A/N : this fic has been lurking around my laptop for a while now and I've only just found it (and I'm not purposefully trying to shatter your hearts here, honest!)

He made his way through the crampt hallways of Hedarth with the sounds of the dwarves' revelry echoing behind him. Occasionally he'd catch the odd word or phrase in that musical lilt that was born out of the habit of speaking in the flowing language of power. For once, it seemed that dwarves and elves were actually getting along. There's a first for everything, Eragon mused.

With a flicker of his mind, he found Saphira occupied with Fírnen and allowed himself a smile: he couldn't deny her this. Eragon opened the door to the room he'd been given for the night and stepped down into it, letting the door swing shut behind him. It was a relief to be able to stand upright – despite it being an outpost for trading with the elves, the dimensions were suited to that only of a dwarf. Sighing and unable to shift the knot in his stomach that was due to their impending departure tomorrow, Eragon removed his shirt and sat down on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands.

Truth was, he didn't want to go. Yet he had no other option if he was going to restore the Riders to what they once were and ensure the safety of the dragons. The land had been plunged into war because of them; if war was to be avoided and peace restored, then the Riders had to go else they'd risk another Galbatorix rising up and sending them all back into the abyss once more. If Brom or Oromis had survived then maybe, just maybe, thing would be different ... Eragon wished, more than anything, that his mentor or his father was still around to guide him.

I don't know what to do.

A soft knock startled him out of his stupor and he blinked as the door opened cautiously. "Eragon?" He closed his eyes as her voice washed over him, soothing the storm in his mind, and yet adding to his desperation and despair.

"I'm here," he answered just as softly, almost automatically speaking in the ancient language.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly as she joined him.

"What reason do you have for leaving the feast so soon?" Arya asked gently, and Eragon shook his head.

"Because," he said slowly, "I tire of the endless requests to stay." Eragon lifted his head out of his hands and looked at Arya beside him, "I can't stay, however much I want to – and believe me, I want to – because ..." he sighed.

"Because it was our order that plunged this land into war in the first place," she finished.

"Aye ... and I cannot guarantee that it won't happen again." Eragon shook his head and fell back on the bed, flinging an arm across his face and sighing heavily. "Come with me," he didn't need to look at her to know that the pain of indecision flickered across her features.

"I can't ... Eragon ... you know I can't. I – I have duties ... and – and I owe it to my mother to at least try and fulfil them."

"But is that really what you want?" He asked, "To waste away your years sitting on the Knotted Throne hidden away in Ellesméra where nothing ever happens and nothing ever changes?"

"What would you have me do?" she cried, "you have your duty and I have mine; I will stay and you will go, and Fírnen ..." Arya hesitated, uncertain.

"Will have to cope with the loss of his mate, as will Saphira," Eragon finished firmly. Silence stretched between them as the echoes of the celebration reached them through the stone. Arya shifted so she had her back to the wall, while Eragon remained as he was.

"There has to be another way; it can't end like this ..."

"What other way is there?" He asked her, "if you have anything – any idea or ... or something then – then tell me ... please." Arya met his gaze and held it, neither wanting to be the one to turn away. "I ... I don't want to go," Eragon whispered eventually, once again closing his eyes as he rolled onto his side, turning away.

Soft, gentle fingers touched his shoulder, pulling him back to face her. Arya knelt beside him on the bed, her emerald eyes filled with the torment of their parting. He watched her as she trailed her fingers from his shoulder across to his chest and, almost without realising she was doing it, trace out the hard lines of the muscles across his skin. It took Eragon a moment to register the fact that his hand was resting lightly on her slim waist while the other was playing with a strand of her hair.

"Then stay," she breathed, not quite meeting his eyes with her own. "Stay."

Eragon sat up, his hand tightening on her waist as the other slipped across to the nape of her neck. He curled his fingers through her hair as her own rested either side of his neck. Unsure why he was holding her in such a way, and perhaps because she had yet to protest, he pulled her across his lap and settled her in his arms. "You know I can't," he breathed, pressing his forehead against hers, "you know I can't."

"Give me time," she whispered, "please ... just a little time and ..."

"I'm not leaving because of you," he pressed his lips against her brow and held her closer than he thought he ever would. "I'd give you all the time in the world if I could." She clung to him, and he to her, and for a long time neither one moved; they remained as they were, almost as if they could avoid the unavoidable if they refused to move. "I – I don't know what to do," he told her finally.

She lifted her head from where she'd rested it against his shoulder and gazed into his eyes. For a long time she said nothing, and he recognised the blank uncomprehending look to mean that she was speaking with her dragon. Eragon slid the hand at the nape of her neck down her spine for no other reason than to be doing something. Arya closed her eyes and rested her head against his, something akin to grief in her movements.

"Neither do I, Eragon ... I could spend forever trying to convince you to stay – but I know that you must go." Her voice was soft, almost inaudible and betrayed the emotion she was trying to hide. "Just as you could spend forever convincing me to go with you, when you know that I must stay."

Eragon tightened his arms around the woman in his arms, "Doesn't mean I'll give up though," he whispered gently, "Just as you won't give up either."

"But is there any point?" Arya asked him, pulling back so she could look at him again, "Is there any point in trying when it won't sway us from our duties?"

"What would you have me do? Ignore it? Speak as if nothing were amiss? Act as if I wasn't about to leave behind everyone I care about?" Eragon shook his head and dropped his hands from Arya's waist. "Why did you come," he asked, "if only to remind me what I'm losing?"

"Eragon, I –" Arya attempted to speak, but he was too upset over the whole thing to listen.

"Do you think this is easy for me? To willingly leave behind everything I have, knowing that I'll never return?"

"Eragon ..." Arya tried again.

"You know, sometimes I wish the task had cost me my life, then at least I wouldn't be faced with such a chore as this!"

"Don't say that!" Arya recoiled in shock, "please, don't ever say that ... Eragon ..."

But he wasn't listening. "Why me, anyway?" Eragon demanded. "What was so special about me? Why did it have to be me?"

"Eragon!"

"I never wanted this! Any of this! All I wanted was ... was ..." he floundered, "I – I was too young to have even decided that and then my life got decided for me!"

"Eragon!" The force of Arya's voice reached him mentally as well as verbally and he realised that while he'd been ranting on about the injustice of his situation, she'd been trying to get this attention.

"What?" he demanded sullenly, refusing to meet her gaze, "if you're going to say that I did what no one else could then you can –"

"I was going to tell you to shut up," her fingers lifted his face so he was looking into her eyes, which were open and honest and for once, hiding nothing from him. Eragon wasn't entirely sure what he was seeing in them, "and then I was going to tell you to kiss me."

"Arya ..." her name fell from his lips, and she hushed him with a gentle word and breathed his name – his true name – to him. He shivered and responded with hers. "Arya ..."

"Kiss me," she commanded.

Eragon let her push him back down so he was lying on the bed with her laying across him. "I ... it's not ... I couldn't ..." the words weren't getting out properly, although his meaning was clear. "I'm ... I can't ..."

"I don't care."

He looked up at her, "But how can I," he whispered, "in good conscience, when I leave tomorrow?"

Arya's eyes closed, and pain etched across her face as she bit her lip. "Would you rather leave, having denied me this much?" She whispered his name again and he closed his eyes as it washed over him, her voice soft as the sigh of a breeze on a summer's eve.

"Yet it could make it all the harder," he countered, once again finding himself playing with a strand of her hair before reaching out and taking her face between his hands. Arya's eyes drifted shut at his touch. "Besides, I thought you said you needed time."

"I said I needed time," Arya looked at him, still with that open gaze, "not because I felt nothing for you, but because ... because I couldn't be sure yours wouldn't fade."

"And now that's changed?" Arya bit her lip once more and then rolled to the side and faced away from him. "Arya ..." when she didn't respond he used her true name and asked again. She still didn't respond he sighed and returned to his earlier position, the arm nearest Arya resting behind his head.

"I just ..." Eragon stirred and turned towards Arya. It'd been some time since they'd last spoken and he'd thought she'd fallen asleep.

"Just what?"

"I don't want you to go." She still had her back to him, and he could tell her voice was muffled as if she was forcing it to remain steady.

Eragon closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, pulling Arya closer. Burying his face in her hair he inhaled the spicy scent of crushed pine needles before replying. "But I must."

"I know ..." she turned in his arms to face him and traced the line of his jaw with her fingers. "Kiss me," she whispered again, "it's all I ask of you; you will not stay, so give me this much at least." Eragon held her there for a long while, his conscience battling it out in his mind. In a low voice Arya added; "you want this as much as I do."

Eragon ran the back of his hand along her cheek as indecision ruffled through him; as abruptly as the winds changed, Eragon rolled over Arya and held himself above her, trapping the elf between him and the bed. "Then let there be no more talk of what we cannot change."

She nodded once, her eyes never leaving his as he – almost hesitantly – leant forwards and brushed her lips with his own. There was a moment when neither of them moved, as if they were both unsure that it was the right thing to be doing, all things considered. Eragon withdrew slightly, and glanced down at Arya for a long moment; her gaze was serious, echoing the slight uncertainty in his own. Her arms crept round his neck and her fingers curled into his hair and he allowed her to pull him close.

He brushed her lips with his own again, although this time he lingered and the lingering merged almost without their realising or noticing into a kiss. Soft and gentle and hesitant at first but with increasing confidence and passion that quickly drowned out anything else other than each other. It was a kiss born of desperation; a kiss shared because there was nothing else left. A kiss powerful enough to blind them of anything else. In truth, the world could end; the sky lay waste to the earth and the sea rise up in fire, and they wouldn't notice – or care.

And still the kiss deepened. How that was possible Eragon didn't know, and he figured it didn't matter as he simply obeyed the commands of his body, the physical needs that hers betrayed she wanted at his touch ... there was nothing else that mattered, and nothing else more important than this. Than her.

She clung to him and him to her, eliminating all space and distance between them as they lost themselves in the other's embrace. Eragon let his fingers wonder and explore her body as she kissed him, her breath coming in gasps and her heart hammering in her chest. He too was panting, yet refusing to give in to his body's fatigue; there were more important things to be doing, to be experiencing.

Clothes littered the floor, but how they had gotten there neither one could remember. Pulling her ever closer and moaning low in his throat, Eragon rolled onto his back; time and all sense of anything else seemed not to exist, nor for that matter did anyone else but her. Arya. He only knew who he was from all the times his name has slipped from her lips as she gasped and moaned and surrendered to his touch, to him.

There was a moment, he never remembered when exactly, that Arya had pulled back slightly and then brushed her mind against his with a kiss. Curious to know why, he let her in and soon forgot about anything else. When he kissed her again, he not only felt the way he felt, but how she reacted too; to know how the other was feeling, to know what they wanted and how and why and all other manner of thing drove any rational thought that had lingered away. Perhaps that was why she had done it; to banish her own rational consciousness and reassure herself that he meant it all.

All too soon – at least it seemed that way to them, although in those circumstances time never flows consistently – the heat and the passion and the desperation; the emotion that burned like a glorious fire deep in their very souls and seared through their veins to consume them, slowed and then ceased with a trembling, lingering, teasing shudder. Panting and suddenly very aware of the room and of her, Eragon let his eyes drift to Arya.

Her face was flushed and her eyes wide; stands of hair stuck to the sides of her face and he could feel her warmth beneath him. She reached up and stroked his cheek with weary fingers and then brushed her lips against his, ever so gently for a final time. A kiss as light as the touch of a snowflake, and yet all the more powerful because of it.

Eragon was mindful of his heart pounding in his chest as he rolled onto his side and stared up at the rough ceiling. A low content sigh from beside him caused his head to turn and watch as she settled her head down on his chest. Almost afraid she'd tell him off, Eragon hesitantly let his hand drift down her spine and back up again, before it came to rest on her waist.

Arya didn't speak as she traced unfathomable patterns across his chest with fingers light and soft as a feather. Speech was unnecessary for there was nothing to say that hadn't been said, and perhaps that which hadn't been said was better left unsaid. After a moment Eragon reached down with his free hand and grabbed the blanket off the floor, draping it half-heartedly over their naked forms. Not because he was cold, but rather because it just seemed right to cover her up from the prying night.

Resting his free arm behind his head, Eragon realised, with a clench of his gut, that if he stayed then nights could be spent like this every night. He could hold her in his arms and protect her from harm and guard her as she rested. He would prevent anything or anyone from hurting her and he would love her for as long as she let him. He wondered, and suspected he was right, if Arya was having similar thoughts and realisations. If so it would make no difference: she must stay and he must go.

You know, if you stayed we could work together to protect them both.

Ah Fírnen, Eragon sighed heavily, do not tempt me so my friend; it is hard enough already.

But you know I speak sense, the young dragon countered. While you sleep away from Saphira, I would keep her safe. Just as while I sleep away from Arya, you would keep her safe.

You know why we must go. Eragon whispered quietly.

She needs you, he sensed the green dragon shifting closer to Saphira where they curled up out in the courtyard.

Fírnen, I don't think...

She won't admit it, not even to me, but she can't hide it. Not when we share everything – but you'd know all about that.

What would you have me do?

The dragon's response wasn't surprising. Stay.

Fírnen...

If you were staying it would be hurting so much!

Eragon sighed. If I was staying then tonight would never have happened. Eragon looked down at Arya, where she was laying peacefully with her head against his chest. But no, the pain would not be so if I were staying ... knowing I must leave her only makes it worse.

Then why...?

Does it matter why?

Not really; the pain was unintentional to you both ... goodnight Eragon.

Goodnight Fírnen.

"What did he say?" Arya's voice was soft and near slumber.

"Probably something similar to what Saphira said to you." Eragon had sensed his own dragon had reached out to Arya as he was speaking to Fírnen. He also knew that Saphira wouldn't tell him what she'd said any more than Fírnen would tell Arya.

"Probably," Arya agreed after a moment. He felt her draw closer to him and almost automatically tighten his arms around her, creating a safe and warm haven for her to rest in. "Goodnight Eragon." He mumbled his reply yet sleep did not take him. He lay with her in his arms until dawn, listening to the rhythmic sounds of her breathing and her heartbeat and marvelled at the simplistic beauty that the sounds made. Though he did not think, but simply remained in that stupor that occurs between wakefulness and slumber, as half-formed fantasies swept across his mind.

Only when the cold reaches of pre-dawn began to slip through the small window did Eragon shake off his reverie and let thoughts of what was ahead conquer him. He glanced down at Arya, who was still asleep in his arms; gently, so as not to disturb her, he slipped out from the bed and her arms and placed a kiss upon her cheek as she murmured something and stirred slightly. Into her ear he breathed in the ancient language; "Hush go back to sleep … 'tis not yet morning …"

Then he dressed, picked up his belongings and quietly unlatched the door to the rest of the keep. He glanced once at Arya before he closed the door behind him, and quite literally felt that he was leaving half his heart behind with her. With a low sigh he shut the door and padded through to a low balcony facing east and the unknown. Placing his pack upon the floor, he leant against the low wall and watched as the sun rose, blinding them all to what lay in its direction.

She will not like that you got up and left without first waking her, Saphira said by way of good morning.

Nor will Fírnen. She snorted and settled down upon the ground beneath the balcony and together they stared at what lay before them with both regret and anticipation at what they were about to do, wrestling within them. The elves had moored the ship a mile upstream from Hedarth and had returned to it when the celebrations had ceased the previous night. Only Eragon, Arya and Roran had stayed in the outpost along with the two dragons of course.

"How long have you been awake then?" Orik wondered up beside Eragon and leant against the balcony wall as he was.

"I couldn't sleep."

Orik looked at him shrewdly. "You don't have to go."

Eragon glanced at his foster brother and sighed. "Yes, Orik, I do."

Shadeslayer … we are ready to leave when you are. Blödhgarm's voice reached out to him.

Set sail, he ordered. Saphira and I wish to fly once more through Alagaësia.

As you will, Rider.

Just as the sun had parted fully with the horizon, the graceful elven ship began to glide along the river towards it.

"They're not leaving without you are they?" Roran's tone was slightly hopeful. Behind him stood Arya; she met his gaze and nothing needed to be said. Fírnen settled down beside Saphira as the human, the dwarf, and the two Riders stood beside one another and said nothing. Finally, knowing that the longer he put it off the worse it would be, Eragon let out a sigh.

He shouldered his pack and clapped Orik on the shoulder before giving his cousin a rough hug. Roran clung to him for a moment longer than Eragon expected and he was startled to see his cousin was blinking back tears; he set his jaw and nodded once at Eragon. Eragon turned to Arya. She was avoiding his gaze and staring resolutely at the horizon. She was already crying; silent tears he did not like to see fall.

If you tell her goodbye then you will break her, Glaedr told him gently as Eragon stared at her. For both your sakes, please do not tell her goodbye.

Eragon nodded, turned and vaulted over the edge of the balcony to land upon Saphira's scaly back. She then leapt into the air and soared high as the clouds, chasing after the disappearing ship that was seeking the place from which the sun rose every morning. Behind them, Fírnen let out a long mournful roar though he did not take wing and follow them; instead he stayed with his Rider, who was watching through a film of tears, as Eragon and Saphira left forever.

"He didn't say goodbye," Roran muttered.

"He knew Arya would not let him go if he did," Orik murmured, glancing sideways at the elf.

She turned to them both but said nothing.

Far in the distance the sapphire dragon raced the elven ship into the unknown, as if she could not wait to find all that was there. Roran then heard Arya let out a chocked sob as she wilted against the balcony with tears streaming down her cheeks. It was a moment before he realised she'd uttered a word in that cry and that he'd understood it perfectly; "Stay."