The Wayward Son

The silence between them already lasted long enough for a normal person to feel uncomfortable. However, used to long hours of the quiet rustling of the trees in Du Weldenvarden, Arya simply felt at peace, even when the situation instigated the opposite of that.

Only minutes before, when she was tossing in bed, a knock on the door made her rise to her feet and dread what would come next. His look, the touch of his fingers, the warmth of his body, inch by inch getting closer to hers; all of it was just cracks on her wall of indifference. But above all was his smell.

Arya wondered if he had ever realized his smell was so enticing, that earthy aroma, the peculiar scent that comes in the first drops of rain when they hit the dry soil and raise a thin layer of dust. His smell was a delightful mixture of rain and wet grass. It reminded her of home somehow, but it was so particularly his, she imagined if he knew about it. She first noticed it at the Blood-Oath Celebration, when he had come for her after his transformation. Eragon always looked like a handsome boy, but after the work done by the dragons, he changed into a more mature and refined version of himself.

At first, she wasn't sure which one she liked best, for she grew accustomed to his human features enough to find them endearing, however, his new smell just settled the dispute for her. The elf-like Eragon smelled like something she loved.

She was sitting on her bed, legs crossed, while Eragon took a wooden chair in front of her and appeared as at peace as she was. If she looked closely, she could even say he seemed in a trance, as if he were meditating.

"What are you thinking about?" Her soft voice sounded like a rumble in the silence.

He focused his eyes on her.

"Nothing." She watched as his shoulders rose in a shrug. "I'm trying to understand what happened."

Arya knew what had happened. Eragon came to confront her about being cold and distant to him for the past week, but instead of that he treated her like she was the most desired creature that had ever existed. All confrontation was forgotten.

"You said you wanted to apologize."

"Right. I did. I mean..." He straightened his posture. "I do. I want to apologize for not telling you about the threat I saw in my visions. You were right to get angry with me about it."

"It seems you take a lot of decisions without consulting me."

He seemed guilty for a second, but then a defensive stance took over his demeanor.

"How should I consult you to make the decisions I have to make every day if talking with you is a once-a-month event?"

"That's not what I meant."

Arya never wanted him to feel she doubted his leadership, but she also felt left out of important matters simply because she wasn't there close to him. It didn't feel right, but also how much could she demand of him? She wasn't sure.

"Everyday decisions are only yours to make, even if I lived here with you. You are our leader, you have all the right to do what you think is best. But big matters like the one you just mentioned, you can't keep those from me. I may be able to help you."

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm apologizing." Eragon sighed and sat back. "I thought I could figure this out before telling you or anyone else about it. I just came to realize though that figuring things out is not my job anymore, I'm just the messenger now."

"What do you mean?"

"I already told you. I'm not going to fight anymore unless the fight comes to me. So, you, Murtagh, and the new Riders should be able to deal with the information I pass along to you the best way you see fit."

Again with that argument? It made Arya mad that he was still considering staying back if a new threat was marching to Alagaësia. Since when he was the one to shy away from a fight? He seemed at peace with this decision, and even Saphira didn't oppose the idea of not fighting when he revealed it to the group a couple of hours before, which seemed even stranger.

"I can't imagine you and Saphira choosing not to fight when the time comes. It seems odd." She tried to sound casual, non-judgmental, but how much she succeeded she wasn't sure.

"We found our roles in this world. We're teachers, not fighters." Apparently, she did a good job, because he sounded just as casual and not angry with her judgment.

"But you two are so good at fighting, how can you say that?"

Eragon smiled faintly and shrugged.

"Our world is full of fighters. We're just two more, for as good as we are. But teachers are never enough, so we can't give this up. That's our purpose in life now."

Arya knew that. It was part of his change, she saw it in his name. She realized he had lost interest in anything related to fighting when he chose to leave Brisingr behind in his room every day, except for the day of her arrival in Arngor, when he displayed it with pride. Also, his new role as a teacher was evidenced in his speech on the first day of the Games and in the way he greeted his students and fellow residents of the mountain, one by one, encouraging them and empowering them. But also, in the way he would always speak about them when they talked over the mirrors. That was how she was able to piece it together with the other parts of his name that came instinctively to her from knowing him so well.

She nodded and silence befell them again. Eragon looked away with a blank stare as he was going to lose himself in deep thought.

After a while, their eyes met, and she feared she would lose the bit of control she had left after their short but intense interaction of before. So, she tackled the other matter at hand.

"You asked me a question. Shouldn't you be looking for the answer?" Eragon shook his fogginess away and stared at her.

"I am. You can take your time to answer it."

What in the name of the gods is happening to us? Yes, Eragon, what is happening? It seemed to Arya that they were playing a game of hide and seek for too long, and it was getting boring. What he wanted from her she could not give, although she wanted to. And what she could give him was forever ruined, since she treated him so badly to the point of hurting him. What was left for them after all?

"I don't think I have the answer you want, and the one I have you cannot know."

He laughed a bitter laugh.

"You always tell me what I cannot be, or do, or have. I think you do it so you can refrain yourself from doing what you can't quite understand."

Her eyes narrowed.

"And what would that be?"

The ironic glow in his eyes vanished, and he started talking to her the way he would do to a student.

"Letting yourself go, of course. Who sees you walking around, with the crown on your head, cold expression, can't imagine the fire you have in there." He pointed at her chest. "But I have seen you fighting, Arya." Eragon smiled gently, and Arya was impressed by the speed with which he changed expressions, even after keeping a blank stare for so long. "You may have forgotten how it feels like, but I remember like it was this morning, you dancing on the battlefield, the look in your eyes, the passion..." He let the words die as if he was lost in memory.

"What it has to do with," she hesitated, "us?"

"You don't see it? It's the same fire." Arya felt her cheeks getting warmer. "When I touched you before, that's what I saw. Now, I can't understand how someone who can show so much passion can hide behind a mask of indifference toward the one she bared her soul to."

That confidence coming from Eragon completely disarmed her. She knew he was changed and she knew exactly the extension of his change, for she had discovered his new true name, but seeing his personality taking shape right in front of her eyes was daunting.

Arya fought to find her voice again, but she hoped he hadn't noticed.

"I have my reasons."

Eragon smiled again.

"I'm sure you do, you always do."

He got up from his chair and knelt before her the same way he had done a week before, at the conference hall.

"But this is not a matter of reason, is it?" His voice was low as he rested his hands on her knees. "The way I see it, and maybe I'm a fool for thinking like this, there are things beyond our rational comprehension. Some things we just feel and, ultimately, accept."

The heat coming from his palms spread through her legs, stomach and chest, and fused with the one warming her face. She was right to think his warmth was strong enough to melt the coldest of all hearts.

"What I feel is a liability." She sounded weak when she wanted to sound as confident as him. When she wanted to argue so he would back off.

"You sound really silly for such a wise woman." He smiled fondly. "Try again."

The criticism failed to anger her or to make her want to defend herself. She felt lost, out of arguments when she knew she had plenty. Arya had rehearsed them all during that week, she even used them with Fírnen, so, why she couldn't get any rational thoughts out of her mouth to stop him in his onslaught to her resolution?

"We just..."

"Cannot be, yes, I know." Eragon shook his head and sat back down on the chair. "Too much distance, too much responsibility; you're old, I'm young; you're an elf and I don't know what I am. I know, believe me." He ran a hand through his hair.

"So why do you keep doing this to yourself? Why can't you just let it go?"

"I was doing that, just trying to be a good friend, until you pushed me away completely. It's not fair! Just because we cannot be together, it doesn't mean we should be enemies, or worse, indifferent to each other. What are you doing, Arya? I thought I was the closest friend you had."

Finally, his anger and confusion emerged. She had been waiting for it.

"You are. And that's the problem. You know me too well, and I'm afraid you come to realize parts of me that you shouldn't."

"I don't understand. What have you done in these past ten years that can make you fear my judgment so badly?" His voice got a little higher, in clear disarray.

She sighed. It would be so much easier if she were free to lie as humans did in their language. It would be perfect if she could make up something to satisfy his curiosity and leave it at that. But no, they only spoke in the Ancient Language with each other, lying was not an option.

"I don't fear your judgment."

"What is it, then? Arya, you can tell me, I made it clear to you that there's nothing in you that I reject, you can talk to me."

"I don't want you to know my true name, that's why I treated you with indifference this past week. I thought you would find it out sooner or later if I'd let myself go, the way you want me to and the way I was doing in my first two days here. It was easy to know your true name by the way you laid yourself bare for me."

Eragon seemed surprised.

"You know my true name?"

Arya smiled sadly.

"I ultimately figured it out during our conversation about Murtagh and Nasuada, and after observing you changing before my eyes for ten years. You have the habit of being quite transparent when talking with me."

His cheeks flushed.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not an easy name to understand, is it? I'm still digesting it."

Eragon looked embarrassed. Lowering his head, he said without any trace of the confidence he showed earlier.

"No, it's not. I just wished you had told me then, so I could explain it to you. There are things in there that you might misinterpret, and..."

"Eragon." He looked back at her. "It's all right. You said you don't reject anything in me, well, the same goes for you. What I meant by difficult to understand is that it's impressive, big, heroic even. And tragic, solemn, important. Not that I think bad of you for it, it's quite the opposite."

"So, you're not scared?"

She smiled kindly.

"Of what? Your overwhelming knowledge of the world or your deep feelings for me?"

She saw him gulp.

"Both."

Her hand was raised in the air waiting for him to close the distance and take it in his own hands. Eragon stood up, took her hand and sat by her side on the bed.

"I feel nothing but pride in the person you have become. I'm proud that I'm the one you chose to keep in your heart. I'm only scared of myself, but this is not your concern, it's something I need to work on alone."

Eragon seemed to be close to tears, as he brought her hand to his lips. The touch of his lips on the back of her hand was warm and comfortable, but also scratchy because of his beard. It wasn't unpleasant though; it was a satisfying type of roughness.

"Loving you was never a choice, Arya," he spoke onto her skin, "but I understand if loving me is."

He disarmed her once more. No, loving him was never a choice either. She wanted to scream that, she wished she was free to do so, to let him know that everything he did was just another reason for her to want him. Like a moth to a flame, so deadly drawn, yet so oblivious to its terrible fate.

Arya didn't know exactly where her feelings for him would take her, but she was sure the end was terrible. Even if she wasn't strong enough to keep him at a great distance —that ship had sailed away at the moment he knocked on her door —, she would have to raise some safety walls between them. That, she was sure she could do.

"Don't mind me if I choose not to, then. For our own good." Arya tried to use the kindest tone she was capable of, but still, his expression broke her heart. She didn't lie, she believed she could stay away, which didn't make it any easier to say.

Eragon didn't speak. He just shot her a desperate look before he grasped her hand very tightly between his own and took it to his chest. He then closed his eyes in a pained grimace. That was how he stayed for a couple of minutes, trying to console himself, until she managed to talk again.

It looked like he was sinking in a cold and deep lake and the only thing keeping him afloat was his grip on her hand. She hated doing that to him. She hated that her choices brought so much pain to his heart. At the same time, it puzzled her how deep his feelings for her came to be. From an infatuated teenager to a devoted man, much has changed in the way he loved her, but the love itself was still there, not giving any evidence of extinguishing itself any time soon.

"How can you do it? How can you love me this much?" She asked under her breath.

He raised his eyes to find hers, and she almost wished he didn't, for they were clouded with unshed tears.

"I try to remember a time when I didn't, but it feels wrong, incomplete, so my mind gives up."

He squeezed her hand, and she noticed he was doing a big effort to make the words come out.

"But honestly, I don't know. I loved you before I even met you. It wasn't lust, I mean, not only lust, at least. It was always love, but not like this. You were right. My feelings for you did change in five, ten years. What I felt before is not what I feel now. This love is patient, is resilient. It doesn't listen solely to desire or get fooled by it, even if it's strong too, you know that. It understands that, if you decide to choose someone else or nobody at all, it will remain alive, changing and adapting, but always growing. This flame will always be alive."

His last words made her remember the conversation they had about life being like a candle, burning away. She feared they would burn at different rates if they kept running around each other for too long.

He studied her eyes, hoping she would say something to finally soothe his heart.

She didn't say anything though, unable to let go of his captivating gaze, so he continued.

"I know that you can't possibly feel right now what I feel, and it's all right. I know that I shouldn't choose someone that can't choose me too, but I'll wait for you how long it takes until you can love me back." Her heart clenched. "Only if you tell me that there's a chance of one day you love me just enough to meet me halfway," he pleaded.

Arya already did. So how could she answer his pleading? How could she say she would never meet him halfway without lying about how she felt? How honest was she willing to be?

"The day I introduced you to Fírnen, I told you maybe, but that was before you said you were leaving. Now, ten years after that, you defied my expectations and kept on loving me, and I'm sure I would've already met you halfway if you hadn't left, but you did."

"Oh, it's my fault? It's my fault you don't love me back? How can you be so cruel?"

Eragon let go of her hand and walked to the door, looking more hurt than he had ever looked, if it was possible.

When he placed his hand on the doorknob, his body started trembling at the same time he heard her hushed voice speaking to herself. He turned to look at her with surprise and saw her standing up.

She wanted to run to him, hug him and protect him from herself, their worst enemy, but she simply spoke his true name, expecting to gain more time to think of what to do before she lost him forever. She wasn't so sure anymore if it was human nature to want all or nothing, all that she knew at that moment was that she had hurt him so irrevocably, that going back to their smooth friendship of before was impossible, and moving forward to the ravishing romance he craved was equally problematic. They would have to settle for a middle ground, somewhere between having it all and ruining them for good.

"Arya?" He mumbled. "Why did you say-"

She walked to him with her forehead creased. Eragon let go of the doorknob and came closer to her. She covered the rest of the distance between them and pressed her lips on his ear. In a whisper, she repeated his new true name. His body trembled once more in recognition, and a cold feeling of fear hit her core. What if he ran away knowing that not only she knew the extension of his love for her after ten years, but that she chose not to act on it, thinking she blamed him for their misfortune, just when she decided to go for the middle ground?

When she stepped back to look at him, what she saw couldn't be as far away from fear as possible or even rejection.

He was confused and hurt. His eyes were watery and a single tear dropped and rested on his cheek. Eragon lifted his hand to wipe it. After he did it, he motioned to take his hand away, but she grabbed it in her own and held him in a firm grip.

"I don't blame you for anything."

"It sounded like you did."

"I know."

That was the moment for her to decide, break him completely and forever, or be honest and endanger her reason and duty. Could she fix the damage made when she said she wouldn't choose him?

What a mess she had made. If she could punch herself for being so sloppy in dealing with her emotions she would.

Arya looked deeply into his eyes and knew the decision was already taken.

"There's a lot I wish to tell you," She paused as he frowned expectantly, "but I can't unless you promise me one thing."

"You're asking for a lot from me tonight, Arya. Am I not beaten enough for you? Must you put me through even more?"

"You wish to leave and we never speak of it again? Of us? You're free to do so, but I'm just not so sure if I will be open to talking about it whenever you feel like it."

Her intention was not to make it sound like a threat, but it did, so she hoped he would forgive her rudeness, among all the other things she hoped he would forgive as well.

Eragon freed his hand from her grip and brought it to his face and rubbed his eyes.

"Fine. What is it?" He exhaled.

"I wish to tell you my true name, for I don't want to hurt you any more than I already have. I think you find some comfort when you hear it. But I ask you not to demand more than I can give to you right now. Not now, not today."

"And what is it, that you can give me today?"

"A middle ground. Somewhere between friendship and complete surrender."

He smiled sadly.

"I'm not sure you can give it to me either. You haven't been a good friend lately."

Arya sighed.

"I know, but I explained why. Please, promise it to me, Eragon, and things can go back to being good between us. I can even explain how I came to the unfortunate decision of shutting you out, but you must swear you won't ask for more than this."

"And what exactly is this?"

She paused. What is the middle ground between being friends and lovers?

"I guess we will find out with time."

"You know I have the means to revoke any oath I take in this language, right?"

She started to feel annoyed with his hesitance.

"I trust you won't, or will you?"

He shook his head.

"So? Do you promise?"

"I promise I won't ask to be more than your... friend unless you allow me to."

Feeling a little calmer, she moved forward and involved him in an embrace, with her arms around his shoulders. They were almost the same height, so it was easy for her to reach his ear and speak quietly, to hide her name from the curiosity of a crowd that wasn't there.

Recognition ran through her body, and she heard him gasp. When she was ready to back up to face him, she felt his arms enlace her waist, making her stay where she was.

"Say it again," his voice was hoarse with emotion, "please?"

She took a deep breath and whispered it again. His hands grasped the back of her silk robe as she spoke.

After what felt like a minute, Eragon let go of her clothing and backed away. He had unshed tears in his eyes, and she knew a torrent of questions was coming her way. She smiled gently and waited, preventing herself from touching his face or hand again, what she suspected would send him in another rush of emotion.

"What… when? How?"

"Very eloquent, poet. How do you expect to write me a poem if you can't articulate the words properly?" She tried to tease him into being calm.

Eragon shook his head and cleared his throat.

"Sorry. I'm a little confused right now."

She nodded still smiling.

"I understand." Arya held a hand out for him, that he grabbed and let himself be led to the bed, where they sat down. She took a deep breath and figured she was the one to make sense of her name for him. A lot of it he already knew, for it remained the same as before, but the part regarding Eragon was new and full of doubts. It wasn't as deep and clear as her share in his name, not as strong and lyrical either. It was confused, unorganized, and too intense.

"I felt it happening on the way back to Ellesméra alongside Roran and Fírnen, after telling you goodbye."

He frowned and his voice came out a little high-pitched for him.

"You started to have feelings for me just days after I left?"

His perplexed reaction looked extremely funny, and she failed her task of trying not to laugh. Seeing how his confusion amused his audience, Eragon frowned even more and turned his face away, red with anger.

"Forgive me." She pleaded recomposing herself. "Eragon." She called. Reluctant, he turned to her again. "Of course I didn't start to have feelings for you only after you left, what happened after you left was the change in my name. What would be the sense in only loving you after your departure?"

"None, no sense at all. And it's beyond cruel." His hurtful tone made her want to comfort him, but at the same time reminded her of his outbursts of anger and impulsiveness of his younger self. It made her remember that, despite his newfound patience and wisdom, he was still very young, not even thirty years of age. She smiled gently.

"I started to develop these feelings for you during our time together with the Varden. I knew it was happening, but couldn't act on it, and neither did I want to. I don't even know what to do with it now!" She let out a bitter laugh. "When the war was over and Galbatorix was dead, I thought we would have time to recollect, see things in a new light, make sense out of our feelings." She put her hand on his shoulder. "Let's just say you surprised me more than I like to admit when you announced your departure. And I'm not blaming you, just being honest. I felt lost, like you took away my chance to choose my path for myself, without you even knowing the harm you were causing in here." She pointed to her own heart.

He sighed. His anger vanished from his expression, instead, he held a sad look. Eragon looked away around the room. Arya followed his gaze and saw that the candles she had lit on the side table and desk were almost going out.

"So, if you already felt it, why it wasn't in your name when you first told me? What made it change?"

"Isn't obvious?" She questioned with a bitter tone. She wasn't mad at him but with their circumstances. She cursed their fate for ten years, not because she thought he was her happiness, for she didn't hold any romantic fantasies of finding the one and suddenly being free of all pain and hurt. Arya wanted to choose her fate, wanted to reflect on the possible outcome when taking a step into the unknown. But she was left with little to no choice when Eragon and Saphira decided to leave, they chose for her. She would've wanted to help them raise the new dragons and protect the Eldunarí, she was looking forward to it. But that was never her choice. "Isn't it obvious," she repeated, "that pain cuts deeper than joy? You left and I felt it so deep in me that my essence changed."

Eragon opened a timid smile and saw her lips curve in a smile as well.

"Aye. It makes sense."

"I was afraid that you would know how I feel and pursue me even more, to which I'm not sure I would be able to resist."

"Why would you even want to resist if you do have feelings for me?"

She closed her eyes, trying to organize the arguments so well-thought by her in the case this question emerged.

"I believe I have a particular mission as queen, which I should not disclose to you, but it's enough to say that if I let my personal affairs take too much of my time and focus I will fail, and tragedy can befall not only my people, but all the people of Alagaësia."

His eyes narrowed.

"Who's not telling important information now?"

"That's different. You never wanted to know details of my duty as queen, so you could remain impartial. This is one of them."

Eragon sighed and nodded.

"Fine. But I don't understand why your choice of mate could interfere with any political matters."

"It does if this mate is you. You are the Leader of the Riders and a human, more powerful than any of the elves that oppose me. It was a rustle even trying to set the agreement of visiting Mount Arngor once every ten years, for they did not want me to come at all. And that's all I can say about it."

His face started to flush with anger.

"Those stuck-up lords! Who do they think they are to interfere in your personal decisions or even your decisions as a Rider?"

She squeezed his hand lightly.

"They are the council, their opinion matters. I'm the queen, but my decision can't be imperious, no, we decide it all as a whole, taking into consideration the interests of all groups. Of course, I have the final word, but I don't take a step without hearing them."

"Even on the personal level?" He was appalled with how entangled she was in her duty. They had very different approaches to commanding their people, and she suspected he felt lucky his position required way less restraints than hers.

"If it affects the other instances of my life, including my duties, then yes, they have a say in it. That's why I never wanted to take the crown."

"So why did you?"

She smiled and brought his hand to her lap.

"The mission, remember? There's a lot to it, but I can't tell you or I will be breaking our agreement of not sharing political details of my people."

He just nodded but didn't show any contentment. On the contrary, he looked unmotivated and tired.

"Eragon," Arya called and grabbed both sides of his face. "I'm sorry. I know now that my choices were as hurtful as yours, if not worse. But this is something only I can do. I know you understand."

Eragon stared at her, his brown eyes almost black under the dim light of the dying candles.

"I do. I just wished things were different."

"Me too." Her arms went around his shoulders to bring him into an embrace. "But since we're on this middle ground, we can hope one day things are different. We never know, right?"

"Right. Not now, not today. But someday." His lips moved against the skin of her neck and she felt a shiver run through her entire body.

"One day, my Rider, one day."

Not today, of course not, only yesterday she cried about another lover but trusted him enough to open up about it. Only today she hurt him so badly it was a miracle that he was inside her arms like that. Her political opponents would come out swinging at her if they saw how close their queen and the Head Rider were, but she had to be strong if she wanted to keep the right balance in her life. At least she wasn't alone. It would be a long way, but he would be always patient, just as he promised her, of that she was sure.

"One day, my Queen, one day..." He said and leaned back to kiss her forehead, which she allowed with great satisfaction, just before repeating his true name in the intimacy of their shared embrace. She felt electric waves shaking his core from the touch of her warm hands on his back and the power of his name. Her cheek rested on his shoulder as his hands held her waist firmly, feeling the soft curves of her figure. She raised her head to look at him, her expression was relaxed, playful even.

"You owe me a poem."

Crawling under Saphira's wing to rest for the couple hours left before the wake-up time, Eragon felt more exhausted than he had ever felt.

Some conversation you two had, little one.

Hum. He could barely respond to his partner.

Did I do well not to intervene? I told Fírnen not to do it as well.

Aye.

Good. I'm glad I can get back to being friends with Arya. I missed her.

Feeling his waking dreams involving him, the last thing he heard was Fírnen's incredibly low voice entering his mind.

Rest, Shadeslayer. We will watch over your sleep.

Not strangely at all, his dreams were all about being held tenderly in a warm embrace, smelling the soft scent of crushed pine needles, and seeing green all around