17. Self-Restraint

Eragon leaned back against the smooth bark of a tree, pulling his knees up and resting his arms on them. He and Arya had just finished dinner on their fourth night together, and he was gazing into the flames of the small fire, mesmerized by their graceful dance.

After the swordplay of the previous day, they had spent today making their way toward the city. Sometimes they had walked, other times they had run, but they hadn't yet flown.

Arya moved over to him and wriggled her way into the protective curve of his body, settling between his knees with her back against his chest and her head drooping against his shoulder in sleepy contentment. Eragon crossed his arms over her chest and wrapped his hands around either of her upper arms. She rested one hand on his bicep and slid her other arm back until her elbow was in the crook of his hip. Her forearm extended up his thigh, and she lightly rested her hand on his leg.

It was a comfortable position, intimate in nature but made less so in the way Arya acted while assuming it. She merely sought comfort within his warm embrace. Right then, Eragon's stomach rumbled, revealing his never-ending hunger.

"Are you still hungry?" Arya drowsily muttered.

"Aye," Eragon assented. "But I'm used to it. I rarely feel full for longer than an hour, even after a large meal, and it's even more pronounced after much physical activity, as with these last several days. One of the effects of eating only plants." He wasn't complaining, just explaining. He knew Arya understood his choices in a diet, as she believed and lived them herself. "It's good though. Keeps my mind sharp, my body fit."

At this, Arya murmured appreciatively—a languid "Mmmm"—as she slowly drew the hand on his arm over the curve of his bicep, pressing her thumb into him to feel its shape, while at the same time sliding her other hand down his leg so her fingers could perform a similar examination along the length of his thigh. "That it does," she purred, admiring his unyielding strength.

These expressions of her shameless enjoyment of his body most surprised Eragon, as self-deprecating as he was. He sighed wearily, pushing his head against the tree and clenching his jaw in an effort to keep the rest of his body relaxed. Arya's actions and words unintentionally excited him, and Eragon willed his arousal not to take shape in the way it wanted, as it would surely be obvious in her current location.

Eragon knew Arya wasn't trying this time, as she playfully had on a couple of occasions in the past days—tempting him to forsake his self-restraint and give into her advances. Maybe it felt so much more difficult this time because he was caught with his defenses down.

But Arya didn't even have to try. Simply being in her presence was enough to create a deep churning sensation within Eragon's body, a hunger completely different from the one she had noticed a moment before.

Apparently his efforts failed, the tension in his chest alerting Arya that something was amiss. "Are you well, Eragon?"

"No," he growled through clenched teeth. "I'm desperate for you, Arya. My self-control is weakening, and you weren't even trying that time." He saw no point in lying, nor could he have in the ancient language. Besides, he was too focused on his effort to remain calm to even attempt it. His even breathing in and out was forced.

"I'm so sorry, Eragon," Arya whispered in dismay. She clasped her hands between her knees, trapping them there to keep them from making any more careless mistakes. "You're right, I wasn't trying. I gave no thought to how my actions would affect you. It was insensitive of me."

Eragon laughed roughly but found that conversation helped distract him, so he continued, "Arya, it's not your fault. I guess you might see it that way but truly, it's just me and my reaction to you. I have loved you so long and want you so desperately that there's no way you can be—in sleep or wakefulness, near me or far—without me longing for you. I always see your beauty, your grace and just want you . . ." He trailed off, realizing that this tone of conversation was perhaps not helpful after all.

Arya shifted and sat forward as she softly asked, "Would it help if I moved? I do not wish to cause you suffering." But Eragon could hear her reluctance to abandon the warmth of his body.

"No, I don't want you to move," he said, tightening his arms to keep her there. "As I said, no matter where you are or what you're doing, it's always the same. I just knew in this close proximity to me you would be acutely aware of my arousal and perhaps uncomfortable. Thus the tension, my attempt to control it."

"Let us not wait any longer, Eragon," Arya implored after a moment of silence. She twisted slightly to look at his face. "Tomorrow we should fly the rest of the way to the city and get married at once. Surely the others have attended to any minor preparations they might have planned. We can resume our exploration of the island thereafter—if we so desire—as husband and wife, free to immediately pursue any tender passions we feel. I appreciate your self-control and your respect of me, but it is foolishness to constantly fight what should be a natural expression of our love. And it's not fair to you. I can't bear to cause a longing you can't satisfy just by my presence."

Eragon relaxed then, resting his chin against the top of her head. "I like the sound of that. Knowing we needn't wait much longer is comforting. We will fly tomorrow." He gently gathered her hair from between their bodies and draped it around the front of her shoulder where it wouldn't be pulled. He had learned to be considerate of her comfort during their traveling together, and he enjoyed the warm, light pressure across his arms.

"Thank you," Arya murmured, sounding drowsy again.

But before she drifted off, Eragon quietly said, "I have something I would like to give you, Arya. May I now?"

Arya nodded, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she turned to face him. She shifted her body until they were perpendicular and she was leaning against one of his raised knees with her legs resting on his torso. Eragon straightened his other leg and removed the wedding band from his pocket, keeping it enclosed within his palm until he was ready to reveal it. Arya's curiosity must have driven any thought of sleep from her mind, and she watched him alertly.

"I made a token of our love and union for you. If it pleases you, I hope you will wear it, though it isn't customary for elves." Eragon opened his hand to reveal the golden ring, holding it out to her.

As recognition lit her eyes, Arya gasped and reached for the ring. She closely examined it, admiring the delicate beauty of the lilies and their intertwined stems. "It's so beautiful, Eragon!" she praised. "The lily you sang for me. It's gorgeous!"

Eragon smiled at her unabashed reaction. "I'm glad you like it. There's more."

Arya turned the ring to discover his meaning. When she noticed the words engraved on the inside of the band, she held it up to read them. He felt her stiffen and tremble as recognition of her true name coursed through her. "You discovered it!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed. "I had forgotten I even asked."

Arya circled her arms around his neck. "I love it," she murmured. "Love it. And I will proudly wear it, now and forevermore." She released him so she could slip the ring onto the third finger of her left hand, where humans customarily wore their wedding bands.

She murmured some words in the ancient language, infusing them with power as the silvery mark on her left palm flared with a brilliant glow. She wove a spell to keep the band bright and untarnished and also to keep it from ever being removed from her finger.

Her eyes shimmered with tears as she lifted them to look at him. "Thank you, Eragon," she breathed. "I have never before received such a beautiful gift. I will guard our true names with the strength of my love." Then her gaze slid back to the ring and she smiled.

Eragon was pleased but also somewhat worried by her last declaration. "You are most welcome, Arya." Her reaction at receiving the ring was more perfect than Eragon would have ever hoped, but he expressed his concern by adding, "Although I didn't even consider the potential danger of inscribing our true names on the back. I'm sorry for my thoughtlessness even as I was trying to be thoughtful."

"It is of no consequence now," Arya dismissed. "We are the only two who know of it, and this ring will never leave my finger. Not even under an attempt to forcibly remove it nor were my hand to be cut from my arm." Eragon grimaced at the notion. "When did you make it?" Arya asked at length, never moving her eyes from the ring. She tilted her hand at different angles so the firelight glittered in the gold.

"Mostly last night while you slept, though I began the night before and you asked about it."

"What of my true name?" Arya wondered. "How did you do it?"

"I discovered it while I made your ring," Eragon replied. "As I had done with Sloan, I contemplated all I knew of you and a phrase came to my mind that seemed to encompass your being, so I whispered it and you responded."

Arya rested her head against his shoulder and her left hand on his arm where she could clearly see the ring. "Thank you, Eragon," she whispered again. "I'll have to make you one in return. I love you, my darling."

Eragon smiled, for her endearment somehow felt natural. "And I love you, Arya," he said. "I would certainly wear a ring if you went to the trouble of making one, but I don't expect it."

"I will," Arya vowed. Then she relaxed in his arms, her eyelids drooping until her waking dreams overtook her. Eragon focused on the steady rhythm of her breathing, resuming his previous study of the fire until it was a small pile of faintly glowing embers before allowing himself to also drift off.