4. Warm
Eragon felt Saphira tentatively reach toward his mind, reluctant to intrude on his pain and longing. She knew perfectly well that he had been agonizing over Arya again and sensed he'd had some insight that had made everything worse.
You're right, Eragon bitterly thought, retreating back into his desolation before noticing that Saphira was bubbling with excitement. Bubbling. When was the last time that had happened? What is it?
Will you fly with me for a moment?
Why? he suspiciously said.
I want to show you. Please, little one?
Very well, Eragon relented, turning to his back then springing to his feet in one lithe motion.
As Eragon began to climb to her back, Saphira thought, Brush yourself off.
Why? he said, this time defensively. Who cares if I'm covered in sand and damp all over?
You might, Saphira mildly replied.
Eragon regarded her carefully before grudgingly running his fingers through his hair, over his chest and arms. Better?
Saphira curved her mouth upward in her approximation of a toothy smile and crouched for him to mount her back.
Should I saddle you? He had removed her saddle upon arriving at the lake so she could swim unhindered.
No. We will not fly far. So Eragon jumped up, reaching his destination between her shoulders in two powerful leaps.
Saphira immediately sprang into the air, flapping to gain altitude as she headed straight for the peaks dividing the lake from the western edge of the island.
What's going on? Why are we going over here? Eragon's recent pain still burned inside, and he didn't appreciate that she was flying him directly into the setting sun.
Patience, little one. Saphira was doing all she could to keep something from him, but why would she? He shrugged and sat upright, not wanting to lean against her sharp scales with his bare chest.
Saphira cleared the peaks in minutes and flew toward the not-so-distant cliffs. At first Eragon was blinded by the sun in his eyes, and he glared toward it, wishing at the same time that he didn't feel so much resentment toward the sun and its life-giving warmth. I just don't need any extra warmth, he irritably thought.
As he glanced toward the cliffs, Eragon noticed a huge, sparkling green mound. Saphira's excitement was uncontainable then.
What's that? he said in confusion, having never noticed it before. Then the mound moved, raising a giant head toward the sky.
Eragon detected a small, dark speck in front of the mound, and his heart constricted in his chest. It cannot be. He refused to believe—or even hope at—what his mind was telling him he saw.
Oblivious to the care of moments before, Eragon leaned forward on Saphira's neck, squinting as he focused all his effort on identifying the speck—no, figure—in front of the mound. No, not a mound, as the giant head obviously demonstrated. A dragon. He—for it could only be Fírnen—released a jet of emerald flames toward the sky followed by a deafening roar that reverberated through the air, and Saphira answered with a joyful bugle.
Then Saphira was close enough and Eragon knew he was dreaming. Arya.
-:-:-
With the sun behind her, Arya watched Saphira approach in majestic splendor, her glittering blue scales rivaling the sky in beauty. She had grown and was magnificent to behold. Arya held her breath as Saphira's powerful wings brought her—and him—closer.
Before long, Arya could see Eragon astride Saphira's back, leaning forward intently with his bare chest pressed against her scales. Arya winced slightly at that thought but also knew Eragon was probably wholly unaware of any pain he might be feeling, judging by his focused gaze.
Arya released her breath and started breathing quickly, suddenly nervous to be meeting him again. She felt as vulnerable as Eragon must have always felt before, knowing now that she loved him. But as this thought crossed her mind, weak tendrils of warmth coursed through her, and Arya was sure this was where she wanted to be. She was then impatient for Saphira to land.
The dragon began her descent but a few moments later, washing great gusts of wind over Arya as she flapped to control her landing. Arya hugged herself to combat the resultant chill, though she could feel that the air was warm. Saphira landed gracefully about thirty feet away, and the ground shuddered under the impact. Arya reflexively flexed her knees to maintain her balance.
Eragon straightened formally and brought his leg over Saphira's shoulders. He dismounted as automatically as Arya had steadied herself, dropping the considerable height from his dragon's back to land in controlled crouch. With his eyes fixed unwaveringly upon Arya, he slowly straightened to stand. Arya found it odd that he wore only a pair of pants; his feet and chest were bare.
Eragon stood still and staring for a long moment. Then he deliberately closed his eyes, breaking his statuesque posture to raise one hand and rub them. Arya smiled faintly at the emotions she could see on his face—shock, denial, confusion. He was clearly trying to master them and keep his face as still and unmoving as his body, but without success.
-:-:-
Eragon's thoughts raced as he struggled to control his emotions. Arya. Arya is standing right in front of me. Saphira, am I dreaming? Did I fall asleep back on the beach?
Eragon felt Saphira's amusement. I do not think so, little one.
What do I do? Eragon desperately thought.
What do you want to do?
Eragon fought to keep the sarcasm affecting his tone from appearing on his face. As if you don't know! Wrap her in my arms and never again let her go. But the real Arya wouldn't allow that. Only my dream Arya—a complete figment of my imagination—actually likes me, likes me to display affection.
Do you know that? Saphira challenged.
Yes! She never welcomed such gestures before. Why should I expect anything to be different?
Because she is standing right there. Something must have changed, for she once refused to come here with you.
But what if I try and she immediately gets on Fírnen and flies away never to return? I can't lose her again.
Fírnen is already unsaddled. Arya told me she hoped to help you.
What do you mean? Eragon exclaimed. You knew she was coming!?
No, little one, Saphira reassured. Do you really think I would have been able to keep that from you any longer than the few minutes I tried? I only found out right before I asked you to fly with me. She wanted to surprise you. But I made her feel a moment of what you were going through.
What! You told her how I was feeling!
Not why you were feeling it, only that you were suffering and I could barely reach you.
Eragon heard Saphira's evasive tone. But you clearly implied it was because of her! She's smart enough to put the pieces together.
It may serve you to remember that she is still waiting expectantly for something to happen. She is smiling at you, little one. Perhaps start by greeting her.
You might have at least suggested that I dress myself, Eragon complained.
You barely wanted to brush yourself off, Saphira defended. Such a suggestion would have only made you more suspicious.
This was true, so Eragon didn't deny it. He took a deep breath to compose himself, sure Arya had discerned something of his internal conflict simply by the length of time he had been engaged in it. He opened his eyes, and his breath caught when he saw her smile. Finally, he managed to break the silence. "Arya?" he uttered in a strained whisper he knew she would hear.
Arya's smile widened, and she raised her hands as if to lend credence to her words. "Eragon, it is I. I am truly here."
Eragon resisted the urge to reach out and steady himself against Saphira's leg. I don't know what to say.
If she comes any closer, she will hear your anxious breathing and pounding heart, Saphira warned, almost mockingly. Eragon, do not be a coward. You have grown since last you saw Arya. You have never been surer of what you want, and you know as well as I what you planned to do if the opportunity ever presented itself.
But one wrong word might drive her away, just as before.
Just start by greeting her. And then you can ask her why she came.
Eragon skipped the calming breath this time and attempted to be confident, as Saphira had advised. Turning his wrist over his collarbone—and feeling a stab of embarrassment that his chest was bare—he spoke the first phrase of the elven greeting: "May good fortune rule over you, Arya Dröttning."
"Peace live in your heart," Arya continued, taking a step toward him. "Though I am no longer queen."
"And the stars watch over you." Eragon managed to conclude the greeting without faltering, but he failed to hide his surprise at her statement. He kept his arm raised in an attempt to block his bare torso. "I wasn't expecting to see you today," he lamely added, then mentally kicked himself for his stupidity. He shot Saphira a warning glare when her internal humor bubbled up inside his mind.
"I wanted to surprise you," Arya replied, still moving toward him.
Eragon smiled feebly. "It worked. Why did you come here, Arya?"
There! he defied Saphira. Are you happy? Now stop laughing at me! He raised the arm still covering his chest to wipe his brow, and Saphira's amusement deepened.
I'm not sweating because I'm nervous! I'm just hot! Like always!
Calm down, little one.
Eragon returned his attention to Arya when she stopped her forward march an arm's reach from him. Though he hadn't seen her face to face in a decade, Eragon recognized the uncertainty in her eyes as if they had been together just yesterday. She met his gaze for only a moment before looking away. Another awkward silence prevailed, and Eragon guessed that she was communicating with Fírnen just as he had been with Saphira.
-:-:-
Arya experienced an emotional upheaval quite similar to what Eragon had, judging by his discomfiture and long internal dialogues with Saphira.
Fírnen! I've practiced, but I don't know if I'm ready . . . able . . . to tell him the truth.
You are capable, Fírnen insisted. Being forthright will be the easiest way.
He might not believe me. I've never been one to . . . express much of any type of emotion, let alone affection. As much as he might have once wanted it, Eragon has surely tried to convince himself that a relationship with me is impossible.
Can you see it hurting anything to at least try?
No, I suppose not. Arya called on her long years of experience as a princess and queen to prepare herself for what seemed a monumentally difficult task.
Feeling that it might somehow help, Arya reached for one of Eragon's hands and finally answered, "I came to see you, Eragon."
Surprise wrinkled his forehead at her unexpected touch and confession. "Why? A simple scrying session would have saved you a lot of trouble."
Arya bit her lip to stifle a girlish giggle. What is wrong with me! she lamented to Fírnen. I'm acting like a fool!
Are we not all fools in love? he replied in amusement.
Arya rolled her eyes, and Eragon raised his eyebrows. "Sorry! That was meant for Fírnen."
"It's nice to have a sensible voice inside your head at times like these," Eragon agreed with a faint smile. "But I wouldn't have imagined you doing that even to Fírnen."
"He's the only one unfortunate enough to know that side of me, but never mind that. Seeing you through a scrying mirror wouldn't have been enough. That's not what I need." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What I want."
Eragon shook his head almost indiscernibly, his brow creased in confusion. "I don't understand. When have you ever done what you want?"
Arya opened her mouth but realized there was no answer. When had she ever done what she wanted?
You are doing it right now, Fírnen urged. You can do this, Arya.
Arya took another step toward Eragon, raising her free hand and hesitantly placing it on his bare chest, which felt unbelievably warm to her. He instinctively flinched under her icy touch, but Arya could feel his heart drumming.
"You're freezing," he said in concern, surely having felt as much when she first took his hand. "Why are you dressed like it's the middle of winter?"
"Because I'm cold. So cold. I have been for the last ten years. It began when we parted ways and has worsened every day since. Would you like to know the only thing that warmed me in all that time?"
Eragon nodded, raising his free hand to cover hers.
"Thinking your true name." Arya paused to organized her thoughts, thereby inadvertently allowing her statement to sink in. Eragon's surprise and confusion continued to dominate his expression, so she hastened to explain, "The pain of being constantly cold has become nearly unbearable. It's so piercing, so wearing, never-ending, like being trapped in a howling blizzard wearing attire meant for swimming. Perhaps this sounds dramatic, but the misery and exhaustion are so much worse than any torture I have ever endured, which always eventually came to an end. I tried every possible remedy, every means with which I am familiar, to end the suffering, but to no avail. Your true name was my clue, pointing me toward what I believe is the only solution to my problem."
Arya warred for a second with the part of herself that stubbornly insisted she could overcome this problem on her own and happily remain alone for the rest of her life. She finally managed to subdue it and finished in a tremulous whisper that didn't quite convey the proper meekness: "I . . . I think I need . . . your help."
"May I offer it?" Eragon formally asked, and Arya saw his cautious hope.
Unable to answer around the knot in her throat, Arya merely dipped her chin. Ridiculous tears threatened to make an appearance in anticipation of at last finding reprieve from a decade of suffering. So as to hide her emotions from Eragon, Arya turned her face to the side. Her hand slid from his chest, and she remained frozen in place. She had no personal experience in the giving of embraces and had no idea how to proceed.
Eragon promptly rescued her from her own awkwardness. He stepped toward her and encircled his arms around her shoulders, though it must have felt like hugging an ice sculpture. As he gently drew her in, Arya could no longer restrain the tears. A sigh of relief escaped around the knot, and she seemed to melt as she came in contact with his skin. His abnormally heightened body temperature penetrated through her thick layers of clothing, and she slid her hands around his back to pull herself more tightly against him, feeling almost desperately grateful for the respite from the endless chill.
-:-:-
Eragon held Arya in speechless disbelief. He turned his face toward her hair where the distinctive fragrance of pine needles filled his nose. While running his hands along her back to warm her, he commented to Saphira, Now I know I'm dreaming. This is how my dream Arya would act.
No, little one. This is really Arya, and you did just enfold her in your arms. It sounded to me like she would prefer for you to never let her go.
Eragon smiled. As his emotions caught up with him, his eyes brimmed with tears. Arya was on the Isle, in his arms, cooling the unendurable heat in his blood in the way only she could. "Arya," he whispered in a voice choked with feeling. "I missed you so much. I'm so relieved you are here, no matter the true reason."
Arya made no discernible response, apparently content to remain where she was as she borrowed his body heat.
You little ones seem to be getting on quite well. I think Fírnen and I might enjoy a reunion of our own, but we will leave so as not to embarrass you with the forwardness of our dragon ways.
Enjoy yourself, Saphira, Eragon thought, aware of his dragon skirting him to join Fírnen behind Arya. But stay out of my head. I don't want to experience this reunion of yours right now.
Saphira snorted in response as she and Fírnen dove off the cliffs and flapped away toward the mainland.
Arya had relaxed in his arms, which was in stark contrast to her icy rigidness before. Eragon once again felt mortified about being shirtless and wondered that Arya didn't appear to mind. Surely it would seem uncomfortably intimate to her.
He explained, "Forgive me for being thus attired. I suffered with the opposite problem for the last ten years—that of being constantly and unbearably hot. I can't stand to wear a shirt or tunic in the middle of the summer without becoming a miserable, sweating mess in a matter of minutes, and as I said, I didn't expect to see you. But the coolness of your skin is a welcome relief."
-:-:-
Arya smiled against his shoulder at the irony. They were opposites who, when brought together, created a comfortable warmth for each other. A perfect match.
Arya had thought it strange that Eragon's chest was bare. But stranger still, she didn't mind her current location. Stranger even still was her realization that she very much enjoyed being held against his bare chest.
Thus unclothed, Eragon was as different from an elf as Arya could imagine, though his face strikingly resembled an elf's. The dragons' gift of healing at the Blood-oath Celebration had accelerated Eragon's development of pointed elven ears and slanting eyes and eyebrows. Even so, he was more rugged than an elf, particularly his jaw, which was wider and stronger. Arya realized that these differences made him handsomer in her eyes.
Without his shirt, however, the similarities ended. Though he was lean and muscular like an elf, his stature was broader and his muscles bulkier. His chest presented the most marked difference, for a layer of soft dark hair covered the surface, and it felt warm to Arya as she rested against it.
Once they had stood eye to eye, but Arya could tell he had grown. Eragon was now several inches taller than she, and his chin would have rested on the top of her head had he been standing upright, which he wasn't. Instead, he stooped down, to make the embrace more comfortable, Arya presumed, with his face against her hair and his hands rubbing her back to warm her. Everything about his posture was appropriate and inviting. Arya appreciated his consideration, in light of her inexperience.
He was stronger too. Where Arya once believed they might have been equally matched in strength, she could tell reaching full adulthood had given him the power of a grown man, magnified beyond even that by his bond with Saphira. She knew she wouldn't be able to escape his embrace if she tried to before he let her go, but she didn't want to.
Arya had seen many embraces among humans and dwarves during her time as ambassador to the Varden. She remembered her initial discomfort at the open display of affection and how it was treated so casually. And yet over time, the gesture had grown on her, a sentiment that was only strengthened as the recipient of an embrace such as this.
Eragon said nothing again for a long while. He eventually stilled his hands in their efforts to warm her and lifted one to sweep his fingers through his hair. This he did only once, perhaps thinking she might interpret the gesture as too affectionate. His heart pounded nervously, but as the minutes passed and Arya made no objections, it slowed to a steady beat that Arya found reassuring.
Arya closed her eyes and listened to his even breathing, relishing the warmth that filled her. She couldn't remember ever being this warm, not even before her strange malady began, and she felt totally content.
What a strange creature I am. Arya had always believed that being in love would somehow make her weaker. Even when she knew her feelings for Fäolin were stronger than friendship, she could never bring herself to admit that she loved him, thinking her duty as ambassador prevented her from enjoying the luxury of an intimate relationship. Duty had always prevented her from opening herself to love. Her indomitable sense of duty.
Arya realized she had continued to carry that idea as Eragon's affection for her had grown, seeing it as an inexcusable distraction from his important responsibilities. Of course, she had also been insulted that such a young, immature human would dare consider himself worthy of her.
No, he never considered himself worthy of me. Upon learning her age and position, Eragon had known he shouldn't aspire to earning her love, yet he had continued to improve himself with the hope that one day, if he worked hard enough, she would change her opinion of him and see him as a man, not a child.
It had indeed happened. Arya felt honored to have won the love of this man, but she suddenly worried again that his feelings might have changed. Maybe he was holding her merely to warm her, and she realized that she had best not assume anything.
Though she had admitted to herself that she loved Eragon, Arya still hadn't voiced the words aloud. He was being affectionate, but so might he be with any close friend. If he was basing this present moment on their past interactions, Eragon would exercise caution around her so as not to offend her. Mustering her courage, Arya shifted and turned her face toward him.
Whereupon Eragon unexpectedly said, "I've always loved the way you smell. Like fresh pine needles."
Arya flushed. In her mind, his words seemed very personal, for they implied he had noticed more than once that she smelled a certain way. Not only noticed, but remembered, even after all these years. And loved it.
Eragon straightened as Arya regarded him, creating more space between their faces. She well recognized his look of dismay and knew Eragon thought he had gone too far. Now he probably believed she was going to reprimand him, like she always had when he said such things before.
Eragon hastily apologized, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have . . ."
Anxious to reassure him, Arya said, "I didn't mi—"
But Eragon interrupted her by lifting one finger to her lips, and Arya saw his face harden in firm resolve.
"Before you say anything, I must speak. I have suffered pain and misery I didn't know I could bear while being apart from you, and I discovered today that it began that moment ten years ago when you prevented me, for whatever reason, from saying what I wanted to say. Since then I vowed that I would never again bring my desires before you unless we happened to find ourselves together in person once more. Now that we're here, I'll finish what I tried to say then. Even if nothing changes, at least I'll know I've told you, and you will understand the way I feel." He swallowed and took a deep breath, his dark brown eyes intense and fervent as he moved his finger away from her mouth. His fingertips brushed along her cheek, then he dropped his hand as if concerned he might be pushing his luck.
"Arya, I love you. When these feelings first began, it was out of a boyish fascination with your beauty and mystery. They grew and matured until the time we parted, when I was sure what I felt was pure and honest love. But even then I was mistaken, for now, after all these years of being separated, my desire to share my life with you, to ease your burdens and pains, to protect you, and to do all I can to bring you joy has only deepened. I love you more than anything else and always will. My regard will only get stronger and more enduring with time. I know elves do not always express affection in the same manner as humans, but I must do this at least once to attempt to impress upon you the honesty of my feelings."
With one arm still loosely encircling her waist, Eragon reached for her hand and lightly wrapped his fingers around it. Then he watched and waited as Arya's internal debate flared.
You want this, she reminded herself, once again struggling with her protective half, which demanded that she close up and rebuff him. This is why you came, and he just confessed that he still loves you. Let him show it. Allow yourself to be loved.
Apparently sensing her struggle, Eragon paused, determined to respect her if she did not wish him to proceed. When he found no sign of denial, for Arya had stubbornly subdued it, he bent forward to close the distance between their faces and touched his lips to hers. Arya closed her eyes as he did and accepted his tender kiss, feeling the depth of his sincerity and his pleading for her acceptance.
After only a moment Eragon released her, but Arya didn't pull away, immobilized as she was by the overpowering warmth coursing through her body.
Do it again, Arya wished, unsure how to return his affection. She blinked uncertainly, her eyes darting from Eragon's face to his chest as she attempted to order her jumbled emotions. An unfamiliar attraction seized her, which Arya quickly identified as passion. I want him. Which is normal, she reasoned. Because I love him. And he loves me. Isn't that the natural next step?
Eragon raised her chin. "You acted like you didn't mind," he said in a soft voice that sent shivers up her spine. Or maybe it was just how close his lips were. "Did I misunderstand?"
Arya shook her head and earnestly said his true name. Tremors coursed through his body in recognition. "I love you. I love you, Eragon." Professing her feelings seemed the simplest thing in the world now. Eragon trembled again, and tears filled his eyes.
"That's what I wanted to say," Arya went on, "but I'm glad you interrupted me because your speech was the loveliest thing I have ever heard, and in your kiss, I felt more adored than I believed it was possible to feel. I'm thrilled that you still feel the same, that you have forgiven my stubbornness and continue to accept me with all of my weaknesses. I'm honored to have your love, and when I finally admitted to myself the way I truly feel, I came here and hoped we would never be parted again."
Eragon's eyes widened as Arya spoke, and she saw that he dearly wanted to trust her. Though he knew she couldn't lie in the ancient language, the way he searched her eyes made it clear that he believed she might be hiding her meaning.
Arya returned his solemn gaze a moment longer. Then, feeling more carefree and giddy than she had in many long decades, she laughed at his gravity, which brought a smile to his face. "You don't believe me?"
"I want to believe you more than anything I have ever wanted," Eragon answered. "But I've imagined this happening so many times, only to awaken and feel the fresh despair that it was all just a dream and you were still thousands of miles away. Whenever that happens, which is depressingly often, it's like leaving and losing you all over again. I keep fearing I'll wake up."
Arya slipped her arms around his neck, hoping that if she initiated the kiss, it might convince him. Eragon was correct that kissing was not a common way for elves to show affection. The propriety of their culture disallowed most public expressions of any strong emotions. Of course, loving interaction would be present privately between two elves who decided to be mates for however long. Arya felt that both she and Eragon had sufficiently demonstrated their desire to be mates, and they were certainly alone, so she was anxious to experience the enjoyment once again.
As she pressed her lips to his, Arya allowed herself to be swallowed in his touch and smell and taste, which surrender was also a very new thing for her. But rather than feeling vulnerable, she was amazed to discover that she felt empowered. Powerful that she had such an effect on Eragon, for she could hear his heart rate increasing and his breathing deepen. Eragon worked his hands around to the front of her body before pulling back and fixing his hands on her shoulders, his jaw clenched and apology in his eyes.
"I want to do this," Arya breathed, but he still hesitated to believe her. Arya sighed impatiently and began unbuttoning her thick traveling coat, feeling stifled by its excessive heat now that Eragon had shared his.
Eragon reached for her hands to stop her. "So do I," he said, fully in control. "More than I can possibly say. But not like this. I know elves often choose who they want to be with, even if only for a day, but I like the customs of my race in this instance. Though the words or concepts might be meaningless to you, if you do not object, I would prefer to be bound to you first, to prove that I intend to remain committed to you for as long as I am alive."
Arya thought about Roran and Katrina as she recognized the same depth of devotion in Eragon's eyes that she had often seen in theirs. She had always envied them that. Perhaps she needed to no longer, but she felt a nervous clenching in her gut as she warily asked, "What are you saying?"
Eragon cautiously answered, "I'm saying that I want to marry you, Arya. If I ask, will you shut me out again?"
"I . . . I need a moment." Fírnen was suddenly in her mind, courteously sparing her any awareness of what he was doing.
What do I do? Arya fought to suppress the building alarm.
What do you want, little one? You told Eragon when he asked you why you came here and recognized your desire for him even more recently. You want to be with him in the way a mated couple would. Why not allow him to become your mate in the way that is meaningful to him? His desire is to show his loyalty and love. Is there any harm in that?
No, but it seems so sudden and permanent.
Fírnen mentally snorted. Little one, you made the most significant decision of your life in coming here. You relinquished all other duties to follow your heart. Do you plan on returning? Do you see yourself changing your mind? I think Eragon has sufficiently proven his devotion. Would you be ashamed to be his wife?
No, I don't think so. But am I ready for this?
Moments ago you were ready to give yourself to Eragon. You would do that, but not first bind yourself to him according to human tradition? For so long—because of the heartache and loss you have endured—you have guarded your heart and insisted that you can be happy on your own, but have you ever truly been happy? You stubbornly claim that you are strong enough by yourself, and you are strong, Arya. Of that there is no question, but your heart had to demand your attention by creating intense and chronic physical suffering for a full decade. You were not able to overcome that on your own, but for nothing less would you have considered leaving your duties behind. You have now personally experienced that Eragon was the only true remedy for your pain. And there were many times during the war that he rescued you from life-threatening situations you could not escape yourself. There is nothing wrong with allowing yourself to need another person. And as you have learned, surrendering to and accepting Eragon's affection has done nothing but empower you. If it is important to Eragon, does he not deserve the respect of becoming your husband before your lover? Though I am a dragon and we have no such customs, I appreciate that Eragon desires to honor you in this way.
Yes, Arya agreed, it is honorable of him. I see your wisdom, Fírnen. And I did come here to be with Eragon because I love him. Marriage may not hold the same meaning for me, but I owe him at least this much after how long and patiently he awaited this time. I don't see how delaying an engagement would benefit anyone, so we may as well go forward.
Then tell him, Fírnen counseled. He is patiently waiting yet again.
Arya nodded, raising her eyes to Eragon's from where they had vacantly gazed during her conversation with Fírnen. Eragon didn't look discouraged or upset, only understanding, and Arya realized that he was the closest friend she had, someone who understood her true nature—flaws and all—unlike anyone else and who still accepted and loved her. Why should she be nervous to share her life with him as his wife? She knew Eragon would continue to honor and love her forever. What was so bad about that? How many other women could claim such a thing?
"Forgive me for taking so long," Arya finally said. "I'm embarrassed to admit that this was the first time I have ever seriously contemplated marriage. Realizing and admitting I love you must have been all I could process at one time."
"I understand. But now isn't the first time I have considered marrying you. I've known I wanted to for some time. I can keep waiting, if you would prefer."
"I don't prefer. And I don't see how delaying would profit us anything, so I'm prepared for you to ask." She smiled encouragingly.
"Even with that reassurance, I'm still nervous," Eragon confessed with a wry grin. "Here we go." He dropped to one knee and took her hands in his before calmly asking, "Arya, will you marry me? In whatever way you see fit, will you allow me to be yours? Will you have me as I am and will become in my quest to always remain worthy of you?" He whispered his final request with such vulnerability that Arya's heart nearly broke. "Will you be mine?"
Arya realized how difficult it must have been for him to ask her that. He was completely at her mercy, and she knew her answer had the power to fill him with joy or utterly devastate him.
In the same unwavering tone of voice, Arya responded, "Yes, I will marry you. I will accept you as you are and intend to become, if you will have me as I am and hope to be. I will love and cherish you for the rest of my life." Her voice dropped as her heart soared. "I will be yours."
Eragon searched her face again, and a smile slowly spread across his features. His expression was so purely happy that it took Arya's breath away. So this is what it feels like to love and be loved, she thought, amazed that she had prevented herself from experiencing such joy before.
"Thank you." Eragon kissed her hands and stood up to give her another tight squeeze. Then he sat down and patted the ground next to himself. "Will you please stay with me? I need some sleep, and you also look exhausted. I promise to behave, I just can't bear the thought of you going away. I'll keep you warm." He raised his eyebrows hopefully.
"I'll stay," Arya murmured, smiling faintly as she sat beside Eragon. "I also don't want to be apart. But I don't know where else I would go tonight."
Eragon smiled. "Good point. Well, at least I can keep you warm." He brushed her cheek with his fingers. "I hope you don't mind me saying that you're beautiful." Arya shook her head slightly. "But I promised to behave, and dwelling on that is a sure temptation. So let's think about how we might sleep comfortably. I can lie on my back and you can use my chest as a pillow, or I can lie on my side and you can rest your head on my arm." He motioned toward a side-lying position where she assumed his body would be curled around hers, his arm draped protectively over her side.
Arya liked that image so she playfully said, "On your side, if you please," while her mouth quirked mischievously. She was surprised by her lighthearted manner, which seemed out of character for her, but overcoming her stuffy sense of duty was somehow very liberating. This side of her personality had been dormant for so long that Arya hardly remembered she had once easily laughed and danced and teased.
Eragon also seemed surprised by her unprecedented behavior, but he made no comment or objection as he promptly lay down on his side and extended his arm out. He awkwardly held his head away from the ground, so before lying down, Arya summoned her cloak from the pile she had left in front of Fírnen's saddle and offered it to Eragon as a pillow. He thanked her and stuffed the bundle under his head.
They situated themselves until both were comfortable, and Arya relaxed contentedly. Eragon nestled his face against her hair and almost before she thought it possible, his breathing was deep and even. Arya mentally reached out to him and, while leaving her thoughts entirely unguarded, experimented with her newfound openness. I love you, Eragon Shadeslayer, followed by his true name. She was grateful his feelings for her were such a central part of it.
Eragon hadn't been quite asleep, so when Arya touched his thoughts, she felt that he was startled and cautious. She had never opened her mind so fully, not even when they were communicating nonverbally.
He echoed her thought when he was able. I love you, Arya Shadeslayer, along with her true name, though she felt his sense of panic when it no longer resonated as it once had. Had he forgotten it?
Arya reflected on her true name and realized it no longer was true. Finally she said, You have changed my very being, and my true name has also changed. I suspect you have a more central role in it than before. Will you help me discover it anew?
Yes, he vowed.
But not now, Arya insisted as exhaustion pulled her toward her waking dreams. She couldn't fully drift off because her hair tugged uncomfortably, and she reached up to free it. Where should I put my hair? It was getting pulled a moment ago.
I'm sorry. I'll hold it while you situate yourself. Eragon was so gentle, and Arya sensed through his mind how much he loved her hair as she snuggled into him again. He spread her dark tresses over his body, savoring how they felt against his bare skin. I could get used to this.
The contact between their minds felt so natural that Eragon seemed to forget about it for a moment, and he imagined the time after their marriage when they would join their bodies in the most intimate expression of love.
Arya silently witnessed how he pictured that experience. She felt his gentleness and reverence for her body, and he soon realized that she was observing his fantasy through their mental link.
Eragon didn't apologize or act embarrassed, nor did she think he should have. I'm excited to share that with you.
Yes, I am too, Arya honestly replied, allowing her admiration to reach him. Then she teasingly thought, Your fantasy just now seemed remarkably well rehearsed.
Eragon chuckled softly, and the soothing sound enveloped her. You have no idea how many times I've imagined doing that with you. When I was sixteen and first met you, my fantasies were obviously more lustful. I dreamed about enjoying your perfection for my own gratification. For years now, as my feelings have developed to what they are, it has been painful imagining intimacy. It seems the natural next step in expressing how deeply I adore you, but I was so pathetically sure would never do that and my passion has only intensified.
Surely you would have eventually found someone to share it with.
There is no one else, Arya. If you had never come, I would have remained a frustrated, lovelorn bachelor for the thousands of years I'll likely live. Perhaps when I reached my five hundredth year, the insufferable burning would have begun to cool. . . . He paused as she giggled.
Arya felt through Eragon's mind that he instantly adored the sound. She realized that it very well might have been the first time he had ever heard it, as giggling was just now coming out of hibernation along with the rest of her lighthearted personality.
Eragon laughed with her and continued, But even that might be a generous estimate. Though by then, hopefully you would have finally thought me old enough.
Arya laughed again. Thank goodness I came to my senses when I did. Five hundred years we might have lost. That would have been unforgiveable.
Eragon kissed the back of her head. Sleep now, my love. I will keep you safe and warm. Arya smiled at his endearment; it felt completely natural.
They drifted into their waking dreams as one, finally where they felt they belonged—safe and loved in each other's arms and reassured by the fact that even after their dreams ended, this reality would continue.
A/N: If you dislike or disagree with my portrayal of Eragon or Arya, you are in good company. If you haven't already read it, might I recommend a beautiful story on this website entitled They say the World was built for two by AryaNuanen? Many of her fans repeatedly comment that she absolutely nails their personalities, and she takes Eragon and Arya's relationship at a much slower pace (their separation is a hundred years). If that sounds more to your liking, go check it out! What's most impressive is that the author is not a native English speaker, but her writing is absolutely breathtaking.