How long has it been since she last had a free day? A day just for herself, just to enjoy the sweet sensation of doing nothing. No council meetings, no Riders to teach, no Games to attend and not a single decision to make. Well, except for which path to take next, the training area, the Hall of Colors or the library.
These options sound like work to me.
Fírnen wasn't entirely wrong, but he wasn't right either. Yes, Arya would definitely feel tempted to give a suggestion or two about the way the students were preforming with the sword in the training area, or to inspect on how her people were being led by the Lords she left in command, if the Eldunarí showed it to her. If she went to the library, the possibility of her finding an intriguing subject to study about was immense, what would possibly drain all her energy.
However, it had been so long since she last had a sparring session that she thought it would be more fun than anything. Besides, conferring with the Eldunarí could be a great opportunity for her to expand her knowledge and power like Eragon had been doing, even if just a little bit. Who knew what she could find in their infinite archive of information? And finally, she was eager to find new readings, hopefully something freshly written by someone from Mount Arngor, a poem or story.
Arya decided that she had enough time to do it all. She said goodbye to Fírnen at the main hall, from where he headed to meet Saphira and the student dragons on the outside of the mountain, and walked to the training area. She was glad she chose to wear her leather headband instead of the crown and casual clothes, for it would be impractical if she wanted to join in the training.
The clashing sounds could be heard several yards from the training area, as well as the raised voices. It appeared to Arya that the trainees were quarreling with each other, but when she entered the large space with an incredibly high ceiling and stone walls, she noticed they were shouting instructions to their partners. Those who waited on the sidelines helped the ones sparring, and then they switched. The students were organized in small groups, that Arya noticed to be a miscellany of different levels of proficiency. Among the groups, some of Blödhgarm's spellcasters walked giving instructions or correcting a wrong move. They had their own swords unsheathed and often taught by demonstrating instead of speaking, which seemed to Arya the right way to do it, otherwise they would just add another voice to the rumble, at risk of not being heard.
On the other side of the area, opposite to where she entered, she saw Eragon crouched in silence. He didn't have Brisingr. Instead, in his hands he had something that seemed like a bamboo stick. She thought it was the oddest thing to teach the ways of the sword without actually wielding one, but Eragon never did what was expected of him, did he? It amused – and also intrigued – her how unconventional his ways were.
When Eragon acknowledged her presence there, he motioned for her to move to his side, so she encircled the entire training area to where his was. Coming closer, she realized it wasn't a bamboo stick that he had in his hands, but four thin slats of bamboo held together by three leather straps, forming an object similar to a cane.
"Interesting weapon you have there." She spoke in his native tongue, which surprised him.
He then looked to the cane and got up to show her. She grabbed it and twirled it around, noticing it was about the length of Eragon's stretched arm and very light.
"It's a bamboo bat. Good for adjusting sloppy postures." He gave her a mischievous smile.
Arya frowned and returned the bat to him.
"Do they need much correcting?"
"Well, at least once every minute. Is that much?"
He was joking. Good. It would be terrible if he was so strict to the point of hurting his pupils. She didn't really think he was.
Arya let out her melodious laugh.
"It's a bit too much, yes."
Eragon switched to the Ancient Language, still holding an expression of good mood.
"They're good learners. Fast or slow, they learn, nonetheless. After all, what kind of teachers we would be if they didn't?"
Arya nodded, content with his answer.
"I don't really hit them, you know." He had an amused grin in his face. "It only happens when they don't close their guards properly and the bat goes straight to their faces. But that's not my fault."
Arya could imagine Eragon having too much fun with the task of teaching the Riders. In moments like these, she could see how much he looked like Brom – the mischievous grin, the sparkling eyes and the fierce determination. Eragon was born to be a Dragon Rider like no one else she had ever met, except maybe for his father. And they both also shared the vocation for leading. And trouble.
Indeed, his ways of teaching made the student Riders turn into good learners, but also good partners and instructors, for they helped each other with great effort. When she mentioned it to Eragon, a spark passed through his eyes and a big smile illuminated his features. Arya couldn't keep her eyes off of him, for he looked...
"It's a good idea, don't you think? To make them tutor each other? I always feel that I learn a great deal when I'm teaching." His excited tone appealed to her even more.
"Yes. It's a brilliant idea."
Eragon played with the bat, drawing imaginary patterns on the stone floor, while his eyes held hers. It felt to her like a thousand minutes had passed, but none at all, just for the fact that Arya couldn't find a way out of his warm gaze.
He lifted an inquiring brow to her and a coy grin appeared on his lips.
"So... What exactly are you doing here?"
Arya untangled herself from his stare and cleared her throat.
"I guess I came looking for a sparring partner."
Eragon looked around. Arya realized he was trying to match her with someone there, which felt frustrating to her, for she imagined he would make himself available.
"You could try to teach Renir a lesson..." He looked to the only student not working with a group. He was training with Rílven, one of the elven spellcasters, who despite being less talented than the young Rider was far more experienced and managed to subdue his opponent more often than expected. "...or you can have one of the elves to cross blades with you."
"Not you?" She asked expectantly.
She watched as his lips curved in a mocking smirk.
"I don't think it would look good if the queen was defeated by someone using a bamboo bat against Támerlein."
Arya narrowed her eyes. Maybe he had forgotten all the times she defeated him in training, and she would have to remind him. But she guessed their combat would have to wait.
"I won't respond to that." He laughed loud at her annoyance.
"Let's find someone else then."
Eragon looked around again and started to walk toward the elves. Arya thought that fighting one of her subjects could be problematic. They would probably hold back out of fear of hurting their queen. As she needed to be protected like that. And she wasn't quite sure if fighting them would be as engaging as facing Eragon in combat.
Eragon came back to her bringing Ästrith with him.
"Your majesty. It will be an honor to cross blades with you." The elf spoke in a soft voice.
Arya didn't know Ästrith very well, but she seemed to be close to Eragon in a way no one else there was. Ästrith showed a few signs of loyalty during Arya's stay in Mount Arngor that made her think the elf would do his will and follow his commands without hesitation.
"I appreciate it, Ästrith. But you don't have to. I understand you have your duty to fulfill."
"I insist, your majesty."
Eragon's excitement was palpable, still she felt it wasn't right. Arya wanted to fight Eragon, not someone who would draw back or would lack the skills required to match hers. She hated to feel this presumptuous, but it was true, she could only be matched by another Rider, and not any Rider, which made sparring so difficult for her.
"It won't be needed, Ästrith, but I thank you anyway."
With another courtesy, Ästrith left to the training area.
"What happened? Why don't you want to fight Ästrith? She is a remarkable fighter, if you ask me." Eragon seemed personally offended by her refusal.
"I'm sure she is." Arya responded casually and started to walk toward the exit.
She felt him following her.
"So what is it?"
Without turning back to him she said: "I just don't think we are a good match."
"Why didn't you say so? I can find you someone else."
Finally she halted and turned.
"I was hoping to fight you."
"Oh."
"Another day, then?"
He looked at his feet and brushed his moustache, a habit that told her he was uncomfortable. Arya frowned. Didn't he want to spar with her? What was the problem? He used to love it during the times when they were marching across the empire.
Arya stepped closer to him and lifted his chin with the tip of her fingers to make him look at her.
"What's wrong? You don't want to fight me?"
"Arya…" He had an apologetic expression. "I don't fight anymore."
A grunt of contempt emanated from her.
"I'm not asking you to fight in a war, Eragon. It's just a sparring session."
"Even then. I don't do it anymore."
"That's ridiculous. What reasons do you have to act this way?"
Arya was starting to feel unbalanced by all the changes in his personality and behavior. She had welcomed most of them, for they made him wiser and more powerful. But she couldn't understand how there were parts of him that simply made him look like a... She hated to even think this about Eragon, but to be honest with herself, she thought he looked like a coward shying away from a fight. The eminent threat lurking in the darkness in the form of an army of magicians being the main one. It confused her and made her act erratically, by faltering when making a decision or letting out her emotions.
"I have plenty. But now is not the time to discuss it." His voice went low and a dark shadow clouded his earthy eyes.
She debated with herself if it was right to speak out loud what she was thinking. He would be hurt, of course, but the truth could open a new path of understanding between them, hopefully. Besides, she wanted to provoke him, make the old Eragon manifest himself, to act out of impulsiveness and tell her what she needed to know – what were his fears and afflictions.
"I don't know, Eragon. For me, it seems you hiding inside this mountain just turned you into a bureaucrat. A coward bureaucrat." She laid the bait.
As if he had been punched in the guts, Eragon took a step back.
"What?" His voice was faint and shaken.
"You know you will be needed when the time comes. Yet, you refuse to fight. You know you are needed now, for we face uprisings and rebellions all over the land. Yet, you refuse to fight. What do you want me to think or say?"
Eragon shook his head in frustration.
"A coward? You really think I'm a coward?"
No, she didn't. Saying that without lying was only possible because she thought he looked like a coward. Sure he was able to pick up her strategy, right? Well, apparently... No. For he was completely shaken, looking groundless. Eragon swayed on his feet, with a lost stare.
"I thought I had made myself clear before. I'm needed here more than in Alagaësia. And this is not the right moment to speak, I'm teaching." He indicated the training field behind them, and Arya noticed a hesitance in the movements performed by the students, in a way it looked like they were trying to listen to their tense conversation.
"Your fear of fighting will never be clear to me." She stated in a hush voice and turned to leave again. The damaged was done. She hit him where she knew would hurt like nothing else, his sense of righteousness. If they would survive the attack she did not know.
"You shouldn't criticize what you don't know, Arya."
Arya could hear the pain in his tone. It was cold and told Arya she had made a big mistake. Again? What a mess! What's happening to me?
She didn't go back to mend things between them or to make sure they would talk more about it later when their surroundings couldn't listen to their words, as it was the right thing to do. Instead, she continued her march away from him.
He was hurt, but she was hurt too. Arya was mad that he knew the hardships she was going to face when the new enemies finally make their move. She was going to face? No, all the people in Alagaësia were going to face it. Why the others didn't seem as hurt as she was? Clearly Nasuada would want her subject to fight for her, wouldn't she? How about Orik? His foster brother was the most celebrated fighter in the world, and he didn't even consider discussing his absence more deeply? Why was she the most affected by his decision, when she was obviously the most capable among all the monarchs of defending herself and her people? Her head was spinning. It meant more to her than it did to anyone else. It hurt her more deeply than it did to anyone else.
It pained her also that she could be so childish. If he said he had his reasons, then he was in his right to keep them for himself. But no, Arya took it personally, like he didn't trust her enough to share. She wondered if her behavior was justified by how much she expected from him now that they agreed to be… more? Has anything really changed between them after their agreement? They were closer, physically and emotionally, that was obvious to anyone paying enough attention, but it felt to her that they had hit a wall. It's what she wanted from the start, to have limits, ground rules. Or wasn't it?
Argh!
You are acting really stupidly. Again.
Fírnen sounded superior, complacent.
And where were you that you didn't even try to stop me?
I was busy… Letting you make your own mistakes, as a normal person does. And don't try to blame this on me!
I'm not a normal person, I'm a Rider and over a century old. Yet, I find myself doing the silliest things lately. I've been changing my mind and saying hurtful things or sharing too much personal information. And blaming you for my mistakes.
She was disheartened.
Hum, I wonder why would that be. He said in an amused sarcasm.
She breathed heavily.
And I wonder if he will ever stop making me feel this way.
He's not doing anything. You are the one overreacting to him simply being… himself.
Fírnen's humming filled her mind, what made her think he enjoyed her struggling more than she deemed appropriate. He knew he was right, and she did too.
Saphira, do you think I had turned into a coward bureaucrat?
Eragon reclined in his chair at the eyrie, where he had been ruminating his disagreement with Arya.
A little bit. You are even getting fatter.
He frowned and slid the belt around his waist.
I'm not fat.
I didn't say you are fat. I said you are getting fatter. There's a big difference there.
I suppose. He said in a bad mood.
Saphira was laying down on her cushion, resting after teaching all day. She stared at him with her concerned blue eyes.
You are not a coward, Eragon. It takes a great amount of courage to do what you do.
Doesn't she know that?
He was feeling hurt and lonely, for he always thought that Arya understood him completely, better than anyone else.
I don't know why she said that. She's acting weird lately. Saphira sounded concerned.
Right? Eragon raised his pitch. Her mood swings are killing me. Has she always been this volatile?
A little, not much. More strong minded than anything though.
You mean she's stubborn?
She let out a rumble of laughter.
Your words, not mine.
Eragon felt uneasy. Dealing with Arya under the light of their new and complex relationship was like stepping into quicksand. They were both being pulled in and afraid it would end up suffocating them. Eragon knew that she thought he wanted to embrace every opportunity they had of being together, but it wasn't exactly how he felt. He craved being with her very much, but knowing she would fly away afterwards not to be back again in ten years created a huge turmoil inside his heart.
Still, he was willing to try, even though it wasn't at all costs. He wanted her to want it too. He wanted her to stop antagonizing him so much. Before, when he was nothing more than a boy in love, she would just keep her distance. That he could understand. The distance naturally created a clarity to their relationship. He knew exactly where they were at, for better or for worse. But this gray area they had fallen into was confusing and uncomfortable. Knowing her true name did little to placate his anxieties, if it didn't worsened it. Now, he just didn't know how to act, what he could do or say, and how much she was willing to let her feelings for him to develop.
But above all, he wanted her to know him. Actually know him, not the words of his name, but his core. To know that he wasn't afraid of fighting, but instead he was shaken by the idea of cutting, piercing, slashing, decapitating. Killing. Eragon didn't want to kill anymore. Training with the sword only worked to revive the disgust he felt about himself and his horrible acts during the war. Could Arya ever understand that about him? There were hints of it in his name, that she successfully guessed, but she should see it all, not only crumbs.
How will she know that if you don't tell her?
I wanted to, but that wasn't the place to do so.
Something tells me you would not have shared that with her, even if you were somewhere else. Wait. I know what tells me that. It's your mind! I'm right inside of it! How curious.
He grunted.
How joyous must it be to judge and mock your partner's feelings. His sarcasm was a mix of reprimand and hurt.
She didn't respond. They both rested their heads, Saphira on her front paws and Eragon on the back of his chair.
Eragon closed his eyes and expanded his consciousness, willing to enter a meditative state and leave his aching chest behind. It was hard. His dissatisfaction was bubbling up inside of him and threatening to unbalance his mental discipline.
He remembered her words. Word. Coward. He hated it, it made him mad, angered. That word was the pure disregard for all the sacrifices he had made throughout his entire life. The fact that she had said it created an unusual feeling of pettiness in him. How could anyone say that after all he had done? It wasn't fair. He deserved more.
Eragon… Saphira called to stop this unhealthy line of thought.
He breathed heavily and forced himself to go into meditation, fighting his anger. It was almost impossible, and as soon as he opened his mind to his surroundings, he touched the familiar music that was Arya. She was at his door about to knock. Before she did so, however, he used his magic to unlock it and turn the door knob. Slowly, the door slid open in front of her.
As she stepped inside and locked it again, Eragon rose from his chair and walked to stand before his desk. They were facing each other, several feet apart. Arya didn't move to close the distance, neither did he.
"What? You forgot to tell me something? What else do you take me for, besides a coward?"
Eragon… I know you're angry, but this is not going solve your problems with each other. Let her speak.
A fire started to burn his insides and blush his features. As to try to placate the burning sensation, his breathing quickened.
Arya hesitated and shot a look toward Saphira, that noticing her discomfort excused herself and flew away.
Before, she threw a last thought inside her partner's head.
I'll leave you to it, but don't do anything stupid.
I can't promise you that.
Eragon!
Go, Saphira. I'll be fine.
"I didn't come here to fight."
Arya's voice came out low and confident.
"Why then?"
"I wish to apologize for what I said. My behavior was inexcusable."
Eragon narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
"No, I will not accept it."
Arya seemed shocked. She gasped and motioned to step forward, but halted when Eragon moved. He walked slowly toward her, almost like a feline after a prey.
"Your apologies mean nothing, if what you said represents the opinion you have about me."
Losing her confidence at the sight of him, Arya simply shook her head.
"It doesn't? So you were lying before. Or are you lying now?"
"I'm not lying."
Eragon kept moving forward, they were eight feet apart now.
"Which means you were lying. So I need you to tell me, Arya. Tell me exactly what you think of me."
Arya seemed paralyzed, and that passiveness angered Eragon even more. He wanted her to react, to clear things up. But instead she just stared at him, her gem like eyes filled with… fear? No, it wasn't fear, but what was it?
"Say it, Arya." His voice was rough, demanding.
Five feet now.
"I don't think you are a coward."
"Are you sure?"
Three feet.
She gasped again. Eragon saw her chest rising and falling back down over and over, letting the air in and out in small blows.
Arya nodded.
Two feet.
There. He knew what was it. No, it wasn't fear, far from it. It was fire. Her combat fire. Her passion fire.
One foot.
The crushed pine needles crawled inside his nostrils and filled his lungs. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and it was like taking a drag of cardus weed. His legs instantly went numb and his head felt light. Eragon leaned forward and supported his weight on his palms placed against the wooden door. Between him and the door was Arya, her face inches away from his.
"You are not a coward." She whispered, her voice cracking by her quickened breathing and her breath warming his skin. "You are the bravest man I have ever met."
They were breathing the same air; their scents were mixing together. Her features seemed out of focus from the proximity, but he could tell she had the most appealing pair of lips, red like cherry.
The heat coming from Arya's body surrounded Eragon in an embrace, enlacing him for herself. As to prove it so, she raised her hands, and they glided from his waist to his shoulders on the velvet of his vest. At the contact, she closed her eyes.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders in a movement that, to Eragon, symbolized an internal debate, between wanting and rejecting. No, Arya was not going to rebuff him again.
Eragon closed the final inches and moved his body against hers, keeping her pressed between him and the door. All of him could feel all of her. He moved even further to increase the pressure on her, and she let out a small groan, but didn't open her eyes.
From the wooden door, his hands slid to her shoulders, then to her sides until the line of her belt. He enlaced his fingers around the leather to keep her there, secure by his touch.
"Arya…" His hoarse pleading made her open her slanted eyes slowly. "Meet me halfway, will you?"
She stared at him intensely, and for a second he considered she was readying to push him away. What she did instead threw him in an ecstasy he had never felt before.
Arya pulled him to herself, as if they weren't already close. Her right hand grabbed the hair on the back of his head, and her left hand went under his arm and around his waist to rest on his lower back. Her breathing started to caress his neck, what was enough to send shivers through his entire body. But it wasn't all. There, on the right side of his neck, Arya laid down the most tender and smooth kisses Eragon had ever thought possible. If her hands weren't firmly holding him, he would've fallen to the ground, melting under her touch.
Eragon felt completely unstable. For someone who could easily transcend his physical body, that small delicate touches created such a wave of pleasure, that it wasn't hard to believe he was completely defenseless before her.
Arya continued the assault to his senses, as he let out a soft moan in her ear. That sound coming from his trembling lips was enough to add wood to the fire. Her grip on his hair tightened, and with the hand she had on his lower back she almost tried to fuse their bodies together. Her smooth kisses turned into a ferocious attack, when he felt her teeth grazing his skin, leaving him out of breath.
He moved his head back to see her; they were both panting. They were both inebriated.
His fingers let go of her belt and found their way to her hips. Eragon's wish was to explore her all over, to memorize every curve of her body with his palms. To mark her as only his. He wouldn't dare, though.
Arya looked like a goddess, however a goddess looked like. If there was a deity somewhere, this was how he thought it would look like, how he thought it would make people feel. No question about it. Her incredible green eyes, angled in perfection to match her high cheek bones. Her lips, so alluring. Her honey skin painted with the lightest shade of pink. Eragon could go on and on about her appearance, but what really mattered after all was that she chose to lock him in her embrace. The goddess chose him.
Again, Arya took the lead. With both her hands on the back of his neck, she pulled Eragon to her one more time and captured his lips with hers. It was fast, and soon it was over. Eragon didn't have time to react, because she did it again. And once more. And again, as if she was taking small sips of a beverage too hot to drink in one gulp. On the fourth time, however, she pressed their lips together and kept them there, breathing heavily. Finally, Eragon felt her relaxing inside his arms, and her lips parting against his.
He was complete.