Arya stared down at her plate of food, feeling numb. Sleeping had been difficult the night before, despite Fírnen's efforts to help her. Waking up wasn't great either because the memories of the day before hit her harder than Fírnen's tail, which actually did hurt quite a bit the first time it happened. The silver lining included the absence of nausea, which she had a bad feeling would return any moment now that she was attempting to eat something. Her panic was barely sealed away in her mind and she could hardly think or concentrate on anything of importance. Fírnen did his best to comfort her through wordless mental contact, but none of it reached her.

Her arms lay flat out, parallel on either side of her plate, which was half filled with a variety of fruits, plus toast. None of it was appetizing. She chewed on a strawberry, though it had no taste. She's trying, though. That's the important thing.

She exhaled shakily and closed her eyes before opening them again and looking out amongst the trees from the window. The sounds of outside echoed through the empty loft, reminding her of their upcoming journey. She was tasked with bringing Roran, Katrina and Ismira to Palancar Valley safely. The young couple was nice enough and they were easy to talk to. Roran absolutely adored Tialdarí Hall, where they were staying. Arya herself had a hard time staying there ever since her mother had passed, which is why she preferred the Rider's Loft. Fírnen had more room there anyways, which is important. For now their living arrangement proved more practical.

She would send a few Elven mages to help him raise Carvahall once more for several reasons. The first was that Eragon had suggested the effort to better the relationship between the Elves and Humans. The second was because she genuinely liked Roran. He had made friends in Ellesméra, which was unusual for a Human. Perhaps his contribution to ending the war was looked kindly upon. Maybe his natural charm had something to do with it. Maybe it was because he was Eragon's cousin. There's no way to tell.

She ate another strawberry, this one actually tasted like something for some reason. She's not tasted any of her breakfast thus far and she's been sitting here for an hour, maybe longer, and she's almost halfway through it. She sighed and rested her head in her hands, fighting the well of emotions that squeezed her chest a little bit too tightly.

"Bjartr Stjarna."

She jumped rather violently. "What?" She responded a little too harshly.

"You've been sitting there for quite awhile. Perhaps do something else for a time?" He offered and she sighed heavily. Maybe he's right.

Her shoulders drooped and she let her hands rest on the edge of the table before pushing her chair out so she could stand. Once up, she considered taking her plate. "What do you think I should go do? I have plenty of chores, all of which I'm ignoring, if you haven't already been able to tell." she sounded beyond annoyed and was perfectly content with laying in bed all day, doing nothing.

He sighed, understanding her bad mood, but also that she was struggling to come to terms with her newest discovery. A new addition to their family. A baby. Her first response was always hostility whenever she felt vulnerable. "Arya… I can't help you if you refuse to let yourself be helped. Go do something queenly, like the paperwork you've been ignoring for about five days now. I understand we've been preparing for our trip, but you also need to attend to that as well. Get everything settled before we leave. If you don't want to do that, practice archery and I'll watch." He tried remaining in the positive for her.

She stared down at her plate with her hands resting on the back of the chair, suddenly overcome with a rush of emotion. Her eyes watered and she blinked the tears away before any could fall. Her throat bobbed with a response that wasn't there and she swallowed, doing her best to control her strangled breathing. She grimaced and turned, leaving her plate on the table. Perhaps Blagden would enjoy the rest of her food. She couldn't bring herself to eat any more of it. "Letters it is." she sighed to herself, thankful to be the only one who lived in the lofts. Nobody else needed to see her acting like a ten-year-old. At least she had a good reason.

Her legs brought her up the winding staircase and burning anger replaced confliction. "Why did the wards fail?" the venom in her voice could perhaps make a Dwarven warlord shrink before her. "They shouldn't have. There is a reason we put them there. Do you understand how confusing it is to be practically under the influence of your other half? To share feelings that perhaps weren't there before? If you and Saphira did not have those desires in mind and had you not acted on them, it would have been so much easier for Eragon and myself to remain apart."

Fírnen remained silent for a long while. "You're blaming me."

"No. I'm blaming myself for letting myself be weak… to just give in for once." Her shoulders grew stiff as she led herself back into her room. Everything she needed was there, but her actual room remained untouched in Tialdarí Hall. "Now, do you have any idea at all why they failed?" Her teeth were clenched so tightly that she was on the verge of gagging as she sank into her desk chair. Neat piles of parchment were organized by sender, aside from the haphazard pile of unopened ones.

"If you were as influenced as you say, then perhaps it was Saphira and myself who overrode your wards. We had intentions of producing offspring and you've heard from many people including Islanzadí that strange things are known to happen when bonded to a dragon. Otherwise, there may have been residual magic left in the Rider's lofts where you and Eragon stayed. Were you perhaps drunk?" He asked rather casually, brightly contrasting her stormy mood.

She glowered at the table, unable to control the shaking in her hands as she opened the first letter. "No, I was not drunk." She shot back vehemently, dropping the letter to stare in his general direction, despite being separated by several different walls. "Do you think this is funny? Fírnen, I barely know anything pertaining to what I, as an Elf, is to expect from this pregnancy. I left before I could complete my lessons here and Islanzadí was furious about that too. I don't know how to care for a child; a mindless, drooling infant that I somehow managed to create in an odd and ill-defined relationship where my feelings were somehow not even my own. I've broken one of the most sacred traditions in Elvish society because of that. Eragon is now far away from here and he can't come back. I can't even tell him. I have to keep it a secret because it's just too dangerous. That alone is going to be hard. I don't know what to do and I'm…" She clamped her mouth shut and her gaze fell. She hadn't realized she was also speaking aloud and simply hearing her words caused the pain in her chest to worsen. There were tears running down her cheeks that she didn't notice until she looked down to see the darkened marks on the slip of parchment laying on the table. She moved the letter and leaned back in her chair, simply feeling empty, confused and drained. "I'm terrified..." She whispered shakily to the floor, hoping Fírnen didn't hear her admission. The situation had abruptly hit her all at once and she could no longer be numb to it.

Fírnen observed her for a moment, understanding she needed some time. In the back of his mind, he knew she would break eventually. He hadn't expected it to be this soon, though. "You have me, Arya. I know it's not the same, but I'm here. I didn't mean for my comment earlier to sound insensitive, because no, I don't think this is funny. I was just trying to come up with reasons… suggestions with the sole purpose of eliminating some of the potential culprits. I never meant to hurt you."

Arya leaned forwards and let her head rest against the table, too raw to read or do anything else. She realized then that she had been unfair to him in her anger, but now that was gone and she needed to make another apology to him. Exhaustion weighed her down, her thoughts were too heavy, and gravity seemed too oppressive. The world around her seemed too bright. It felt too close to grieving.

She took a deep breath and sat up, running a hand through her long black hair, pushing it back and regretting not bothering to tie it back. "I know, and I didn't mean to… get angry at you. I'm not myself and I can't think. I'm sorry." Even her tone through mental communication was subdued.

"I know, Bjartr Stjarna. Bring your letters and come join me. I don't like the idea of you being by yourself at the moment. I don't want you to fall victim to your own depressive thoughts." He spoke as gently as possible, pressing his hope for her to join him outside in with his words with a touch of magic.

She sighed again, more at the situation than anything else. "Okay…" she whispered aloud, but also projected the word mentally to him as well.

Gathering the rest of the unopened letters, plus the one she just opened, she dragged herself up from her hair and wandered off down the hall.

Usually, Fírnen was the first being she came into contact with when she woke. She either slept alongside him, or in her own bed, but visited him the moment she was conscious enough to get up. Today was different. She stayed in bed and stared at the ceiling for at least an hour. She didn't say 'hello' to him either, only opting to brush against his mind in the conditioned reaction to waking up, making sure he was well. She had no energy for speaking with anyone. Luckily, Fírnen understood and left her to her own devices. Her own devices ended up being eating a normal sized breakfast at a painfully slow pace and only finishing half of it over the course of an hour.

He waited for her to appear in the doorway, and when she did, he almost didn't recognize her. She looked dangerously pale and despite her hair being combed and her appearance rather put together, he could see she wasn't well.

"Uh… letters. There's ten here. I've already opened one." She kept her gaze down and locked onto the folded pieces of parchment.

"Who from?" He asked positively, situating himself so she could sit up against his belly.

She frowned, going through them as she absently sat down. "Local. Nädindel requests supplies for record keeping." She mumbled.

"From the war?" He asked, looking over her shoulder and she pressed a hand up to his cheek while she reread the letter.

"So it seems. They'll probably send a chronicler here soon for my account as well as yours." She looked up at him.

"My account? I was born after the war; it has nothing to do with me."

"I found your egg in a vault kept by Galbatorix along with many of the swords used by Riders over the years. You were the last to hatch of the three eggs kept in that vault. They'll most likely want your account of life after the conclusion of the war. That's still relevant." It was getting easier to be distracted when Fírnen was around. His magic was helping to influence her mood, no doubt, but she didn't really care. The break was a relief.

"Hmm, if they wish. Are the others of similar matters?" He nuzzled the side of her head gently and she's leaned into this touch while she went through the others.

"Looks that way. It seems like a good portion of these are congratulatory messages pertaining to my recent Queenship. I only announced it to the rest of Alagaësia six weeks ago when we…" she took a breath and shook her head. "When we visited Ilirea. The kingdom leaders know now. I promised Nasuada that I'd stay in touch as well. Ilirea is an Elven City after all, and we grew to know each other well over the years. I need to send her a letter soon to uphold that promise."

He shifted excitedly. "Tell her about our training, but don't give too much away. From the memories we've gained from our Masters, the ways in which we learn are unconventional because we are the first in so long."

A small smile spread across her features and Fírnen was glad to see his magic went (to his knowledge) unnoticed and was working. "Perhaps I will. Let's get through these first, and then you can help me write our letter to her."

"We also need to think about the remainder of what we will need to pack, don't forget. We should pay a visit to Katrina and Roran before the day is up to check their progress on packing and ask if they need anything." He mentioned it as a reminder disguised as a suggestion.

"Oh, and we need to see Rhunön to pick up the… contraption she made for Ismira that attaches to the new saddle. She's made some more clips for me too. I don't think I've ever seen her so excited to make anything like that in my life. She went off on a tangent about spring steel and how she doesn't get to work with it that often. Luckily, I had Lord Däthedr with me and we had a reason to escape. That sounds bad, doesn't it?" Arya said, half in memory, half in the present.

"Not necessarily. We'll go see Rhunön together. I like her." He said proudly and she grinned almost lopsidedly at him. He's only seen her absolutely intoxicated one time, and the smile she gave him just now is teetering on the brink of that scale. His eyes narrowed and he hoped he didn't overdo it with his theurgical influence.

"How's the baby?" He asked, taking a massive risk.

Her smile faded and she also narrowed her eyes, pulling away from him slightly to look at him head-on. "I don't know. Not dead, so better than most." She responded bitterly. "Your magic helps, but not enough to rid me of the afflictions I'm currently in the midst of. It just makes feeling good feel better and it loosens my tongue to a dangerous degree. Don't let me see anyone while I'm like this, okay?" Her eyes traced across the sky absently before looking back to him.

He leaned away, both surprised and unsurprised at the same time. She answered entirely without a filter, but she also knew he was influencing her to behave and feel a certain way. The latter of the two was not unexpected; they're souls are joined, and Arya is a very powerful magic user. It was almost to be expected of her to recognize it. "Of course. Are you upset with me?"

She shrugged. "You're trying to help me, so no. I could've said something but didn't because I don't feel… good and it does help." Her gaze drifted again, and her demeanor fell, despite the influence of his magic. He lessened its strength and the weight of the world seemed to press upon her shoulders once again. It seemed heavy and almost painful. "Fírnen, it feels wrong to be scared. I don't resent the baby; it just makes me uncomfortable." She toyed with the edge of the page she was holding. She's still loose-lipped, otherwise he's sure she would never admit to such a thing.

"It's perfectly reasonable to feel that way. Impending parenthood is a large responsibility, I'd be surprised if you didn't feel at least a taste of apprehension. May I ask what makes you uncomfortable? You have no physical indications, nor are your symptoms very apparent." He reasoned.

Arya closed her eyes, this time drawing power to herself in the same way Fírnen had. She wanted to influence herself so that perhaps she has the strength to get this conversation out of the way before it becomes a sword in her chest. She desires to feel numb again. "There's this… incredibly small being in me that I for some reason failed to realize was there before yesterday. I want to run and yet I can't because for the past six weeks my body has been working on creating and nurturing this new project." She took a shaky breath. "I'll be the whole world to this little person, and I don't know how to be that for them. They won't know their father in person because he is away and he in turn can't know either. I fear both one of my closest friends and my own offspring will resent me for this and I can't do anything about it." She turned to look up at Fírnen, who gazed down at her. He pressed his forehead against her cheek, and she couldn't help but smile softly, sadly, before releasing her own magic, leaving her completely uninfluenced and incredibly pessimistic. "I'm just not ready for a baby. There's too much going on and yet I-" her eyes widened, and she shook her head.

Fírnen nudged her shoulder, hoping for her to continue, and was pleased when she relented. "I didn't have the best relationship with my mother because of duty. I don't want that cycle to continue. It causes so much pain."

Tears suddenly fell from her cheeks and she could only stare at her hands as her stomach twisted into a knot. "I can't do this."

Fírnen huffed. "You raised me. I don't see how much different that will be with a few exceptions."

Arya stiffened. "A baby stays a baby far longer than you did. They aren't intelligent right away. They can only cry because they want or need something. I'll be bound here for several years before we can go anywhere with them." She responded grumpily.

"So? Just because the growing process is slower doesn't mean it's a bad thing. The process of taking care of me when I was little is essentially the same, I just got bigger faster. Your baby will eventually reach the stage where you can communicate with him or her. That's a ways off anyways. Relax for now and be patient. Do some reading at the library. That might help you announce it anyways. People are bound to notice."

"I'm not announcing anything until we get back. Carvahall isn't too far away. It's maybe eight to ten days there and back. That should be enough time to think of something." She sighed and absently sifted through the letters again, sorting them by sender. "Come on, let's go do our chores."

She stood and looked down at his leg. "Is your foot any better today?"

"It's sore, but yes, better. Soreness is to be expected." He lifted it for her to inspect and her eyes grazed over the gauze wrappings. They still looked fresh, but she would change them soon anyways. "Go get dressed, Bjartr Stjarna, speaking to people shouldn't take long." He said gently, pulling his massive paw away. He nudged her shoulder and she reached up to kiss his forehead.

"I'll be right back." She promised.

They both knew she felt better now that they had talked about it.

Maybe it's not so bad.

A/N: I, by nature am not a pessimistic person, though this chapter does have a dark side to it and I did try to lighten it up some towards the end. I may make revisions later, but I need time to think and I was eager to post this one. Hopefully it solves some holes, as will the future chapters. It's bound to get interesting from here. For those of you who left a review, I thank you ever so kindly! I did change Arya's skin tone when it was mentioned as pale in the second chapter. It is canonically tawny in color, which I wasn't aware of, but I did change it, because if I'm going to write about it, I'd like it to be as canon as possible, so thank you for pointing that out! As always, many thanks for reading and I do hope you enjoy!

-Lady Arlo