I know, I know, this is way late, but in my defense I did say that I was going to be busy. Hopefully, uh, the chapter makes up for it.
Fair warning, there is a section in here that is NSFW. EDIT: I tried to mark it, but apparently Fn doesn't like the way I did it. Sorry!
Enjoy!
Chapter 51 – Passions Embrace
Taking a step outside of the massive cathedral, Eragon glanced upwards towards the city wall. Not too far on the other side, he knew, the Varden waited. Opening his mind cautiously, he was unsurprised when Saphira's presence immediately sought him out. Her mind surrounded his and quickly dove into his memories, their consciousnesses mingling in a way that made Eragon breathe a sigh of relief. From Arya's similar expression beside him, he could tell that she had likewise rejoined with Fírnen.
Saphira's examination of his memories was over quickly, and he could feel the eagerness in her bones to rejoin him physically. Despite that, Saphira knew what was to come next. I will tell Nasuada that you are on your way to the gates, Saphira informed him quickly. She was planning to begin the assault if you did not contact us within the hour. She was still some leagues away with the main army outside Dras-Leona, and neither of them wanted to leave themselves exposed in case any of the Empire's magicians sensed them.
Good, Eragon returned. It will still take us some time to navigate the city on foot without arousing suspicion.
Then be swift.
When he paused for a moment before closing off his mind, Saphira took the opportunity to add, I am glad you captured Keres. He will face the judgement of the dragons for his actions.
Eragon shivered but agreed wordlessly. They had secured Keres inside the cathedral behind a locked and warded door, as carrying their prisoner into the depths of the oncoming battle would be difficult and unwarranted. The spell he used to render the man unconscious would last until Eragon lifted it, though he still worried that one of the Brotherhood magicians had managed to escape and would try to free their leader.
He closed off his mind and gave a nod towards the others, indicating to the rapidly filling streets ahead. It was early morning still, and many of the merchants of the city were busy setting up their shops, hardly paying any attention to the group standing outside the central cathedral.
Wyrden was mobile once more, though he cradled his arm gingerly. At Eragon's glance he nodded. "I am still able to fight, Shadeslayer."
Eragon began to speak, a lighthearted comment aimed at Arya, but it quickly died at the look she gave him. "We should move," she stated. The corners of her mouth twitched after a moment, as though she understood the joke he was about to deliver.
"Aye," Eragon sighed.
They set off at quick pace, and Eragon was glad that they had decided to bring with them their cloaks. Despite their ability to be able to pass as human from a distance, the low hanging hoods made it easier for them to hide their alien features. Eragon tugged at the folds of his cloak to hide Brisingr and lead the way down the cobblestone street towards the southern gate.
A few guardsmen gave them an appraising glance as they winded down the street, but none of them stopped Eragon and his group as they trotted. The further south they pushed, the more the buildings began to loom over them, until all but a narrow strip of blue sky remained to light their way. The poor state of the buildings -and their inhabitants- made Eragon frown in disgust.
He hoped, after the end of this war, that Nasuada and the others would be able to help these people.
Many of the streets were dirtied and filled with sewage and other ill smelling scents, making Eragon and the others cover their sensitive noses with their sleeves. Still, they continued straight on, the wall surrounding Dras-Leona growing larger in their purview with each passing minute. From atop the limited sigh the overhanging buildings offered him, Eragon noticed slight flickers of movement. Curious, he paused briefly in the street, the others giving him a worried glance.
Every so often he would see the same flicker of movement, but it was only when his gaze briefly caught on a small round gleaming gem-like object did he realize who was following them. Dozens of werecat's trapezed alongside them from the rooftops in their animal forms, and Eragon offered them a brief nod before continuing on towards the gate.
They passed through an intersection quickly, taking the most direct route they could. When the street bent and dumped them out before a large open square, Eragon motioned for his group to halt. Ahead of them was Dras-Leona's southern gate and gathered around it were at the very least a hundred soldiers. Captains were bellowing orders to the confused and unorganized soldiers bearing crimson tunics, but it was not the sight of the soldiers that made Eragon frown.
It was the large mound of rubble that had been dumped unceremoniously against the inside of the gate, and would prevent the Varden from battering them with their rams. The soldiers must have been at it for weeks before the Varden even arrived at the city, and it would take days for a group of men to clear the rubble away before the gates could be opened.
"Barzûl," Glenwing spat, borrowing Orik's favored curse. The group had moved back from the square so as not to be seen, using the bend of the road to conceal them from the soldiers. "How are we supposed to move all of that rubble?"
Wyrden grimaced as he gazed upon the pile, though Eragon was not sure if it was from the sight or the lingering pain of his injury. "It would be a significant drain of energy to move it, Shadeslayer. Perhaps it would be best to wait for Blödhgarm and the others before trying."
Arya shook her head, "Unfortunately, we don't have the time, and we would still have to deal with the soldiers." She turned to Eragon expectantly, and her firm trust in his leadership warmed his heart.
Eragon glanced over at the pile once more around the bend, taking stock of what he saw. His initial estimate of only a few hundred soldiers had been off; more were pouring in each moment, the steady march of footsteps growing louder as the defenders of the city began to organize. His gaze looked onto the pile once more as he considered their options.
Saphira could dig through the pile in minutes, though the group of soldiers bearing spears worried him. So too did the guards posted above the gate and lined along the walls, who were equipped with bows and ballista.
A plan started forming in his mind quickly, and Eragon lowered the barriers around his mind and sought out Saphira once more. She met him quickly, their minds communicating faster in only the way a dragon and Rider could. Understanding and agreement flowed from Saphira before her mind before they closed them off to each other once again, and Eragon turned towards the others.
"Saphira can free the gates in a few minutes, but we will need to deal with the soldiers," Eragon explained to them. "Arya and Wyrden, the two of you will scale the wall and stop the ballista from firing at us, while Glenwing and I will work to keep the soldiers off Saphira once she arrives."
The three gathered elves nodded. Arya's face clouded over briefly before she said, "Fírnen will help us. Once we are done, we will join you."
Wyrden nodded and turned to Arya, "It would be best for us to use stealth, Shadeslayer." Not waiting for her to reply, the elf began to spell the words of concealment, and a moment later the elf vanished from sight.
Eragon saw Arya's lips twitch at her new title, and she shared a brief look with Eragon before intoning her own spell. Only a slight shimmer remained of the two elves, and Eragon motioned towards Glenwing. "Ready?"
Glenwing grimaced. "Why is it that you always choose the hardest task for yourself? And why did you have to pick me? Remind me, please, why again I am friends with you."
Eragon chuckled and slapped the elf on the shoulder. "It's because of my sunny disposition."
"Hm. I thought that was my line." The elf sighed and drew his blade. "Well, there's no time like the present I suppose."
Together the two of them walked around the bend in the road and continued into the square, their blades held aloft and ready. The light steps of Arya and Wyrden faded away as Eragon and Glenwing made their way towards the gate until he could no longer tell which way the two elves had went. In the distance he could hear the faint sound of drums, and as they ventured forward one of the soldiers noticed them and pointed at Eragon.
"Rebels!"
Though there were yards between them, Eragon sprang forward and cleared the distance before any of the other soldiers could react. Brisingr tore through the soldier with ease, the Brightsteel blade cutting through the soldier's tunic without so much as a tremor running down the blade. The man collapsed, and out of the corner of his eye Eragon saw Glenwing equally dispatch an unaware soldier faster than any human could perceive.
Commander's shouted orders, screaming at the soldiers to attack, and Eragon did not hesitate. Each time Brisingr lashed out another of the Empire's soldiers fell, his powerful wards and quick movements preventing any of the men's blades from getting too close to him. Arrows stopped dead in the air around him, and those that did not reach him cut through their own unwarded soldiers indiscriminately.
Eragon moved with an unmatched precision, Brisingr flaring out and felling each soldier that dared to oppose him directly. Glenwing covered his side, his lightning-fast strikes carving through the Empire's men. Time slowed as Eragon's blood pounded in his ears, the familiar beat of war a steady drum that swept over his body. Cries of terror and pain arose around the two of them as they fought, their strength and speed greater than any of the soldiers that faced them.
Still, despite their advantages, the number of men before them never seemed to diminish. Dozens had already fallen, and seeming hundred remained, and Eragon knew that in this war of attrition that eventually he and Glenwing would fail.
When it happened, Eragon was ready; Glenwing faltered slightly, panting hard with the immense exertion of fighting, and Eragon stepped forward to cover his friend. Brisingr blocked a blow that would have skewered the elf before parting the man's head from his neck, and Glenwing offered him a nod in appreciation.
His own stamina was beginning to flag, and so Eragon reached out his mind towards Brisingr and drew upon the small remaining power inside the stone. The inrush of energy steadied his limbs as he continued fighting, and the drums of war grew louder in his ear.
A loud familiar bellow of rage echoed from the sky above, and Saphira crashed into the fray. She landed atop a handful of the Empire's soldiers and crushed them with her massive bulk, and her powerful limbs lashed out and cleared dozens of soldiers away. The fire that spilled from her jaws consumed any that stood before her, the heat of it causing both Eragon and Glenwing to jump back to escape its touch.
"Retreat!" One of the few remaining captains called out, but Eragon's sword pierced his chest before his men could rally. The sounds of panic and dismay rose as the soldiers began tripping over themselves to escape the fury of the dragoness before them, and a frustrated roar left Saphira at the sight of her prey fleeing.
The bloodlust pounding in her veins was strong. She charged after them, her steps shaking the ground as she moved, and Eragon rushed forward. He was too far away to reach her, but Glenwing had noticed and intercepted her, holding a hand up towards the dragon and halting her movements.
"Saphira!" The elf called out, jumping up and hugging her head as best he could. "Are not you a sight! I, for one, am glad that you arrived when you did. Eragon here is trying to get me killed!"
It took Saphira a moment to recover from her fervor, her mouth hanging open and her limbs trembling with her desire to chase after the soldiers. Eventually she did, and the dragoness shook her head lightly to remove Glenwing from her person.
The elf landed lightly on the ground and smirked, placing his hand over his chest and bowing.
Saphira blinked an eye at the elf before snorting. Flatterer, she said, poking the elf in the chest with the tip of her snout. She examined Glenwing briefly, looking the elf over for injuries, before finally turning to Eragon and lowering her head to him. Little one.
Eragon feel relieved and placed his forehead against her snout, stroking the smooth warm scales and letting her presence calm his racing heart. Thank you, he murmured to her.
She rumbled in reply before withdrawing and made her way over towards the pile of rubble. She sniffed at it lightly and glanced skyward, and it was then that Eragon realized that he had not paid attention to what was happening above him on the wall.
Fírnen was perched atop the stone, peering down at them, while Arya stood next to him with her hand resting on his flank. The dragon roared their victory and unleashed a large green flame, and a resounding cheer echoed from the other side of the gate. With a start Eragon registered that the Varden had arrived as was waiting for them.
Turning to Saphira, Eragon asked, "Are you able to do it?"
She snorted. Please. This pile of dirt is hardly a challenge. Using her two forelegs Saphira began to clear away the rubble, large chunks of dirt and rock flying away as she dug. Eragon and Glenwing retreated back into the open square to give her space and escape the debris lest they get buried underneath her efforts.
Above them, Fírnen launched from the wall and glided down smoothly before them, landing heavily on the stone ground, his wings folding away quickly. Arya and Wyrden leapt down from his back and joined Eragon and Glenwing, stopping beside them to watch Saphira tear apart the pile of rubble.
Fírnen sniffed and ventured close to the dragoness, only to be rebuked by a sharp growl.
Arya chuckled and Eragon glanced at her curiously. "It seems Saphira is rather stubborn about doing it herself."
"Aye," Eragon grinned.
Arya was staring at him with an expression Eragon could not decipher, though when he made to ask over it, she instead turned her head sharply away and motioned to the other side of the square. "Footsteps," she warned. "Reinforcements. We should get ready."
The sound of Saphira's digging grew louder, and Eragon readied himself. Dozens of soldiers began streaming out from the intersection ahead of them. Fírnen roared his challenge and let loose a violent stream of emerald fire.
The flame engulfed a whole squad of soldiers before he finally snapped his jaws shut.
Without a word spoken, the two Riders and two elves sprinted in, their movements too fast for the Empire soldiers to react. Though they were easily outnumbered, their vast skillset and swiftness, paired with Fírnen's might, easily kept the soldiers at bay.
Eragon and Arya fought side by side, weaving together through the mass of soldiers that continued to fall against them. Arya would block a strike meant for Eragon, giving him an opening to return the favor against the soldier. He would, in turn, turn his magic loose, stopping flights of arrows and turning them back on the archers. Glenwing and Wyrden were likewise paired as well, their strikes well timed and coordinated despite never having fought together before.
Despite his exhaustion from the overuse of magic earlier, Eragon's determination and stubbornness knew no bounds. He did not know how long they fended off the swarm of soldiers. The sounds of battle grew to a fevered pitch, the harsh ring of metal striking metal jading his sensitive ears.
A loud groaning sound echoed from behind them, and then just as suddenly stopped. Moments later a loud crash shook the ground, and Eragon turned as sounds of cheering erupted.
Saphira had cleared away the rubble and used her strength to tear down the gates, one of which was barely hanging on to its hinges, while the other laid mangled and ruined on the ground beside her. The soldiers of the Varden streamed into the city, their war cries and banging swords making Eragon grin in turn.
The enemy soldiers, seeing that the battle was turning, quickly began to sound their retreat. Men and dwarves streamed passed Eragon and his group on either side, their praises loud and fearsome.
The tip of his sword dug into the cobblestone road, and Eragon leaned on Brisingr as he fought to catch his breath. Despite the men giving him a wide berth, the sheer number of people storming through the gates meant that he was quickly separated from the rest of his party. Only Fírnen and Saphira standing tall against the mob of soldiers were easily visible, though he made no move towards them.
A gentle hand pulled on his arm, and Eragon turned to see Arya pulling him towards the wall surrounding the city. He followed her lead, settling down against the wall and closing his eyes briefly. The soft sounds of leather creaking next to him alerted him to Arya doing the same, her arm pressed tight against his.
Saphira's head swiveled over top the outpouring of soldiers until she caught sight of him. I told you, she snorted.
Eragon grinned, So you did. Thank you, Saphira.
Rest, little-one, she told him. The four of you have done enough.
When he made to protest, suddenly remembering Keres inside the cathedral, Saphira shot him down. Blödhgarm will see to the cretin, she growled. Stay.
Yes, mother.
Her reverberating growl made many of the Varden soldiers shy away in fright, though Eragon could not help the small chuckle that left him. With a large leap she took off into the sky, her powerful wings buffeting Eragon and the rest of the soldiers. Fírnen followed soon after, and the Varden let out another cheer as the two dragons turned their attention towards the city.
Eragon turned his gaze to Arya next to him. He blinked when he realized she was studying him intently, though she did not avert her eyes when he caught her.
"Something wrong?" he asked her quietly.
Arya smiled and shook her head, her arm pressing against his. "No." Her gaze traveled towards the city, and Eragon found his own eyes following hers. "We did it," she whispered.
"Aye," a voice sounded, startling Eragon. "You did."
His father ambled up to them, his eyes carting over the two Riders. Only when Brom was certain that neither of them were injured did he offer a smile. Behind him, Eragon was surprised to see, were Blödhgarm and the other elves. A few of them were whispering intently over Wyrden's cradled arm, though they gave Eragon a short nod in greeting.
"Saphira told me some," Brom commented. "And the rest I can see for myself. Did you really slay another shade?"
Eragon nudged Arya next to him. "Not me."
Arya said nothing, and Brom shook his head. "Another Rider who has done what no other before could." Brom said lowly, as though to himself, before clearing his throat and continuing, "The two of you should count yourselves lucky that you've managed to live so long despite the foes you've faced."
"I fear that our foes will only be stronger from here on," Eragon stated.
Brom's face grew haggard and drawn, looking all at once the four-century-old Rider that he was. "Aye." His father responded, his gaze turning towards the east, Urû'baen in the distance.
The siege on the city did not last as long as Eragon had expected, but Nasuada and her generals must have known that the previous Mayor, Marcus Tábor, had not been seen since the Brotherhood entered the city. The soldiers of the Varden moved quickly once the gates had been breached, securing each street towards the center, until word had finally reached Eragon and the others that the city was theirs.
What surprised Eragon most of all was when Nasuada immediately ordered the Varden to march, though he supposed she did not wish to linger inside the city and risk an uprising. Galbatorix's agents would be hard pressed to cause any manner of mischief if the Varden simply left the city's premises. Once Nasuada had secured a new Mayor, Martland Redbeard, the Varden promptly left the city and followed the river north.
It was only a few hours later, with the sun a few hands above the horizon, that Nasuada called for a rest. After establishing a guard for the night and securing their perimeter, Nasuada graciously allowed the men to tap a few of the barrels the dwarves brought with them. The soldiers' spirits were high after their victory, and the mead made the warriors sing her praises.
Saphira and Fírnen were eager to join the celebrations, though Eragon himself had declined. Saphira had snorted at him and called him an old man, and he merely replied with an affronted grunt.
Eragon had erected Arya and his tent alone, as she had been called away for a quick meeting, though he did not have to wait long. He was sitting on their shared cot when she entered, fresh from a nice warm bath and busy drying himself off.
"How was it?" Eragon asked, running the towel through his hair.
Arya had frozen when she entered, her eyes carting over him momentarily, but his words must have prodded her into action. "Nothing that could not be managed tomorrow," she answered, her gaze catching on him again before she moved over to her bags. Eragon had taken the liberty of relieving Fírnen of his saddle and moving her belongings inside, and Arya gave him an appreciated smile as she began to dig through them.
Eragon hummed and threw the damp towel towards the pile of his dirtied clothes, watching Arya as she pulled out a fresh set of tunic and trousers. She had divested herself of her armor earlier during their march, but much like him she was still covered in filth from their earlier trek through the sewers.
"Going to bathe?" Eragon asked.
Arya gave him a nod before disappearing out of the tent, headed towards the same tent the Varden had set aside for members of the army to use that Eragon had.
His eyes remained fixed on the flap that swished gently from her exit, his thoughts wandering.
She seemed bothered, Eragon thought, his brow dipping. She was neither rude nor short with him, but their interact felt off to Eragon.
Perhaps she has a lot on her mind, Eragon shrugged, before reclining on the cot and closing his eyes.
A gentle hand on his shoulder woke him from his slumber, and when he opened his eyes, Arya stood perched over him, her features illuminated by the faint glow of a candle. Her expression was indecipherable to Eragon.
"Arya," he whispered, his gaze moving over her face before flicking towards the opening of their tent. Faint light trickled in from outside, and Eragon guessed that he had fallen asleep for a few hours.
Arya's gaze was intent upon him when he glanced back over at her, and Eragon reached up his hand and gently caressed her face.
"What is it?" he whispered.
Her strange expression gave way to a more familiar one, her eyes carting over his bare chest before returning to his. The emerald of hue of her eyes darkened, and Eragon's heart started to beat harder in chest as warmth rushed south.
She said nothing and tilted her head down, her lips meeting his. The kiss starts out slow before steadily, and Eragon pulled her closer to him. Arya complied with his silent request, her leg swinging over him until she sat astride his legs, her mouth never leaving his. He trailed his hands up her arms as their lips moved gently together, a faint hum escaping at the small shiver he was granted from his efforts.
Arya's hands were not idle either; she danced them over his chest and down his side, the faint warmth they left behind only making the blood pumping through his body heat up.
He did not know how long they remained locked together in their slow passionate dance, and Eragon nearly groaned in displeasure when Arya finally pulled back from him. She stared down at him with darkened eyes and reddened lips, smiling at him.
He could not help the faint chuckle that escaped, and Arya's smiled grew larger as she sat back on his lap. The moment she did her eyes widened, able to feel his length through the thin trousers he wore.
Eragon froze, his laughter dying on his lips as he stared up at her.
Something shifted behind her eyes, and Arya crashed her lips against his. Her mouth moved over his with such a ferocity that Eragon could not help but finally groan. Hands carted through his hair and pulled him closer, the space between them disappearing as they kissed.
Eragon let go of her arms and skimmed his fingers over the edge of her soft tunic, tugging gently at the material. Arya surprised him when she disconnected their lips and sat up, her hands leaving his hair as she grabbed the tunic firmly in her grasp.
One moment she was fully clothed, and the next Arya had flung her tunic towards his pile of dirtied clothes.
Eragon stared at her with wide eyes, his breathing sharp as he took her in; the candlelight offered little light, but his eyes were able to clearly see her perfect form above him. Arya was painstaking beautiful, he knew that already, but to see her above him bare was something else entirely.
Arya seemed similarly frozen perched above him, her breathe as harsh as his own.
They said no words to each other, and Eragon slowly inched his hands up her taunt stomach and towards her chest. He watched her closely as he did, fully intending to stop if she wished, but all she offered him was a slight smile instead.
His fingertips grazed the swell of her chest and Arya shivered again. It snapped them out of their stupor, for the next moment their lips met again and Eragon could not help but finally palm her chest fully. A soft sound escaped Arya lips, pressed firmly against his own as they were. It stirred Eragon on, his other hand reaching up and grasping her around the waste tightly.
The sudden desire to be on top over came Eragon, and with a swift tug he twisted the two of them on the cot, settling himself over Arya. She went with him willingly, her hands running up and down his sides. His own trailed over her chest, his thumb lightly brushing her nipple and drawing a soft sound from her lips.
He pulled away from her and kissed the length of her jaw, angling himself down her neck and towards her chest. He stopped high on her chest and gazed up at her, fully aware of the way his breath ghosted over her and caused her to shiver once again.
"Are you sure?" Eragon whispered, delighting in the way that her gaze darkened.
"Yes," she hissed, the heat in her words sending warmth flowing down Eragon and into his stomach. Eragon smiled and enveloped her nipple in his mouth, his tongue flicking lightly over her. Arya startled below him and nearly pushed him off her, and Eragon chuckled lightly.
A hand grabbed his hair and tugged, and Eragon flicked his gaze up towards her. Arya's gaze was dark as she peered down at him, the sight sending trails of fire coursing through his veins. Delighted that she was enjoying this as much as he was, Eragon continued his ministrations before switching to her other breast, his lips marking a path down the valley of her chest and up again.
Only when he was satisfied did he ghost his lips over her taunt stomach, enjoying the way it fluttered under him and caused her to squirm lightly on the cot.
"Eragon," she whispered, and Eragon continued down the length of her body. He stopped short of her trousers and kissed a line around her waist, his fingers trailing behind lightly over her sides.
He placed a thumb inside the waist of her trouser and glanced up at her, pausing at the wide-eyed look she was giving him.
Shocked at how far he had gotten carried away, Eragon moved up her body and gazed down into her emerald eyes, fighting against his desire to see more of her. "Do you want to stop?" Eragon asked, his words soft and low.
Arya stared up at him, her cheeks slightly tinted red and flushed. Her gaze carted over his form briefly before locking once more onto his eyes, and he felt her mind slowly prod at his own.
Curious at her actions, Eragon lowered the barriers around his mind. The first thing he noticed when their minds joined together was her desire; it nearly engulfed him and drew out a groan, one that had him placing his forehead against her own.
Once the initial wave of desire flowed away, he felt something else, one that made his heart stutter and nearly stop in his chest.
Love, the kind of which Eragon had never truly felt before. He knew that she loved him, as she had said as much before, though he never once imagined the true scope of her feelings for him. The warmth of it both calmed and excited him, and its gentle firm presence sent tingles arching down his nerves.
Eragon groaned and opened himself up to her, letting her feel for once the full depth of his own feelings. Arya's breath shuttered underneath him, her gaze darkening as her hands firmly grasped the sides of his head.
Arya, he whispered in her mind, enjoying the way it made her shiver below him.
Eragon, she returned, and the love for him inside her pulsed alongside their heartbeats.
Tell me to stop, Eragon implored her, closing his eyes and pushing his forehead against hers. If you do not, I am not sure that I will be able to.
Do not.
Eragon groaned and kissed her firmly, the passion between them heating up as their feelings mingled together. Her desire and love only spurred him along, and Eragon had to drag himself away from her seeking lips.
He kissed his way down her body swiftly until he reached her waist again. His fingers danced along the edges of her trousers as he gazed up at her, waiting for her affirmation.
Arya gave him a sharp nod, and Eragon could not help but notice the way her hands shook lightly in his hair.
Smiling at her, Eragon dug his fingers into her trousers and pulled them down her legs, groaning at the tawny skin that was revealed inch by inch. It was an awkward few moments as he tried to get her pants off as quickly as he could, tossing them over his shoulder and not caring in the slightest where they landed.
His gaze carted up her legs and took her in; Arya may have been slight, even for an elf, but her legs were firm and powerful, her skin as smooth and supple and drawing him in. Eragon returned to his position above her, kissing her stomach and trailing his fingers over her side before slowly moving down her body and towards her center.
Arya's breath hitched, her fingers digging into his hair. Where it not for their connected minds Eragon would have stopped, but her desire was clear in his mind. He hovered over her center and locked his gaze with her own, the heat between them reaching a feverish pitch as he stretched the moment along.
It was only then that Arya said something that he never thought that she would.
"Please," she whispered.
The sound of her begging made Eragon's length throb and his heart trip in his chest. Not one to deny her anything, he wound his arms around her hips and gripped her tightly before placing a soft kiss on the sensitive bundle atop her center.
"Oh!" Arya yelped, pleasure flowing from their connected minds. He groaned at the sensation, which only made Arya twist underneath him further. Going slowly, Eragon carted his tongue over the bundle of nerves, guided along the way by the steady flow of pleasure that came through their connection.
"Eragon," Arya whispered, one hand digging into his hair while the other grasped the edge of the cot firmly. His name on her lips, and the desire therein, spurred him on, his tongue flicking over her softly.
He withdrew one of his hands from around her hips as he continued his ministrations and brought it up her to center, teasing the edge of her center before slipping one inside her.
The sounds that escaped Arya's lips were not ones he would ever forget; she moaned his name and gasped in time with his dancing tongue and finger, and he was suddenly glad that he had remembered to set the wards about their tent beforehand.
Something began to build inside Arya, her mind lost in the haze of pleasure that had taken hold. It was all Eragon could do to continue on, his own desire growing steadily painful the longer he went.
With a sudden snap, the wave of pleasure inside Arya crested, and her body went limp below him.
Eragon withdrew from her and kissed his way up towards her lips. Her body was softly shaking below him, and she was barely able to kiss him in return, and Eragon could not help but softly chuckle in delight.
Arya's breath was harsh and her chest rose and fell in time with his own, her eyes closed as small tremors of pleasure rocked throughout her.
When she finally managed to open her eyes Eragon grinned. "That was…"
"Exhilarating," Arya breathed.
Eragon laughed, and a pulse of deep-seated love swept over Arya through their connected minds.
She kissed him softly, her hands trailing over him and growing steadier with each passing moment. When she tugged him down towards her and his length rubbed against her taunt belly, Eragon groaned.
Her pleasure may have crested, but his own desire was still there.
Arya broke off their kiss and trailed her hand over his trouser. Eragon snatched the hand in his own, peering down at her intently. "You do not have to," he said.
She shook her head at him, a beautiful white smile appearing on her lips. "You have given me more pleasure tonight than I ever knew existed," Arya whispered up at him. "I think it only fair to return the favor."
His chest tightened at her words, and a soft groan left his lips. Arya seemed pleased by his reaction, her hand ghosting over his hardness. Her movements were tentative, a hint of her inexperience shinning through, but each reaction she drew from him spurred her on.
When her fingers danced alone the edges of his pants, Eragon was quick to oblige her silent request. He practically tripped over himself in his haste to remove his trousers. Arya huffed at him good naturedly, a coy smile appearing below dark emerald eyes as she watched him struggle.
Eventually, he managed to cast off his damned pants, chucking them on the ground and adding to the growing pile of soiled clothes. He leaned over her, his length brushing against her stomach as he moved. Another groan escaped him as he did, and Arya was quick to seize on the moment.
Her small, dainty hand grasped him firmly before giving him a sharp tug, and Eragon nearly collapsed as white-hot pleasure shot up his spine. Sharp groans left both of them as Eragon's feelings coursed through their still connected minds.
"Arya," he choked out, his hands fisting on the cot on either side of her.
She seemed singularly determined to ruin him, her hand stroking him softly and gaining speed as he panted above her.
He did not expect himself to last long -it had, after all, been over a century since he had been in a similar situation- but the steady growing warmth in his loins still managed to surprise him. Arya must have felt his climax approaching, though instead of quickening her hands as he wanted, she instead stopped completely.
A sharp hiss of displeasure left him, and Eragon struggled to gain control over himself. He opened his eyes, unaware of when he had closed them, and turned his gaze down upon the elf below him.
Arya stared up at him with dark, hooded eyes. Her mind was swirling against his own, desire and love twining together, their pull too strong for him to resist.
Why did you stop? Eragon whispered into her mind, unable to help the slight pleading tone it took on.
Some part of Arya was amused at his desperation, though she was not one to torture him and softly began to run her hand over him again. It was not enough to recapture the earlier climatic feeling, though it did help to ease the sharp throbbing.
Do you wish to continue? She asked, and Eragon was quick to answer.
Yes, he hissed, his head hanging down and nearly touching her own.
Arya shook her head at him, a small, hesitant smile shining through.
That is not what I meant, she whispered.
What did, he began to ask, before the depth of her feelings was made known to him. There was an ache deep inside Arya, one that Eragon desired more than anything else to alleviate.
Oh, he said dumbly. Eragon blinked, a sharp rush of heat racing across his limbs. "Are you sure?"
Arya's free hand cupped his cheek gently, and she whispered a spell in the ancient language.
He could not stop the smile that broke over his face at her words; it was not one that he was familiar with himself, but he was able quickly decipher its intention based on the wording alone. When she was done Arya gazed up at him beseechingly, and Eragon was not one to deny her anything. He readjusted himself on the cot above her, gently spreading her legs and brushing away her hand from his length.
With one hand he lined himself up to her center, the other placed next to her head on the cot. He gazed down at her, their faces inches from one another, and Eragon could not help but ask again, "Are you sure?"
Some part of him needed to hear her words, and she must have sensed his need through their connected minds. His eyes flickered between her own, searching for any sign of hesitancy or desire for them to stop.
"Yes," she whispered. She lifted her hips and rubbed her center against him. Eragon groaned at the slick feel of her, and he took a few steadying breathes before softly pushing forward.
Arya stiffened beneath him, though she was quick to relax before Eragon could halt his movements. A sharp sting of discomfort echoed her mind and remained as he seated himself fully inside her.
Eragon groaned at the sensation, the feel of her walls hugging him overwhelming his senses. He did not move, remaining firmly in place as she adjusted to the feel of him. Instead, he placed soft kisses down the line of her face and caught her bottom lip between his teeth. He gently tugged at the captured lip before releasing it, and Arya was quick to rush up her mouth to him and kiss him tenderly.
He did not know how long he waited for her discomfort to fade, but Eragon would have waited an eternity for Arya. It was only when the slight sting faded did Eragon begin to move his hips, nearly sliding out of her completely before seating himself inside her once again. He kept up a steady, slow pace, both for her and himself.
Pure pleasure washed down his nerves, and Eragon could not help but let slip her name.
"Arya," he groaned against her lips, fighting against the base desire to thrust harder.
His whisper of her name sparked to light something inside Arya, and an ember of pleasure grew quickly into an inferno. She broke away from their sloppy kiss and released a soft sound that made Eragon's hips stutter.
Eragon.
The faded climatic feeling from earlier was taking root, and Eragon began to increase his pace. Arya lifted her own hips in time with his, each part of their flesh that touched burning in the heat of their passion.
Eragon leaned away from her slightly, her hands following behind and trying to tug him down towards her. He resisted for moment and simply took in the sight of her below him; Arya's body was awash in sweat, much like his own, and a dark bloom of red spread up from her chest and towards her neck.
She was beautiful, and felt like he could not contain the fullness of his love for her.
Through their connected minds Arya's own feelings of love surged forward, and he allowed her questing hands to pull him back down into her embrace.
The desire for release was growing closer, a familiar prick in his spine telling him that he would not be able to last much longer. Arya's own peak was too far behind; he snaked one of his hands down her body and gently rubbed at the nub of nerves above her center, delighting in the soft "oh!" that rushed out of her lips. He fought back against the oncoming promise of pure pleasure awaiting him, desiring nothing more in that moment for Arya to reach it with him.
The same feeling of a rising tide began to build inside Arya's mind, though it was quicker this time. When the snap came Eragon denied himself no longer, releasing the firm control he held over himself.
The feel of her convulsing walls and trembling body were the only things he was remotely aware of outside of the white-hot pleasure that coursed through his veins. He shuttered as his climax washed over him, and Eragon could not help but collapse completely atop her.
Arya was breathing heavily, her arms barely able to catch him as he fell on to her.
The two of them laid conjoined together for some time, and it was only the soft shifting of Arya below him that made Eragon rise and pull himself from her. They both groaned at the sensation of loss, and Eragon quickly collapsed onto the cot next to her.
He felt completely boneless and exhausted, barely able to maneuver himself until they were able to fit on their meager cot. Arya was quick to curl up next to him, the press of her naked flesh against his side warm and inviting after their previous activities.
She was staring at him intently; the earlier dark look in her eyes gone. The only thing Eragon could see was love shining out, the feeling reflected by their still connected minds.
"I love you," Eragon whispered, drawing her face close to his and kissing her gently.
Arya's lips moved softly against his before she pulled back, her dark raven hair falling in front of her emerald eyes. "I love you, Eragon," she returned just as quietly.
They kissed for some time, though it was lazy and not ultimately heading anywhere. Neither of them minded, and after it ended Arya scooted down the cot and placed her head on his chest.
Eragon could not help the soft chuckle that left his lips, and Arya turned her head and gaze up at him curiously.
At her look, Eragon shook his head, unable to help the laugh. "Tis nothing," Eragon chuckled, before continuing, "Only, Angela was wrong."
Arya arched a brow at him. "Oh?"
He smiled at her, enjoying the way that her features softened. "When she told us that magic could fail us 'in a moment of passion.'"
Arya made a noise in the back of her throat and her eyes narrowed, causing another laugh to escape Eragon. "Continue laughing," Arya warned, though her voice was light and filled with mirth, "and you will see if you ever experience another 'moment of passion.'"
"Nen ono weohnata, Arya Dröttningu," Eragon murmured.
Something tickled his mind, shocking Eragon out of his restful sleep. His eyes shot open as he sat up sharply on the cot, his movement startling Arya. It was dark, near as he could tell the middle of the night, and Eragon glanced around his surroundings. Nothing stood out to him immediately; the candle he had lit earlier had gone out, leaving little light for him to see, and the only thing he could hear was the steps of the night patrol as they did their rounds.
"What is it?" She asked, sitting up beside him. Her gaze moved wearily over the interior of the tent before returning to Eragon. Part of Eragon realized that she was still sans clothing, but the pounding of his heart and the ringing sensation in his head overrode any base desire he would have had seeing her like that.
"I'm not sure," Eragon murmured, reaching his hand out and grasping Brisingr at his bedside. The familiar weight was a comfort, allowing him to draw in a steadying breath.
None of his wards around the tent had been breached, and a quickly murmured spell showed no signs of life beside Arya and himself in the immediate vicinity. Arya shifted on the cot, swinging her legs over him before rising to stand and quickly grabbing her own blade. The two of them remained silent for some minutes, their gazes flicking over the insides of the tent and occasionally meeting.
When nothing happened, Eragon sighed and placed Brisingr back down. Arya similarly relaxed, Támerlein hanging low in her grasp.
"What woke you?" Arya asked, and Eragon turned his complete attention to her. It was only then that the full realization of state of dress hit him, and he fought to keep his gaze leveled with her own.
"I'm not sure-" His words were interrupted by the same sensation washing over him again, though this time he recognized what it was. Arya must have seen the look that crossed his face, but he did not answer her immediate questioning and instead dove towards his bags.
His heartrate picked up again as he dug through his belongings, a lump appearing in his throat. He was aware of Arya standing over him as he hastily searched his bags, and before long he was pulling out a familiar piece of parchment.
Normally Tenga's parchment would be completely blank, their previous conversations disappearing after being read, but this time black flowing script met his gaze.
Eragon,
The research you requested has taken more time than I initially expected, hampered as I was by the lack of knowledge concerning how the young Thorn's mind had been separated from his body. I can only conclude that such a method is one that is deeply held by the dragons, and as such will refrain from any inquiries regarding how such a thing is possible.
The Grey Folk held dragons in high regard, and as such so do I. If this manner of separation must remain secreted away, then I will oblige.
Regardless, I have created a spell that may hold a possibility of working. It will require you to subdue the Shade, and will also require a substantial amount of energy. From some quick calculations using Reyar's theorem of Energy Expenditure, I have concluded that the order of magnitude of energy required to power the spell is directly proportional to the number of spirits inhabiting the host.
In order to save you from converting the requirements yourself, I will simplify: Each spirit inside the Shade will require at least ten Elves to supply sufficient energy.
If you are able to overcome this requirement of energy, there is one final note I wish you to be aware of before I write the spell. If you are successful in removing the spirits from the host, this spell will not be able to reunite Thorn's mind with his body. Nor can I confirm with certainty the condition the host will be left in after removal; spirits are unused to inhabiting beings comprised of flesh and bone, and there may be damage left unseen after they vacate.
That venture, I am afraid, will be left to you.
The words were disappearing as Eragon read them, and he hastily tried to impart Tenga's warnings to memory before they were completely gone. Arya had, at some point during his reading, lit a werelight over his shoulder, the soft glow turning the parchment green.
Once the words had disappeared completely, new lines appeared in their place. Tenga wrote the spell fluidly, and Eragon was quick to grab a spare parchment and copy the long scrawl of words.
The moment he was done writing, Tenga's words disappeared completely, any trace of his help erased. Eragon sighed and placed Tenga's parchment back into his bag, his gaze darting over his hastily written words.
Arya's hand on his shoulder startled him, and he turned his gaze up towards her.
"Is that it?" Arya inclined her head, indicating the piece of parchment clutched tightly in his grip. Her eyes were darting over the scrawled Ancient Language, her eyebrows dipping as she read. The spell was long and winding, and it was not composed in the way of the Elves; many Elves would craft their spells into songs so that they were easier to remember and chant, but Tenga had never been one for such poetry.
It was also one of the longest spells Eragon had ever seen, more complicated than even the spell Eragon had memorized to alter Time around him.
"Aye," Eragon answered.
She shook her head slowly. "I do not understand half of what he wrote. Nor do I see how it could even work."
Eragon chuckled, trying to calm his racing heart. "Neither do I, but I trust Tenga's knowledge of such things. It may be foolish, I know, but I have often used his spells without understanding them."
Arya stared at him, her gaze hard. "I have seen firsthand what his spells can do, but you cannot blindly trust that this gramarye will do what we need. We should speak with Oromis and Glaedr first before we decide whether to use it."
Part of Eragon wanted to argue against her reasoning, but he knew that what she said was true. The requirements for such a spell would no doubt require Glaedr's assistance, especially if they needed to subdue Thorn before they could even enact it.
"Aye," he said, carefully placing the parchment in his bag and sealing it with some wards. "We will speak with them in the morning." The sun had not yet risen, the darkness of the night surrounding them the moment Arya extinguished her werelight. She took his hand gently and tugged him towards their shared cot, pushing him down with a firm hand and laying down beside him.
"Sleep," Arya whispered, her mouth inches from his ear. He shivered from the feel of her hot breath, and mourned her loss when she moved away from him. "There is nothing more to be done tonight."
Eragon hummed under his breath and closed his eyes, Arya's familiar presence beside him helping to lull him back under sleeps embrace.
The sight that awaited him when he opened his eyes was not one Eragon ever wanted to forget. Arya was poised over him, a gentle smile filling her features, her loose hair framing her face. He hummed lightly under his breath and returned her smile, one of his hands rising and caressing her cheek.
"Morning," he whispered, drawing her down for a gentle kiss.
Arya complied with his request easily. Her lips were soft against his own as they moved together, and a familiar spark of desire took root inside of him. He did not intend for the passionate kiss that surfaced between them, and it was only through Arya's strong will that the two of them were able to separate at all.
"Morning," she returned, her lips slightly reddened and her face flushed with heat. She pushed against his chest when he tried to rejoin their lips, her strength belittled by her slight frame. "Behave, Eragon."
He let out a sigh and settled back down onto the cot, his gaze roaming over her features. "If you insist."
Arya smiled at him. "I do. We should ready ourselves for the day." Her hand softly carted through his hair as she spoke, and Eragon fought to keep his eyes level with her own. They were still naked from last night, and the soft expanse of skin before him was more enticing than the knowledge of what awaited him for the day.
"Must we?" Eragon lamented, eager to stay locked in this moment forever.
"Our duties will not disappear simply because you wish to lay for a while longer," Arya said, her hand tightening into a grip and tugging gently on his hair.
The noise of the Varden waking outside their tent finally made it to Eragon's ears, and he groaned as Arya pulled away from him.
Elves were never one for propriety according to humans, and were much less affected by nudity, though as they readied themselves, he could not help but notice the few glances Arya sent his way.
Nasuada was quick to order the Varden to march when they finally emerged from their tent. Urû'baen lay some leagues away still, and would require the army to cross the Ramr River, but even Eragon could feel the growing anticipation in the air. It had been months since they started their campaign against the Empire, and the thought of finally reaching the Capital excited and worried him.
Soldiers were busy readying themselves for the long day of marching ahead when Eragon pulled aside his father. Arya, Saphira, and Fírnen waited behind him, both dragons saddled and ready for flight.
There were more grays in Brom's hair and beard than Eragon liked, and the haggard look he gained ever since Thorn's transformation had not left. "What do you want?" Brom huffed, crossing his arms and scowling. "I've inventories to take and soldiers that need marching orders."
"Others can manage that," Eragon said, ignoring his father's blunt dismissal. "We need to speak."
Brom's eyebrows rose high on his head, and a moment later he sighed. "Very well. Make it quick."
Eragon shook his head, a small smile appearing. "I am afraid that is not possible. It is important."
"Then we will talk as we march," Brom stated before turning away towards a group of soldiers who were more interest in watching then helping their fellows. Before his father could scold the men, Saphira strode forward and nudged Brom hard on the shoulder.
Fly with me, Saphira crooned softly. Let me remind you what it feels like to have the wind in your hair and the sky at your back.
A brief flash of sorrow appeared on Brom's face, though his eagerness at the prospect was clear for Eragon to see.
"I-" Brom trailed off, a genuine smile growing in the place of his scowl. "I would like that. Thank you, Saphira."
His father nodded at Eragon before striding over to one of his many subordinates, issuing orders and beckoning them to hurry.
"Tell Nasuada that I will be unable to ride with her," Brom said to an individual Eragon did not recognize. "If she asks, only say that I am taking care of something."
The man nodded before scurrying off, and Brom quickly rejoined Eragon. "Am I to ride with you?" His father asked, glancing up at Saphira next to them.
"I do not think either of us would enjoy that," Eragon chuckled before turning towards Fírnen and Arya, waving his hand at his father over his shoulder. "Enjoy your flight, Old Man." From behind him he could hear Brom muttering under his breath, a few choice curses slipping out and clearly aimed at him.
Arya had finished her preparations and gifted Eragon with a small smile, sending a fission of heat running up his spine. Memories of their shared night before rushed through his mind quickly, and he briefly worried that his ears were red.
"Are you joining us?" she asked, her hand running over Fírnen's scales softly.
"If that is amenable to you," Eragon managed to say, forcing his gaze away up towards Fírnen.
The green dragon snorted and bent his head down towards Eragon, a blast of warm air washing over Eragon as he snorted. I have no qualms with you joining us, Eragon-vor, though my partner may be unable to keep her hands to herself after last night.
"Fírnen!" Arya scolded, causing the dragon to merely rumble in response. Her face was slightly flushed and she would not meet Eragon's eyes, and he realized that she was slightly embarrassed.
Part of Eragon wanted to laugh at the dragon's teasing, though the smarter half kept himself in line. "I think that we'd best be off," He said instead, keeping his voice level. "The Varden will march soon and we should scout ahead as we talk."
Arya agreed quickly and cleared the distance from the ground to Fírnen's shoulder in a quick bound, settling into the saddle in a graceful movement. Before Eragon followed her up he turned his head towards Saphira, watching as she lowered herself down to help Brom climb up her side.
I must say, Eragon said to Saphira, I was surprised you did not tease me this morning.
She turned her great heard towards him, a sapphire eye blinking against the bright morning sun. Would you have me do so now?
That is not what I meant.
Your eagerness to speak with you father kept me from finding an appropriate time, Saphira hummed. Though I suspect that I will find ample time in the future to tease you, little-one.
Thanks, Eragon returned dryly.
Go join your mate, Saphira snorted. And try not to get too distracted.
Eragon sighed and turned back towards Fírnen, ignoring the rumbling laughter that emanated from the two dragons. Bending his knees slightly, Eragon leapt up and settled behind Arya on the saddle, twining his hands around her slender waist.
They both tensed slightly at the sensation, and Eragon fought the powerful desire to place his mouth against her exposed neck.
"Do not," Arya breathed in front of him, one of her hands coming up and tightly gripping his arm around her waist.
"You said the same thing last night," Eragon whispered, angling his mouth towards her pointed ear. He felt a rush of pleasure at the way she shivered from his words, her nails digging into the soft flesh of his arms. "Only, your intention was rather different."
Arya turned her head and peered back at him. Her slanted eyes were narrowed, though he saw the way she fought to keep her lips from rising. "Behave."
Fírnen spread his wings and took off into the sky, and Eragon tightened his grip on Arya in front of him. "And if I don't?"
The look Arya gave him made him laugh loudly, and after a few moments he heard her join him.
This chapter was uh, interesting to write lol.
I hope you enjoyed it, and I want to give you guys fair warning that the next chapter might take a while too. Things are starting to move quickly in the story as we reach the end, and with my life being so busy its hard to find the time to write.
I will finish this story, and I'm not sure how long it will take me, but like I've said before, I'm not giving up on this story!
Hope you guys enjoy, and as always your reviews mean a lot to me!
Ancient Language translations (Old Norse):
Italics represents the Old Norse translation; Bold represents Ancient Language.
Fyrir Neðan – Below Something. Fallen One
Du vættr Bani – The Bane of Spirits: Name of the Brotherhood
Vættr - being, creature; supernatural being, spirit
Bani - death; bane, cause of death, slayer
Skörungr – leader, notable or outstanding person, paragon. Title for Leader of the Riders; given as an honor.
Guliä waíse medh ono, Skörungr - Luck be with you, Leader.
Grœnn – green. Verdant. More accurately, color of the forest.
Grœnnskular – Verdant-scales.
Lengr – For a longer time
Ginnung – space, void
Lengr-Ginnug – Spacetime Tenga's definition of Space and Time as one concept
Istalrí - Flames
Freohr – Death
Blöthr – Stop, halt.