Saphira and Firnen decided to watch them fight from the perch the dwarves had installed for any dragons in attendance while Arya and Eragon cleared their minds and dulled the edges of their swords. Eragon cut their connection and focused, sizing up her movements as they circled one another. His mind was serenely blank. He was a reed in the wind, ready to bend at any moment. Suddenly, Arya was on the offensive, she struck out hard with Tamerlein, but he swiftly countered her strike with a firm defensive slash and a subsequent counterswipe to her chest, which she blocked easily.
For the next ten minutes, they continued in this manner. Her attacking, him blocking. He didn't throw power into his counterstrikes, rather he watched how she reacted to each angle he threw until finally he found a weakness he had never noticed before. If he stabbed at a specific angle towards her left shoulder, she was forced slightly off balance. He was fairly certain if he feigned a swipe there again she would react similarly, and he could instead sweep her feet. With enough luck, he might be able to force brisingr to her throat, ending the duel. He would need to bait her into it though. She was far too sharp at this point in their match, so he changed tactics. Now he was going to have to wear down her reaction time. With his access to almost unlimited energy, it was only a matter of time before she tired. He began a series of heavy-handed attacks, forcing her to put every ounce of strength she had into holding him off.
Not to be outdone, Arya executed a whirl of slashes, putting him back on the defensive.
Quite a crowd had begun to form around them as they gleamed with sweat. Eragon removed his tunic then, knowing she had not seen yet seen his new physique. Maybe he could unbalance her the way she used to.
She didn't seem to notice though, and they continued to dance. They had been sparring for over an hour when Eragon saw her slow slightly. He decided now was the moment to attack. He feinted towards her shoulder, swept her feet, and somehow managed to get the tip of his sword to her throat before she could recover.
"Dead," he panted out, rolling onto his feet and moving off her so she could do the same.
The crowd cheered at the display of swordsmanship, and Arya, despite the loss, remembered her formalities and thanked him for a good fight. Eragon grabbed his tunic and sheathed Brisingr. They began the walk back to the endless staircase.
"I could use a shower," Eragon said out loud.
"Yes you do smell little one," Saphira replied to the both of them.
Arya contacted Eragon alone within their minds.
"I could also use a shower," she teased with an arch of her eyebrow.
"Drottingu!" Eragon feigned mock shock. "How scandalous. A Queen wanting to shower with a simple farm boy."
She looked at him curiously after that comment.
"You are no mere farm boy Eragon," Arya thought to him. "You are the Rider Eragon Shadeslayer, Kingkiller, bane of the Ra'zac, and the holder of my heart. You just bested me, an Elven Queen over 100 years your senior. You are no mere anything."
He sucked in a deep breath at her words as he felt the flush of crazed heat envelop him all over again.
"When you say things like that," Eragon said. "I want only to throw you over my shoulder and sprint us to your quarters."
"You wouldn't," she dared him.
He arched one eyebrow, and she grinned at him, knowing he had taken it as a challenge. If he went through with it, they were about to announce their relationship to all present in a most improper manner. For once, she didn't care in the slightest. Unbeknownst to Eragon, Firnen and her many years on the throne had worn at her resolve in this matter. Umaroth's wisdom was only the final straw. Somehow, in the time they had taken sparring, she had already come to a decision regarding their future. He saw only acceptance from her thoughts, but not the reason behind the feeling.