26. Blessing

In the cool morning hours, Arya began to shiver. Eragon's arms were no longer sufficient to keep her naked body warm, so he left her side for the briefest moment to retrieve the blanket from the pack, feeling grateful again that Murtagh had given it to them.

He shook out the blanket, spreading it over them as he lay behind Arya and curled up around her. She murmured appreciatively and snuggled into his warmth, relaxing more fully against him.

They slept long and peacefully. Neither had ever been as perfectly tranquil and content, and the trees shaded them from the brightest of the midday sunlight. They awakened at the same moment, which was unsurprising, for Eragon's stomach rumbled loudly and painfully.

Arya laughed sleepily, turning in his arms and gently kissing him. "An insistent alarm, my darling. You're a constant slave to your stomach."

"I have never before worked as hard as I did yesterday in my struggle to satisfy the incessant demands of my wife," Eragon returned. "It was the most perfectly draining exercise I have ever performed—physically, emotionally, and mentally."

Arya laughed again and cuddled more deeply into his arms. "I wish you wouldn't get up, but I know it's inevitable," she mourned.

Eragon returned her kiss and whispered, "But I'll be right back." He slid out from under the blanket and arose carefully so he wouldn't expose Arya's body. "You probably won't need that blanket to stay warm for much longer."

Arya shook her head and grinned. "I can think of an excellent way to ensure that I will warm right up."

Eragon laughed and stretched mightily, groaning at the stiffness in his muscles, which had never been exercised in quite the same way as they had the day before.

Arya stared up at him with a gloating, indulgent look in her eyes. "You're a fine-looking specimen, Eragon," she said. "I could run my hands over your body all day and never tire of it."

He grinned roguishly. "That you could. I may have doubted it before but after yesterday . . . ? Well, I believe you. What do you think of this handsome tan line?"

"I didn't even notice it until just now," Arya said with a laugh, keeping the blanket around her as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. "You'll have to keep your pants off long enough to allow your lower half to catch up."

Eragon chuckled and walked to the pack, grabbing it so he could bring all of the contents back to Arya. "You're studying me quite intently," he commented, feeling how she observed his every action. "Do I look different in daylight?"

Arya shook her head. "Still just as beautiful," she replied. "Your posture is so perfect, and I love the way your muscles move so gracefully. There's nothing quite like a perfect male figure."

"Except a perfect female one," Eragon disagreed. He set the pack down, but before he could also sit, Arya surprised him by suddenly rising in front of him, emerging from the drab blanket like a butterfly from a cocoon in her pure magnificence. "See what I mean," he insisted, scanning her body with his eyes.

Arya laughed and wrapped her arms around him, which action he immediately reciprocated. Then she stretched languidly with her arms above her head, arching her back, twisting back and forth, and tilting her head from side to side. "I'm so sore," she mused as she settled against him.

"As am I," Eragon agreed, stroking her back. "This is nice."

"I was curious," Arya explained, smiling up at him. "We had never stood naked together, but I always liked the way your chest felt when I had clothes on. I imagined it would be even better without, and yesterday I barely gave us any time to enjoy the splendid sensation before demanding we move on to all the rest. I was right. I love how soft it feels."

"But not as soft as you," Eragon murmured. Her skin was as smooth and silky as marble but so much warmer and more inviting. He reached lower, running his hands along her hips and down her thighs as low as he could reach. She shivered with pleasure.

"No you don't," Eragon said, placing two fingers on her lips as they sought his own. "I must eat, or you'll lose your husband to starvation."

Arya pouted playfully and reluctantly released him. Then they sat down in front of each other to eat, completely unconcerned by their nudity—indeed, rather appreciative of it.

Arya asked, "Do you remember when we were captured in Dras-Leona?"

"By the priests? Certainly. I'll never forget that. Why do you ask?"

"It was the first time I ever saw you in only your breeches," she said. "As unfortunate as were our circumstances, that particularity repeatedly returned to the forefront of my mind, especially as you pulled on your restraints over and over. I never realized how muscular you had become, which seems foolish given how often we sparred with one another. And yet even then, you didn't look as you now do. Your chest hair is much thicker and your muscles even more powerful." She reached out and ran her fingers through the hair on his chest.

"Which isn't surprising," Eragon said. "I was only seventeen then, which is old enough to be considered a man by human standards, but I was still a very young man. All of these other masculine attributes came with my final growth spurt, which happened after I left Alagaёsia. Even I was surprised when I started passing up most of the elves in height and strength. I always wanted to be as muscular as Roran. I guess I got my wish. I'm glad you don't mind my hairy body, Arya. I wouldn't feel myself if I got rid of it all to look like an elf."

"No, I most certainly do not mind it," Arya assured him, continuing to play with his chest hair. "I love it. Though your face makes you look strikingly like an elf—at least, when you don't have any facial hair—the rest of your body is a constant reminder to me that you're as human as they come. Only far better. Far, far better."

Eragon laughed and reached out to caress her cheek. "I couldn't agree more, my love. With your complete lack of body hair, you must be the most perfectly feminine female there is. I always equate body hair with masculinity, though human females also have it. But I love the way you look. You're incredible."

"Thank you," Arya murmured, moving her hand away from his chest and unconsciously rubbing it across her lower abdomen to release the skin from the taut layer of dry fluid leftover from the previous day's passion.

Eragon noticed. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Hmmm?" Arya absently replied. "What for?"

"It seemed like your skin was bothering you where all that fluid dried. My fault, I'm afraid."

"Or mine, depending on your perspective," she impishly countered. "I was the one who demanded we make love again and again." Eragon grinned. "I truly don't mind. I wasn't even aware of what I was doing. It just feels tight, but probably less uncomfortable than you appear to be with it all dried in your hair."

Eragon ruefully glanced down at himself. "Yes, so it seems. Perhaps we could find somewhere to rinse off."

"That would be nice," she mischievously said. "Remember the lake?"

"Absolutely. We do need to make love in water. Does all this other hair bother you?" he then wondered. "I mean, in the places you never saw before, where elves don't even grow any?"

Arya laughed at his self-conscious manner. "Of course not, Eragon. I was actually grateful for the cushion it provided between our pubic bones." She winked slyly. "I've never before had that much repeated pressure there."

Eragon cleared his throat, coloring slightly. Somehow the new day brought with it a minor resurgence of his old habits of modesty and hesitation.

Arya laughed even louder—an enchanting, musical trill. "I see now why you like it so much when I blush."

Eragon lunged for her without warning, and she squeaked in surprise as he gently fell to the ground, playfully wrestling with her. Their play turned intimate, but the light manner never left, and Eragon was careful not to be too insistent after she had mentioned her soreness.

When they sat once again and had eaten their fill, which was considerable for them both in light of the previous day's exertions, Eragon moved around to kneel behind her. He began running his fingers through her tangled hair, removing bits of grass and leaves as he went.

"We should probably try to remove this all before we get wet."

"That's just what Willow said when she was helping me yesterday!" Arya exclaimed. "She brushed my hair for me. It was the first time anyone has ever done that, and it felt wonderful. She was so gentle."

"Maybe there's a brush in here." Eragon searched the pack but came away empty-handed. "Nasuada must not have mentioned it. Murtagh wouldn't have thought of it on his own. I know I wouldn't have. We males can be insensitive brutes sometimes."

"No, Eragon," Arya protested. "You're never insensitive. I have never met a more considerate gentleman than you, and yet you're also so strong and manly. It's the perfect balance. You're always looking out for my comfort."

"Nothing is more important to me now than your comfort and happiness, Arya," Eragon murmured. He continued working on her hair, using his fingers to work out the tangles as gently as he could.

Arya suggested, "Is there a piece of wood anywhere within reach? I can't see any besides the whole tree trunks in front of me from where I'm sitting but perhaps behind us?"

Eragon checked and asked, "How large?"

"About the size of your hand," Arya answered.

Using magic, Eragon summoned a small piece of wood from a fallen tree trunk several yards behind them and handed it to her.

Arya sang softly for a few moments, infusing her words with energy from her mind. When she was finished, she turned and handed Eragon a simple brush.

"How clever," he said.

"Start at the bottom and work your way up," Arya instructed. "Then the snarls above won't get caught on ones lower down. And if you hold the section you're working on in your hand, any tugs will pull against your hand rather than my head."

Eragon followed her directions, working carefully so as not to pull. Arya hummed as he did, clearly enjoying the simple happiness of the moment. Thinking of her comment about Willow, Eragon asked, "And how did you like Willow?"

"She's delightful!" Arya gushed. "So open and honest, but not blunt in an offensive way. Always willing to say anything kind or appropriate. Displaying wisdom beyond her years. She hoped we would be friends and mentioned her loneliness as the only female Rider. I've never felt that kind of an immediate friendship with someone. It made me wonder if that's what it feels like to have a sister."

Eragon was pleased with Arya's reaction. "Willow always jokes we other Riders are all like pesky older brothers. Perhaps she will consider you her sister by extension. Not just because you're a Rider, but also because we are now married."

"I would love it," Arya honestly said. "She was truly wonderful. Do you think it possible that Varhog might fancy her?"

"Oh yes!" Eragon cried. "I noticed you observing him yesterday as he helped Willow clear the table. It seemed completely ordinary to me until I saw your reaction, and I hoped I would remember to ask you. But I didn't think my chances were that promising with all of the distractions I was anticipating."

Arya laughed, and Eragon became more thoughtful as he considered her question. "As for Varhog fancying her," he repeated, "I can't say for sure. They immediately hit it off and became friends very quickly when she arrived, but if his feelings have progressed beyond that, it has been without my awareness, which really means very little. I was completely oblivious to all things romantic or emotional while we were apart. I practically lived in my fighting mind to make life bearable. It helped so much to be able to observe everything with such emotionless detachment. Have you noticed anything that led you to that conclusion?"

"Very little," Arya said. "A look here, some loaded words there. She seems very fond of him as a friend, but his eyes sometimes betrayed greater affection than that. I was very surprised to think that such a thing might be, since the idea that an Urgal would want a human is so foreign to me. You know elves often think more kindly about the Urgralgra than the other races, but even we aren't so foolish as to believe that the differences between humans and Urgals, in particular, could be overcome to that degree."

"Yes, that's true. It seems the enmity there has always been the strongest, though the Battle under Farthen Dûr certainly didn't help dwarf-Urgal relations. I'll have to be more attentive when—if—we return." He laughed as she giggled at his statement.

When he was finished brushing, Arya's hair looked smooth, lustrous, and clean of any particles. "I'm done," Eragon softly informed.

Arya easily ran her fingers through it as she turned around to face him. "You'll have to do that again sometime. It feels unbelievably pleasant. Maybe I'll return the favor to demonstrate how wonderful it is, but just with my fingers. I'll wash your hair when we return."

Eragon shrugged. "Fine with me, but I'll gladly brush your hair whenever you wish. I've always loved it. It's soft like silk, dark and shining. And full of that amazing smell I love so much." His eyes were solemn, and Arya noticed the change in his mood.

"What is it, Eragon?"

"I just felt an overwhelming thankfulness. I feel like I don't deserve this blessing of having you, but I'm nonetheless so grateful. It stuck me forcefully just then as I was brushing your hair how unlikely this whole week has been. It was but a week ago that I lay despairing by the lake, wondering how I would ever endure the pain of that blasted heat for the remainder of my unnaturally long life. I knew it would never be satisfied—I would never be released—but through you. But it seemed impossible that would ever happen and was unbearably hopeless. And yet now you're here and yesterday was beyond my wildest imagination and . . . I'm grateful," he finished. "I love you, my wife."

Arya nodded silently, too emotional to add anything but, "I love you too, Eragon. And I cherish hearing you call me your wife."

Eragon hastily stuffed what few things they had into the pack, lingering remorsefully on the leggings he had torn from her body. "I'm sorry about these," he said. "I'm afraid I didn't give much thought to my actions at the moment."

Arya laughed at him and took them. "Nor did I, Eragon. Indeed, you couldn't have removed them in a more appropriate way. Anything longer would have been unacceptable." He grinned, and they both remembered their first intimate union for a moment, precious as it was to them, since it had already been followed by so many more.

Arya quickly mended the pants with magic. "It's good I can do this," she remarked, folding and packing them away. "Otherwise I would have had to walk back to the city just as you see me now."

"And all save Willow, perhaps, would no doubt have appreciated my thoughtlessness at that moment," Eragon assured her.

"All?" Arya pressed. "What of you, my husband? Would you also have appreciated it?"

"No, I can't say I would have," Eragon admitted. "I'm afraid I feel a jealous possessiveness of my exclusive awareness of your true splendor and perfection." He placed his hand on her cheek, slowly running it down her body before dropping it back to his lap.

Arya closed her eyes, apparently relishing his gentle touch. Then they arose together, joining hands as Eragon shouldered the pack and setting off in search of a place to wash.