A/N

So, since I find it completely unbelievable a hundred year old woman would fall in love with a fifteen year old in the space of two years, I've attempted to develop their relationship over thirty years. Keep in mind that because he's not yet a Rider, his personality matures differently than in the books and therefore the way he and Arya get closer is not the same. I hate writing introspections, because it's lazy - so most of the development happens between the lines. Take note of how the dialogue and way they interact changes :)

Heading explanation:
There are four parts to the story, each suggesting a big change in Eragon's personality and life events. Within these parts, there are chapters. The numbers in brackets identify Eragon's age. Please keep in mind I'm trying to span twenty years in a few chapters, so there is minimal plot and maximum leaps of faith.

Prelude

Often when the night-demons became unbearable, Arya left her bed to wander in the darkness of the Varden. The dampness of the autumn air leading into the chill of winter helped the city sink into a state of seemingly perpetual gloom. There was less bustle on the streets, the activity muted, as if everyone was moving in slow-motion.

She thought the mood fitting for the state of her mind. It was one of these restless nights, whilst she crept along the ramparts on the outer wall of Tronjheim, that –

"Hullo!"

She almost fell off the side in surprise.

Recovering as elegantly as she could, Arya stepped safely back into the middle of the walkway before turning to glare at a shape in an alcove.

A young handsome human was grinning at her.

His face was half in shadow, but his smile was kind. She let go of the handle of her knife, hiding the movement by brushing her cloak over the scabbard. Drawing her expression carefully blank, Arya gathered her full height and presence.

The boy peered closer and suddenly snapped to attention. "Good evening, my lady."

"What is your business here?" she asked him sharply. His presence tugged on something in her memory, or a dream.

Arya looked down to observe him head to toe. He stood absolutely still under her authoritative examination - so motionless she was not sure he was even breathing. The boy – no, youth - had the lanky, comically stretched outline of a man not yet filled in. He wore clean, neat, admittedly rough clothing and his armour underneath was naught but a thick leather jerkin, helmet and dented greaves. A military-issue sword hung bare at his hip. So he was poor, she thought, nonetheless well brought up.

Almost without a stutter - which impressed Arya slightly - he reported, "I'm on the night watch, my lady. I am taking my break while my dwarven partner is patrolling."

It had been a new policy for the Varden whom the dwarven kingdom had taken in and sheltered for so many years. Humans were to take up new duties in return for their protection; they were to patrol with the dwarven soldiers in order to perpetuate a culture of tolerance and kinship. This thought did not deter Arya from her observation, for she had a keen memory and it was strange she had forgotten him.

"I have seen you before," she said shortly, still put out she had been so distracted that a human had caught her off guard. She watched as he stepped beneath the moonlight.

"Yes, my father and I retrieved you from Gil'ead."

The darkness tried to claim her again at that name; she concentrated on his voice, the shape of his face in order to control her breathing at the mention of the reason for her late night jaunt. That voice, she remembered, had kept her company from that wretched place to the distant Varden. During her brief moments of lucidity, the gentleness of his expression had been the only thing she could focus on to ground herself.

"Brom Shur'tugal was your father?" She took a better look at his boyish face: at his chestnut-brown hair, cut short like a villager for they did not have the luxury of regular washing; at his thick brows under which familiar knowing eyes, Brom's eyes, watched her intently.

He looked curious at her tone of familiarity, however did not ask her to elaborate. For which she respected enough to continue their conversation.

"What is your name?"

"Eragon." Tentatively cheerful at her vague interest, his posture loosened slightly into parade rest.

She paused. "That is a heavy name to bear."

"So I've been told." He shrugged self-consciously, obviously aware his knowledge did not fully encompass the legacy of his namesake. "It will be my ten and eighth birth year in three months. I hope to prove my worth within the Varden's army."

Arya considered him. An unwelcome twist of guilt made her shift uneasily. She crossed her arms to mask it. Another boy led to the slaughter. Brom's son, no less. Untrained, mostly uneducated. So bright ... a flame destined to be snuffed out within a few years. Brom's face surfaced in her mind's eye. In particular, the expectant expression he had whenever he caught her trying to copy his maps as a girl, the corner of his mouth crooked upwards in amusement as he waited for an explanation.

"- I will teach you," she found herself saying, cutting off his monologue. "A life for a life. I will pay my debt."

Eragon stepped back in shock at her admission. Looking like he could barely believe this conversation was happening (as was she), he swallowed. "Whose life?"

Arya looked directly at him. "Yours."

PART ONE

Backstory
(15-18)

After a series of grievous attacks on a little village called Carvahall, the inhabitants led by Brom, Roran, and Eragon departed for the protection of the Varden. They left with the secret possession of a stone: a blue stone sent to Carvahall by an elf named Arya, whose unfortunate fate rested in Gil'ead with Durza, a cruel Shade serving under Galbatorix. None within the party, except Brom, knew of its real value. For it was a dragon egg - the hopes of the entire free world had been in their safe keeping.

They became fugitives within the Empire. Travelling across Alagaesia, they encountered Urgals, soldiers and even narrowly avoided the Ra'zac. Along the way, Brom trained the villagers to fight and even demonstrated his magical powers in battle, helping to protect and shield them from enemies. He taught Eragon to read and write and they spoke of many things over fire light: the lore of the Riders, the history of Alagaesia and his personal experiences as they travelled together.

They happened upon a lone traveller called Murtagh. He deigned not to share his background, nor why he had chosen to hide himself with their caravan - but he was a skillful sparring partner for Eragon and helped protect the villagers whenever the Empire closed in, therefore they allowed him to stay. Later, Brom was injured in a valiant battle; Eragon saved his and the villagers' life by imitating a Dragon Rider, wielding proudly his Rider's sword, a gift from Brom. He drew the soldiers away, but was eventually captured and taken to Gil'ead.

Here, he was placed in a call next to an unconscious and grievously injured elf. Whilst their captors waited for Durza to return for the torture of the elf to continue and his to begin – Brom, Roran and Murtagh broke in to save Eragon. Eragon refused to leave the elf in those conditions. With one look upon her familiar and noble face, Brom had no doubt of her secret identity; he agreed and they departed with her.

In the escape, Brom had reopened his healing wound, rendering him vulnerable to attack. He was hurt further in the ensuing scuffle and died on the way to the Varden. Before he passed into the Shadows, Brom revealed that he was Eragon's father and was once a Dragon Rider, parted from his dragon due to her death by the hand of Morzan the Forsworn. Upon hearing this, Murtagh had refused to continue on to Farthen Dûr, to Eragon's confusion, and parted from them to continue his travel alone.

It is some time later, after lengthy travel through Dras Leona and Furnost, that they finally reached the Beor Mountains. Durza, and Urgals stationed in the mountains had tracked them and relentlessly pursued their trail. Eragon passed on Brom's message to the Varden's forward scouts - as the diminished party reached the doors of the Varden, Ajihad, the leader of the rebels rode out to meet them, having received Brom's message that they had things of immense value in their custody.

Ajihad was slain having defended Eragon and his company from their enemies. Nasuada, his daughter, took his place and welcomed the villagers of Carvahall to the city of Farthen Dûr and the Varden. She offered them their own area to set up their village once more, supplies and an indefinite stay in return for their labour.

As instructed by Brom before his last breath, Eragon turned over the blue stone to the Varden. Both it and Arya were spirited away. None of the villagers saw Arya again for the next two years.

During this time, Eragon and Roran, as well as many men from their village joined the ranks of the Varden. Roran became a fearsome soldier under the command of Martland Redbeard. After proving himself in battle, Roran was given a company of men to command. Eragon, too young still to join the main forces formally, had duties in the city guard in preparation for his future in the army.

Little do they know, fate had much more in store for the blood of Palancar…

A/N

Once upon a time, I wrote for this fandom under a different penname - I used to be around when authors like Aeronnen and SimplySupreme were still updating (ah weren't those the days). Crazy that after a decade I'm back, but since Book 5 hasn't been released, I have been unable to shake the unfinished Arya / Eragon love story. I'm planning to finally get it out of my system with my upcoming fics.

I'm not one to hold chapters hostage, but it would be nice to know if there's anyone still around who is still reading - let me know by way of a review or PM!