A/N: Like a lot of people, I was a little annoyed with Christopher's ending so I've written an alternate one. I hope you like it and I would really love to know what you thought, so please leave a review.

"Arya, what is to become of us?" Eragon asked uncertainly.

Arya stared at him while she deliberated over her choice of words. "I don't know…once, as you know, I would have said, 'nothing,' but…again you are still young and humans often change their minds. In ten years, or even five, you may no longer feel as you now do."

"My feelings won't change."

Arya continued to gaze unblinkingly at him. "If they don't, then…perhaps in time…" Eragon gasped as she laid a hand on his cheek – it was the closest they'd ever been. "You cannot ask more of me now. I do not want to make a mistake with you, Eragon. You are too important for that, both to me and the whole of Alagaësia."

Eragon nodded, swallowing against the lump in his throat, forcing his next words out past it. "But…we don't have time."

Her gentle smile fading, Arya's hand left his face and her brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" That was the problem with words: meanings could be changed, misconstrued or just unclear.

Eragon explained how he and Saphira had come to the decision that they must leave Alagaësia and that it was for the benefit of the dragon race. Arya tried to dissuade him until they arrived at an impasse, both aware that they were doing their duty.

"Then…we will part ways." Eragon struggled not to cry as the words left his mouth.

"But not yet," Arya whispered in reply. "We still have some time together. You will not leave immediately."

"No, not immediately."

Together, they waited for the return of Saphira and Fírnen, holding hands but nothing more. Then, sometime later, the four friends returned to the safety of Urû'baen's walls. Whilst Arya settled in, Eragon was whisked off to Nasuada's study where he told her his plans and convinced her to agree to the joining of the Urgals and Dwarves into the dragon-rider pact.

Over those days before he left, Eragon spent every moment he could with Arya whilst Saphira flew the skies side by side with Fírnen. Between those, he made his goodbyes, starting with Angela, who he happened to find first. Then he moved onto Jeod and Helen, leaving Roran and Katrina to last. He was sad to miss out on Ismira's childhood. But he knew he had some more time with them, for they were going to Ellesméra where he would see them one last time.

During the farewell festivities, Arya and Eragon sat side by side, totally aware that their elbows were touching. Words longing to be said festered in their mouths as they desperately tried to ignore them. If they didn't, Eragon was sure he would never leave. The few days Eragon had left with Arya were his only solace.

But as all things must, it soon came to an end and it was his final night in the wondrous elven capital. Like the days previous, Arya and Eragon dined together, with Roran and Katrina and a host of revered and important elves present too, but the scene felt oddly intimate to the two riders, who sat at the head of the table.

After being the last ones left at the table, Eragon and Arya quietly continued talking of nothing of importance, almost avoiding the topic of his leaving. It was torture to simply think of the deed.

Taking his leave, Eragon stood and sombrely returned to his tree house.

He hadn't long been awake in bed before there was a soft, hesitant knock on his door. Groaning at the effort of leaving his warm bed, he crossed the room and opened his door, smiling at the sight of the beautiful woman on the other side.

"Eragon, my apologies for the late hour," Arya murmured.

Shaking his head, Eragon replied, "Not at all. Please come in, Arya." And he held the door wide for her and closed it after she had entered the room. She took a chair whilst he sat opposite her on his bed.

For a few minutes they simply stared at one another, unsure what to say or where to begin.

In the end, no words were said. They weren't needed. They both knew how the other felt.

With only the almost inaudible rustle of her dress, Arya stood and took her place at Eragon's side, wishing that she could stay there forever. But fate, that old enemy, had other plans for them both.

When her lips met his, he was lost. Her unique scent, wafted about him, deliriously sweet, and Eragon tried to hold onto the feeling of her silkily smooth lips moving in harmony with his like two voices singing together, an alto and a soprano.

His fingers interlocked with hers, securely holding onto her lest it was all a pleasant dream. Eragon had long yearned for the moment. It was true. And after losing hope of anything of the sort ever occurring, their kiss was almost too much. It was an undeniable symbol of their love for one another, just as their sharing of names had been.

Arya's true name confirmed everything he suspected about her, everything he had seen of her during their swordfights whilst they marched on towards Urû'baen and everything he had seen in her eyes. Before meeting her, Eragon had never believed the eyes were windows to the soul; but sometimes, when her guard was down, Arya's eyes were the most expressive he'd seen. The depths of sorrow contained within could make him feel as though he was drowning in despair that was not his own. The pure love in them made him feel like the only person in the world.

After, she laid her head to rest on his shoulder, content with the time they had shared. The rest of the night, they spent side by side, hands intertwined, simply revelling in being together as the sun rose, sending burning orange rays streaking through his window.

Eragon sighed when dawn truly arrived and he knew he had to leave.

Touching foreheads for a moment, they remembered what they shared and then went their separate ways: he going to prepare his things and she to continue her duties, merely continuing because she knew she would see him before he left.

Finally, after a few quick goodbyes around Ellesmera, and seeing Katrina and his little cousin one more time, he was left with just saying goodbye to the Arya, the woman in his heart. She surprised him, promising to accompany him to Hedarth, and they left: she flying on Fírnen and he with Roran on Saphira.

Before long they were travelling by boat, sailing the calm waters of Alagaësia, for the first and last time.

And after some brief time with Orik, it was just them again. With Roran there, Arya and Eragon had little alone time, but they shared smiles just as they always had, though perhaps this time they faded a little quicker in light of their realisation of what was fast approaching them.

Arya felt like her heart was breaking when they finally arrived at Hedarth. She was torn between her duty, her responsibilities and promises, and her desire to stay with Eragon. Just as before, her duty won out.

Unwilling for anyone to see the extent of her despair, Arya drew her cowl about her face. Eragon approached her, able to see only her pointed nose and chin and her shining eyes, but stiffened as she spoke.

"Eragon."

"Arya." They continued to gaze at one another, trying to find some way to say goodbye. "Stay with me-" he tried.

"-I cannot," Arya interrupted, firm in her purpose of carrying out her duty as her those of her family had done for years before. She would not let them down.

"…Stay with me until the first curve in the river," Eragon suggested hopefully, desperate for just a little bit more time with the one love of his life.

Thinking how hard it would be to ever leave if she did so, Arya hesitated before nodding, not trusting her voice.

He held his arm out, smiling gently at the thought of what Arya would have done in the past had he done such a thing. He could still hear her saying, "I am not some human woman in need of protection." She surprised him by slinging her elbow through his and walked with him, in perfect time, to stand on the prow of the ship; the two of them looking so regal they both looked like an elven king and queen.

Hearing Roran's aching cry echo about them, Arya and Eragon stood in silence until Arya could bear it no more.

"I'll write, I promise."

Eragon turned to her. "Say you'll visit."

She nodded and he pushed the cowl from her face to better see into her wondrous eyes, to see one last time into her soul.

"Arya," he murmured, his voice saturated with love. She trembled in response when he whispered her true name, his warm breath tickling her ear.

She spoke his true name in equally quiet, measured tones, looking into his warm brown eyes one last time to commit them to memory.

She shushed him when Eragon opened his mouth to speak. She knew that if she didn't leave soon, she never would. Her fingers on his lips reminded them both of their shared kiss, until she stepped back and raised one shapely arm above her head, clearly said, "Farewell, Eragon Shadeslayer," and was carried off by Fírnen, swooping low to catch her.

Eragon returned the sentiment in a whisper, already missing her warmth by his side and dreading the thought of not hearing her voice again.

Though she had said she would visit, how could he know she would keep to her word? What if circumstances continued to prevent such a thing?

The tears he had so long kept from falling finally spilled over and he bent over the boat's railing as the sobs shook his body.

He banished the dark thoughts from his head and focused on the journey ahead of him. He and the elves accompanying him soon arrived at their destination. The island wasn't too bad, but it wasn't home. It wasn't at all like Carvahall where he had grown up, nor was it like being in Ellesmera where Eragon felt truly at peace. The only peace Eragon was able to find was when he read Arya's letters.

Atra esterní ono thelduin, Eragon, holder of my heart, she usually began.

She would detail some of the affairs of Alagaësia, perhaps mention the new riders she was training or update him on Fírnen. Every letter was different; the only common thing was how it would arrive. Every two months or so, Eragon would find an small grass ship, lazily gliding towards him, enchanted to survive the weeks it would travel in lashing rain or storming winds. Slotted beside the mast, he would find a folded piece of parchment, covered in her flowing script.

And every letter, she would sign it off with the words, Yours, Arya.

The words would set Eragon's heart racing. To know that Arya considered him akin to her mate, was a joy he had never known. No matter how many times he read the words, they always threatened to reduce him to a mess.

But when Eragon would sit to pen his replies, he would find the words he was looking for halting, and he would mentally stumble to find sentences that exactly conveyed his feelings for her.

When the last letter arrived, he was elated.

Atra esterni ono thelduin, my dearest Eragon,

I hope this letter finds you well. I bring tidings of good news. Katrina has recently birthed a new babe, a boy who looks just like Roran – minus the beard, of course – and they've named him Garrow, a name I am sure you are delighted by. Mother and babe are doing well, as is the new Carvahall, complete with Roran's castle.

Nasuada is ruling effectively and the attempts on her life are becoming more sparse. Murtagh has returned, news which will no doubt gladden you. Your half-brother has taken up the mantle of helping to train the new riders with me and has assured me that he intends to visit you, he just has to learn to extricate himself from Nasuada. Their wedding was a small ceremony – just friends, though we all felt your absence. Orik too does well, though he was a bit put out by Murtagh's reappearance. Knowing you, as you read this you will begin to worry incessantly for your half-brother's safety in the knowledge that to many of the dwarves he is forever going to be known as Kingkiller. But the inclusion of the dwarves into the dragon rider pact has somewhat eased tensions – a most diplomatic notion on your part, Eragon.

Fírnen wishes me to convey his concerns for Saphira and wishes to hear news of her. I am sure, however, that if something were amiss with her, you would have written to me about it. Perhaps, he is just curious as to whether he has sired any eggs.

Things are not the same here in Alagaësia without you. I know I write this almost every time, but there is a palpable difference in the mood and atmosphere of this land.

Unfortunately, I must end this letter. Lord Däthedr wishes me to meet him at the Menoa tree to discuss proposals on lifting the border about Du Weldenvarden.

I look forward to your news in your next letter, Eragon.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention, that I shall be with you in a fortnight though when that may be in your timescale, I do not know. For all I knew you could be reading this letter as Fírnen lands on the island!

As he read those words, he looked up and keenly searched the skies, but there was no sign of them. Eragon looked back down and continued reading the last few words.

As always, with love,

Yours, Arya

Eragon folded the letter and held it close to his heart, hoping it would bring Arya closer to him. He jumped in surprise when her voice sounded behind him.

"So I arrived before you got the letter, then?"

She laughed slightly and Eragon whirled around, bearing down on her with outstretched arms and capturing her in a hug.

"Arya!" He was overjoyed, his heart bouncing unevenly in his chest as he savoured her scent and looking into her delightfully green eyes.

She smiled as he kissed her, once, twice, three times, his lips almost forceful against her own.

"I can't believe you're here!" He exclaimed, restraining the urge to pick her up and spin her around. No matter how much she loved him, he doubted Arya would want that. It was too much of a human gesture.

"I find it hard to believe too," she admitted, the corners of her lips still upturned at the sight of him.

Eragon had changed much in appearance since they'd last seen one another. He had become more rugged in appearance, stubble covering his chin and jawline, and his hair more of a tangled, curled mess than ever before. As the wind whipped his hair up into the air, she couldn't help feeling he looked more attractive than ever, and couldn't stop one of her hands reaching out and cupping his cheek before tracing the outline of his face.

Eragon reacted in kind, a rough palm resting over one of her cheeks, as he came closer and pulled her into another kiss, this one long and gentle.

Finally finding the words for what she wanted to say and had wanted to in every letter, Arya whispered, "I love you, Eragon."

"I love you too," he responded, looking directly into her eyes.