

I am sorry, my darling.

Fírnen stopped with his critics toward her to offer her his sympathy.

Will it ever stop hurting?

Her question didn't require an answer, but he gave one anyway, One day, perhaps. You will have to live to see.


After spending the entire day flying, stopping for a rest was all that he wanted. Saphira and Fírnen descended on a small elevation by the Edda. When Lord Däthedr jumped down from the saddle, Eragon realized how much he needed to stretch his back from leaning forward for too long.

At first light, Saphira brought him and Däthedr to the hill where they met with Fírnen, Arya, and Elva. Few words were traded, so a quiet understanding guided them through their way to Alagaësia.

Seeing Arya in daylight and thinking that they were no longer mates felt so strange to him and so painful at the same time. It was even more painful to see the coldness with which she had started to treat him. She wasn't rude, but not at all affable. And the silence! It was her worst weapon, the coldest one. Eragon struggled to be in her presence, as he noticed Däthedr did also. Apparently, her cold shoulder wasn't Eragon's exclusivity, as she appeared mad at her advisor as well.

"I'm going to fetch some wood for the fire," announced Elva, as Arya and Eragon removed the saddles from their dragons. Elva vanished in the woods, leaving a weird sensation behind. Eragon looked to his companion and felt so uncomfortable there that he thought that even Elva's company would be more cheerful. So he followed her.

Eragon met her piling up the branches and logs she found on the ground in midst of snow. Good thing they had magic because starting a fire with wet wood would be a nightmare.

"Oh, no, don't you dare bring your misery my way, I'm exhausted from all the broken hearts around me," she said before she could even see him approaching her.

It made him stop his walk.

"I'm sorry," he said low.

Elva sighed loudly and turned to him. She seemed mad, fiery even. A clear contrast to Arya's coldness.

"You should've gotten closer to her, not end it all once you learned the truth. How much of a blockhead are you?"

It was his turn to sigh heavily. His shoulders dropped just to think about his recent separation from Arya.

"How can I be close to her when my sole existence in her life poses a risk to her well-being? What kind of lover would I be if the object of my affection can die because of me? And you said it yourself, that I should learn the truth for her sake."

"First of all, you don't know everything there is to know. Second, it was for her emotional sake, not physical. She keeps too much for herself, only I know how much. It's smothering sometimes."

"Still, I can't risk her life."

Elva shook her head and rolled her eyes, getting back to pick up the wood. She tried to get as distant as she could from him to ease the pain that emanated from him.

"It seems you underestimate your power. And hers. Combined, you two are a force of nature. The simple fact that her opposition is using your relationship as leverage is a good indicator of your might."

"So you're saying that we should go and take them all out just so we could be together? And forget about politics?" He said with fake humor, to which Elva seemed to find annoying.

"You minimize the bond you have. It's all right, you haven't gotten used to having her so close, so driving her away seems like an option for you. Understandable, but dumb. It would never be an option for her."

"How can you be so sure?"

Elva smiled a sad smile without sarcasm for his surprise. It looked like she sympathized with Arya more than he imagined.

"I've seen her fight some invisible wars, you know? Enough to think that, if the roles were reversed, she would go and kill every one of those who threatened you, then go back to your arms without even cleaning the blade of their blood."

Leaving him without a response to that, she went back to their campsite. The thought that she was right and he had made a mistake started to debilitate his mind, and the last thing he needed was to lose focus. He had collected Glaedr's Eldunarí from the Hall of Colors before he left to meet Arya on the hill and trusted the elder one would give him the peace he needed for the moment.

Eragon walked back to find Elva occupied with feeding the fire she had just lit up. Arya and Däthedr sat silently around it, with their tents already set near the trees. When he passed by them, not a look spared his way, not a word spoken to him. He also kept to his own and went to search for his tent in the bags.

He used magic to set the tent and carried his sleeping bag and blankets inside. It was cold enough to make him grit his teeth, even wearing a travel cloak and winter clothes. Lastly, already lying down in his tent, he ended the spell that kept the Eldunarí safely placed in a pocket in space and time and placed it near his head on the sleeping bag.

Saphira, are you near? He connected with his partner, feeling her intentions of finding a good spot on the river to quench her thirst.

Yes, little one. What do you need?

For you to call me back if I'm needed. I will meditate now.

Of course. Just… Don't go too far. Her voice was concerned, sad for him.

I won't.

Satisfied with his promise, Saphira minimized her presence inside his mind to let him free to work on his concentration.

Master, he called.

Hello, Eragon. What can I do for you?

Would you take me on one of your memories? I don't think I can be a good companion to my friends right now.

I will take you, of course. But remember that escaping your problems is not always the right way to act.

I know. I just need some relief for the moment.

I see. Then I think you will like this one. Prepare to fly over the ocean.


It was the middle of the night and Arya's turn on the night watch of their campsite was almost over. She breathed heavily as she started to have butterflies in her stomach from the thought of waking up Eragon to take his turn. She was nervous to interact with him again after their separation. Her anxiety was intensified when she heard the rustling in his tent's flaps.

He came out of the tent and sat opposite her by the fire rubbing his hands together.

"Go rest, Arya. I'll take it from here," he said avoiding her eyes.

She wished to run away from there as quickly as she could, but at the same time, she wanted to stay and talk it all out. Possibly forget that they were supposed to be apart, that they were bad for each other.

Arya stayed, which made him look at her quizzically. She shrugged diverting her gaze.

"Suit yourself then."

Minutes passed. Eragon played with a stick, pushing the ember around in the fire. Arya could tell he was restless, struggling with his wild thoughts until he finally opened his mouth to speak.

"What else are you keeping from me?"

Arya felt her heart beating out of her chest. She tried to keep her mask of indifference, but it was fading away until all was left was an expression of pain.

"What is it, Arya?" His concerned eyes read her like a book.

She couldn't hold his stare, so she looked down and tried to find the words.

"A couple of weeks after I left Fell Thindarë in the summer, I…"

"What?" He came closer to her, perceiving her distress.

"I awoke with a stabbing pain in my belly and blood everywhere on the sheets. Elva helped me with the pain. She took care of me that night."

If his expression was concerned, with her last words they were terrified.

"Were you sick?"

Arya shook her head, almost laughing. But it would be without humor if she did.

"No. I don't know why, but I lost our child, Eragon. A child I didn't even know I was carrying."

With his brows furrowed and jaw slightly dropped, he became out of words. The man that always had an opinion or a question was speechless. His eyes were still terrified, but they looked at her up and down as if he was checking to see if she was all right.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "For losing our baby and for keeping it a secret. I didn't find the right time to tell you."

Eragon shook his head many times as she realized he had tears in his eyes. It brought tears to her own.

"You should've told me even if the time wasn't right."

"I'm sorry," she pleaded one more time.

He shook his head again and put a hand up to stop her.

"But you don't have to be sorry for losing the baby. I would never blame you for that. It's not your fault."

The tears that had been suppressed since their separation the night before came out involuntarily, and she saw herself sobbing with her hands covering her face. At some point, she felt Fírnen pouring some comfort through their bond to try to soothe her pain, but it only made her cry even harder.

"Go rest, Arya." Eragon's shaken voice made her look at him.

"Eragon, I…" She tried to explain herself, but he cut her off.

"Go rest."

He didn't look angry but wasn't soft either. His hurt was apparent.

Finally, she relented and headed to her tent, but before she threw a last glance toward him to see his own hands covering his face and his body shaking with his quiet cry.

Arya did not know if they could recover from that. If his plan worked and she survived the conflict against her traitors, she didn't know if it was worth living in a world where she was his biggest pain. Where once she had done everything to be with him and they were happy under a starry sky on a sandy beach. But he would do anything for her, so she must survive. She must endure.


A/N: Surprise! It turns out I can't wait until Thursday to post this, since I realized I left a cliffhanger on the last chapter. So, here it is. I had this entire break-up dialogue, but I decided to delete it, because they know what was going on, we know what was going on, and words can be too much sometimes. Let me know what you think!

Words can't also explain how happy I am to have you all as readers. You always leave the best comments! Thank you!

And I'll be back on Thursday, it's a promise. See you!