Eragon and arya love/sex.

Chapter 3

-FLASHBACK-

I can no longer deceive myself, Eragon . . . He saw her in the glade during the Agaethi Blodren, when she had rejected his advances. He could feel the strong current of agony underneath her calm facade. However, despite constantly insisting that Eragon was too important for the welfare of Alagaesia. There was a small, unconscious part of her that instinctively knew that she did for him and she refused to acknowledge it. Her mind and heart were distracted by her during the battle against Galbatorix, it could cost him not only Alagaesia's only hope for the future, but also his life . . . and her heart. She could never live with herself if that had come to pass. He was too important for the whole of Alagaesia . . . and to her. To keep him safe, she would have to torture them both. Whether he knew it, she had already given her heart to him. Her happiness was tied to his and she despised herself for that weakness. The deaths of Faolin and Glenwing had taught her that attachments were weakness to be exploited by a grim death . . . The melancholic memory shifted and her voice sounded in his brain. I was selfish . . . he saw as she lay wide awake on the cot of Eastcroft. It was just like him to throw caution to the wind and entrap himself in every quagmire he faced. She felt her anger flare again at the thought of him being unaware of his station and to their entire cause. He had saved the life of a traitor at the risk of his own! Does he not realise the import of his actions? Yet . . . he tried doing what was honourable and he was safe despite his foolish actions. Seems like he could extract himself from most of the troubles that he throws himself into . . . The relief and elation of meeting him here coursed through her entire being. Yes, he was safe and now she would keep him safe, as was her motive for setting out on foot to find him. She thought of the boy sleeping on the floor . . . No, he is no longer the farm boy she had first met. Not quite a boy, not yet a man. He had grown. His handling of the situation below was testament to that . . . But I know I love you. He beheld her as she was in the lake, sinking into its black and cold depths, too tired to struggle. She exhaled, trying to draw n new air, but ended up choking as she refilled her lungs with water. Her lungs were tight and cold, as if a thousand icy needles were stabbing at it from the inside. Struggling to worm her way out of her body. She knew she was moments away from death and she immediately began to think of Firnen, wondering if he would mad with grief as Glaedr had. Panic engulfed her as it never had before and she frantically tried reaching out to him. She knew she would never hear his thoughts or feel his emotions again, but she had to try. Miraculously, a faint, thread of connection formed between them and Arya was taken aback, is this because my soul has found his? But she had recovered quickly and poured all her love for him through that connection, desperate to let him know for one last time how much she cherished this gift. She could feel his desperation to find her as he strained his wings against the buffeting wind. Keep fighting, Arya, fight! She told him, not through words but through thoughts and emotions, not to grieve for her, she was sorry that she could not be there when he grew up and that Eragon and Saphira would care for him now. The connection faded into non-existence. Eragon, Saphira . . . the two beings that she trusted as much as Firnen . . the three keepers of her heart, respect and trust. A grey circle began to form around her vision and a heavy force was pushing on her eyelids, forcing them shut. There was no pain in her now and the grey circle grew into a tangible darkness. It was oddly peaceful in that darkness, a place that she could rest in peace but it was very lonely. Was death going to be as lonely as her life was? No, this is lonelier, for those she loved would not be with her. There was a break in the darkness and suddenly two familiar figures appeared in front of her, but she could not recognise them. One had black, midnight hair and the other, silver. Both were smiling at her, halos illuminating their figures. "Arya." Said the proud elf with silver tresses. "My Daughter." Arya glanced from one elf to the other with barely restrained emotions. "Father? Faolin?" The two elves smiled when their respective names were called and they placed a hand on both her shoulders. "Arya, listen to us. You must go back." uttered Faolin with a smile. "My dear little sister, I would love to be reunited with you but this is not the time." Evandar nodded. "Yes, this world needs you. We don't need you here yet, my child." She could hear a constant rhythm thumping in that darkness, like the sound of her heartbeat and she could hear muffled agonised cries from far away that sounded much like Eragon's. She turned to find the source of the sound. Eragon. That single word tore apart that peaceful darkness that she was in. Eragon! She was looking at Evandar and Faolin with a desperate unspoken plea. She wanted nothing more than to go back to the bonfire where she sat with Eragon and tell him that every word she could not have said. He had always been more then her friend. He had been her best friend, ally, partner . . . her love and she regretted the she never had the chance to tell him. Now she had lost that chance. She had lost the opportunity of telling him how afraid she was of losing him, of him deserting her when he lost interest in her when he found someone else closer to his age . . . she had lost the opportunity of exposing herself fully to him . . . and letting him assure and comfort her. ERAGON! As she screamed his name, the darkness shifted. She could hear, without understanding the agonised voice clearer now, " . . . Arya, Arya! Stay with me! there was a light, a bright, untainted white light in front of her. She looked into the light to see if Eragon was there but she could not see anything. She turned back to look at Faolin and her father and they were back by fifty feet. "Go . . . to where your heart belongs . . ." Evandar's voice deminished as his and Faolin's figures retreated. "Farewell, father . . . Faolin . . ." Arya turned back into the light. "Blast it, Arya, don't die!" She started walking towards the light, slowly at first, but picking up speed. Eragon's voice grew louder and she started running towards him. "For Firnen, For your Mother, for everyone who loves you . . . for me. Please." The meaning of his words struck her like a smith's hammer struck metal. She rushed towards the light, eager to be reunited with . . . "Eragon . . .?" She found herself being held tightly, rocking back and forth without meaning to, her wounds burning with pain as if they had been newly reopened. Was this a new form of torture on a boat? She was utterly disoriented. She could see fabric right in front of her. Where was she? The fabric shifted and suddenly she found herself staring into Eragon's face. His cheeks gleamed with tears cascading down his face. Then he hugged her tightly, the heat from his body scalding her, the tight bands of iron bruising her, the soft fabric cutting her old woulds . . . She was whole again.

-END OF FLASHBACK-