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linka-from-captain-planet · 2 months

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Florrickology, Part 1: The Thong That Launched 1000 Headcanons

My favorite thing to do as a background character fan is to co-opt things that were definitely not meant to be characterization by making them characterization.

Thus, I have looked way deeper than intended into every possible pixel, moment, and mention of my beloved Counsellor Florrick and developed the exciting new field of Florrickology to report my findings.

Obviously the first place I'm going is this fucking dress and how I use it to infer upon her the two sexiest characteristics a woman can have:

Unflinching vanity and a deep-seated, yet subtle, insanity.

This dress is more than a bit of an enigma because... why?

It really stands out because, while Larian gives players plenty of opportunities to sexualize their avatar and their companions, they don't really sexualize NPCs. Most women, like men, are dressed very modestly. Outfits that female NPCs wear are even often much more unisex than the equivalent outfits available to player characters (e.g. tunics that male PCs can wear may turn into tits-out dirndls on female PCs for no apparent reason, but female NPCs wearing the same outfit get a tunic). The only characters who are sexualized are presented as Sexy Characters, like Abdirak or Sorn Orlith or Orin or even Mystra and Mamzell Amira, who also wear this dress.

Mostly.

Florrick, despite being beautiful, a two-time damsel in distress, and a certified MILF, is not presented as a Sexy Character. She's presented as a no-nonsense, somewhat domineering, loyal-and-virtuous-to-a-fault fed. This is the only description of her in the game files (see img description), highlighting these bare-bones characteristics:

So... why? For this character whose appearance truly doesn't matter beyond being eye-catching enough to communicate her importance to the story, who has no even vaguely flirtatious dialogue and no implied sexuality or romance (even with the man she spends the entire game chasing!), and not even a weird torture porn moment which she has ample opportunities... why dress her like this? Why emphasize her body over any other similarly-prominent NPC like, say, Alfira?

My assumption would be that they did it to soften her to the average Redditmod McGamerbro because the story really is better if incels don't kill her for being "bossy"... if they didn't also code her as a middle-aged black woman and give her a custom face sculpt with a prominent nose, large jaw, and non-Western features, all famously accepted with no problematic reaction from this demographic whom Larian doesn't not cater to. In fact, as the #1 Florrickposter in the universe, I often see people say in tags and comments that they didn't even notice how revealing her dress is while playing the game. While racism is definitely at play (plus misogyny, rendering this middle-aged black-coded woman invisible, whereas a younger and white man in the same role would be ALL OVER THIS DAMN PLACE), it also speaks to just how discordant her outfit and explicit characterization are.

Now, this outfit does make a little sense on a glance and I think that's a big part of why it flies under the radar as well: she's important and presumably wealthy, so of course she wears this very posh and expensive-looking dress. She's a wizard (a fact everyone manages to glean on a glance, despite it never being stated and basically never being relevant), so of course she's wearing something obnoxious and purple. From the waist up, it actually looks like a pretty reasonable outfit for a person of her DnD class, social class, and occupation.

It's from the waist down where it gets out of hand.

But first, this isn't even Florrick's original outfit or face (which I'll talk about in another post), or the first iteration of her current outfit. Originally, she wore the ostentatious yet modest feathered peacock dress that eventually ended up on Lucretious (and took the thicc waist with it RIP). According to my research, there was a reason for this: it was too baller for Waukeen's Rest and kept causing crashes, so they had to put her in a less graphically-demanding outfit.

The original peacock dress sent the necessary "I am an important quest giver, engage with me" message, so why not just remove the cowl that was causing the issues? But instead, they changed her outfit entirely, keeping it eye-catching and posh (suitable for a big-city government official), but randomly making it super revealing (strange, for a big-city government official). Further, Florrick got a major va-va-voom upgrade between Sexy Dress v1 and final release, with a new dress model that makes it clearer that the front and back panels are sheer, subtly showing even more skin, and which unsubtly emphasizes her hips and breasts.

Based on extensive academic research using mods, I determined that the dress is what conveys the extra curviness (see img description in the left-most pic) vs her having a custom body sculpt (weak). Further, when viewed from behind, the dress pads out her ass, also making it look bigger and rounder than the standard body type 1 (see img description in the right-most pic).

What's more, if you look closely at the waist seam of the final version of her sexy dress, it looks like they went so far as to skew it to make her hips stand out even more when she takes the cocked-hip stance (which she seems to only stand in) and perhaps draw even more attention to her thong sticking out. Notice how the waist seam is even and straight across in Sexy Dress V1 above, but Final Florrick has it like 2 inches higher on her right, without fabric bunching to explain the different seam lengths. You can also see how the dress subtly pops out farther than her actual hips (and from the side view, over her lower stomach), giving her the impression of curves the standard body type doesn't have. They were very intentional with it.

Shockingly, I don't actually have much to say about her exposed thong in and of itself (it is what it is) except that I think it actually makes the outfit look substantially skimpier because it draws attention to just how high those hip slits are, compared to leaving the area blank so eyes gloss over it (even if that would imply she runs around commando all game). It's a small detail that drives home the overall design.

All this is to say, since this dress is only worn by 4 people* with Florrick being the first you see and by far has the most screen time, and it isn't lootable, it seems this outfit was developed intentionally and specifically to emphasize her body to make her look sexier.

*Florrick, Mamzell Amira (slightly different lower half), a random patriar at Gortash's inauguration named Lady Alia Durinbold, and Mystra

So, this takes us back to the question of 'why'. Why spend all this time and these resources fine-tuning this dress to make it as sexy and flattering as possible? Why put it on a character who has literally no reason to wear such a thing? Why put this dress which is nothing but nonsense on a character who's pretty much only characterized as being no-nonsense??

And this is also where the real tinfoil hattery comes in, as I doubt Larian really meant anything by it aside from creating a hot NPC for players with good taste to enjoy across all 3 acts.

But that's not what this nuclear caliber simp post is about; it's about overthinking shit because I love her and she is a main character to ME.

So, whatever Larian's intention, there's only 1 in-universe reason why Florrick wears this outfit:

She woke up that day in Waukeen's Rest, in the middle of nowhere a full tenday from the city, on her way back from literal hell to deal with yet another crisis, and decided to put it on. And continued to do so every day thereafter.

It's logical that she can't change right after being rescued since the inn is burning down presumably with her luggage in it, but why did she choose that outfit in the first place, considering she was travelling? She's been travelling for months; it can't have been her only clothing. Did she not have a Fist uniform? A pair of leggings? She runs right off after she's done talking; does she hike all the way in and out of the shadow-cursed lands in a thong and flat macrame boots? It doesn't even have any indication of cinches or buttons despite having all the logical seams and it's clearly tailored to fit her bananas hourglass figure, like there's no way she can just pull it on or step into it, so does she have to expend her valuable magic to wear it? Does she take the time to sew herself into it every day instead of sucking it up and wearing *barf* pants??? There are plenty of people around in Act 2 that could and would give her something more practical to wear, even if she did have a good reason to wear her original dress that day in Waukeen's Rest. Yet, she continues to wake up every day and put that outfit on. Even after returning home.

(In my head, the video game convention of every character only having 1 outfit is shorthand for what their "typical" outfit is, and they "really" have a wardrobe of similar clothing. So when I say she wears that outfit every day, I mean she has a couple of similarly-bonkers dresses in her bag and chooses to wear one every day vs something more practical).

So the simp's question isn't what Larian is saying about her by dressing like this, but what she's saying about herself by choosing to dress like this.

Clothing is self-expression. Look at the many analyses of the main characters' outfits. Larian may or may not have really meant anything by giving Florrick this outfit, but just as Astarion's careful mending of his shirt necessarily says something about him and his personality in the universe he lives in, so does Florrick's decision to wear flashy, revealing clothing.

It almost makes no sense... until you think about one of Florrick's explicitly-demonstrated characteristics:

Confidence. Over confidence. Hubris, even.

I'll have more to say about Desiré "Fuck It, We Ball" Florrick and her personality in another florrickology post, but the long and short of it is that this woman is not afraid of shit and sashays into every situation fully confident in her ability to charm or steamroll it to her liking. "She is used to getting her way", indeed. Her epilogue letter betrays a bit of self-doubt, but it seems to have been brought on by her perceived failures in relation to the player character's successes, so likely not her ordinary attitude. Whereas this seems to be her ordinary clothing, since she took it with her to Elturel and back for no apparent reason and chooses to wear it for no apparent reason.

She has nothing to gain from it, no one important to impress at least until returning to the city in Act 3. Otherwise, she's in bumfuck nowhere with her boss-friend and lackeys, or cursed!bumfuck nowhere with her lackeys and a bunch of vigilantes planning a war. While I wouldn't doubt that she has or might be willing to use her beauty and sex appeal to meet her goals (TadpUlder does, curiously, call her a "black widow"; is his tadpole capitalizing on stereotypes--could it be slut shaming her??, or is it referencing things that the shreds of Ulder's mind know she's done?), ultimately, there can't be a tactical explanation because there's nobody more powerful than her around 90% of the time.

She also doesn't flirt with anyone and nobody flirts with her (philistines). She has no mentioned spouse or lovers, nor any implied sexuality at all. The closest we get is Mizora saying "she misses the Duke" after Florrick's ambush in Act 3, the only time anyone implies she's on a crusade to find him because of romantic feelings and not duty, loyalty, and friendship... which means Mizora is probably just talking out her ass and belittling people, as she does.

So, combine self-confidence with the decision to constantly wear a sexy dress that shows off her body for no practical reason, and what do you get?

Balls-to-the-wall, unapologetic vanity.

(If it wasn't clear, when I call women "vain" I think they are objectively correct and this is a compliment of the highest order.)

Sure, maybe wearing this kind of outfit boosts her confidence and that helps deal with this unprecedented crisis and possibly the first self-doubt she's ever experienced, but this is evidently her usual clothing and she isn't usually dealing with those things.

So, she wears this intricate and revealing dress mostly she likes it and how she looks in it. This means she likes that it's revealing. She likes showing skin to literally no end except her own enjoyment.

Notice she doesn't really do her hair (it's shiny and neat, but not really styled) or bother with makeup (she lost the EA smoky eye in favor of a quick swipe of eyeliner). One may think that perhaps she isn't as confident in her facial beauty since she does have unique features, so she calls attention to her body instead, but she's so devoid of modesty that I can't help but assume she simply looks in the mirror in the morning, thinks "no notes" (correct) and moves on to pouring herself into her favorite skimpy dress. She's proud of her natural beauty, and she's not about to cover it all up with goop or fabric!! She never mentions it and nobody who knows her does; she's not trying to stunt on anyone or even attract other hot people.

She's in it purely for the love of the sport and, sexiest of all, herself. This woman doesn't think she's the sexiest creature in any given room, she knows it.

And she knows that being hot doesn't affect her ability to do her job and protect the city she loves. She doesn't have to cover herself up, doll up her hair and makeup, slap on like 400 pettiskirts, etc, to be taken seriously. It's possibly even giving 'malicious compliance'. She commands so much respect that even horny gamers don't notice her entire ass is one breeze away from being out.

The deep-seated, yet subtle insanity part has pretty much already been covered; maybe in her day-to-day life of attending meetings and walking all over everyone in Wyrm's Rock, it's not so impractical, but it's a completely insane thing to wear in any sort of crisis or outdoor adventure. That this woman is willing to risk chafing or being cold (womankind's public enemy #1 and #2) simply for the drip is delightfully nutty. There is not a single moment she appears in this game where this outfit would be reasonable.

She presents herself as a stalwart, serious, determined woman, but then squeezes into a dress so tight and precarious that it knocks off her Fleet of Foot speed boost, for literally no reason aside from being vain and lowkey kind of crazy.

Good for her!

#warning this is like 2500 words #florrickology #insane simp post #next post will prob be about her face and most just simping #bg3 #counsellor florrick #bg3 spoilers

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modern-inheritance · 8 months

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Modern Inheritance: Mates (One Word Prompt Story)

Set in that ambiguous time period of MIC's plot where Dras Leona happened in Inheritance but Nasuada wasn't captured and the war kept dragging on.

(A/N: I can't say I'm back, but it is good to be writing again. I don't know where this romance muck came from but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't oddly fond of it. It started as a humor piece and then actually got serious for a bit. This could be considered a follow up to the other one word prompt Wonder. Hope you enjoy!)

Eragon ran his fingers through his hair again, doing his best to comb it back to its normal disarray.

‘Do I look normal?’ He turned to Saphira, palms out and held away from his body as he did a quick 360 spin. He was pretty sure his clothes were fine, he had stopped by his tent to grab a fresh set but hadn’t been able to find a mirror.

The dragon snorted, an undercurrent of laughter weaving through her voice. ‘Normal? Do you mean to ask if you look like you just had a wild rut with your bodyguard and eternal infatuation for the first time last night?’ Saphira lowered her head and regarded him with one large eye, mirth dancing in the pre-dawn light reflected there.

Eragon felt his ears promptly turn a dark crimson. ‘Could you please stop calling it that?’ He pleaded. ‘It makes it sound so…animalistic. It was more than that, it was….’ The young Rider trailed off, his face heating up as well as memories of the encounter began flitting to the forefront of his mind. ‘I shouldn’t be thinking about it right now. Just…do I look okay?’

Saphira contained her giggles as best she could. She knew what the previous night meant for Eragon, what it meant for his heart and what it meant for them both as a bonded Rider and Dragon. She could feel underneath his nerves that the young man was practically leaping with joy, his heart singing with a completion that had evaded him for so long. Teasing him was fun, especially with how flustered he was in the moment, but she would never leave him without support. Even when letting him squirm was exponentially more entertaining.

So she cocked her head this way and that, gently nudged him slightly to get a better look, and gave him a cursory sniff. ‘You still smell like sex.’

‘Saphira!’

‘Not enough for the elves to detect.’ The dragon assured. After looking him up and down one more time, bobbing her head, Saphira gave him a gentle chuff. ‘You look fine. Very normal.’

Eragon let out a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he was holding. ‘Thank you.’ Still a bit nervous, he nodded towards the makeshift pens the Varden had set up to hold their animals. ‘I guess if you want something to eat, now’s the time.’

Saphira merely folded her paws over each other and rested her head on the ground. ‘I hunted last night. I will wait for you here.’ She gave him a nudge with a short blast of air from her nostrils, pushing him towards the near empty mess tent. ‘Go on. Be normal.’

He gave her a nervous smile and pushed through the flap, trying to hide the excited shaking of his hands.

Inside the tent was dim, lit only by a few soft lanterns scattered throughout. His elven bodyguards were already arrayed at several tables, eating their breakfasts before dawn as they usually did. The quiet murmur of their voices only paused for a moment when Eragon entered, and then returned to the low mumble of a typical morning.

Collecting his food from the trays set out by the cooks, Eragon quickly found a seat across Brom and Glenwing at an otherwise empty table.

“Morning.” He nodded to them both. Just be normal.

“Good morning, Eragon.” Glen smiled, raising two of his mechanical fingers in greeting.

Brom just grunted, hunched over his coffee.

First hurdle crossed. Relieved, the young Rider ducked his head and began attacking his breakfast. Who knew that spending a majority of the night entangled in someone’s arms would be so draining?

So focused on his meal, Eragon didn’t notice when Glen glanced up and did a sudden double take. Nor when the elf nudged the young man’s father beside him.

Eragon did notice when Brom suddenly choked on his coffee.

He looked up, concerned, as the old man coughed and banged his chest, face turning red. “Hey, you okay?”

“Totally fine.” Brom wheezed. There was no mistaking it. That was definitely there. Brom was still getting used to being a proper father, no matter the smattering of years that passed since revealing his relation to the boy. He couldn’t tell if he should be proud, worried, or angry.

Glen just hid his smile with a sip of his tea. Taken them long enough. He was happy for them.

A few minutes later the tent flap brushed open. Eragon stiffened his muscles, resisting the urge to turn. He knew exactly who had just walked in. They had planned it after all. Don’t show up at the mess together, or too close together.

“Good morning, sir.” He could hear some of the sleepiness still in her voice as she greeted Blödhgarm as normal, could practically see in his mind's eye the way she tapped her knuckles to her chest in a tired elven salute. “Reporting for duty.”

“Good morning, Arya.” Blödhgarm’s smooth voice remained even. Good. He didn’t notice anything.

The relief trickling in abruptly halted when Blödhgarm suddenly let out an uncharacteristic choked cough. But that had to be just a coincidence, because Eragon could hear that Arya was already walking by as it happened. Her footsteps stopped though, and he could hear her turn back.

“You alright?”

Blödhgarm cleared his throat. “Quite. Anything to report?”

Eragon could hear the shrug in her voice. “No. All quiet.” When the fur covered elf didn’t respond beyond a hum, Eragon felt his tensing shoulders slump back to relaxed. Must have been dust or something.

A few moments later Arya put her tray down next to Eragon’s, sitting beside him at the bench. “That was weird.” She frowned, scooping up a bland forkful of tofu scramble. “Did he pick something up the last time the Queen’s scouts came by?”

Eragon shrugged. “Maybe?” He looked to Glen across the table, the medic doing his best to keep a straight face. “Did he talk to you about anything?”

“Uh-uh.” Glen shoved a torn piece of bread into his mouth while mumbling the negative. That would do for now.

Brom, however, sat with his mouth hanging open. He snapped it shut when Arya looked up, but apparently he hadn’t been fast enough.

Arya squinted at him suspiciously. “What’s wrong with you, old man?”

Caught and flustered, the old Rider opened and closed his mouth a few times. He had known there wasn’t really anyone else who could have left that on his son, but seeing as the woman in front of him with one as well had left him somewhat shellshocked.

After a few moments of Arya staring at him with a raised eyebrow and his chance catching flies rapidly increasing, Brom managed to sputter, “Any–...Anything you two want to tell us?”

“What?” Arya frowned. Brom reached up and jerkily tapped the side of his head. “What are you–” Her eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh. Oh no.”

Eragon whipped his head around. “Oh no?”

Arya lowered her rapidly blushing face into her hands with a groaned, “We didn’t.” It was more of a plea than a statement.

“You did.” Brom confirmed.

“Please tell me we didn’t!”

“You did!” Glenwing laughed.

Eragon looked between the three of them, incredulous. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

From behind her hands, her head now lowered to the table and her ears turning as dark scarlet as Eragon’s had, Arya half laughed and half mumbled, “We marked each other as mates last night.”

Still laughing, Glen reached across the table and tugged his former CO’s head to the side. On the tip of her opposite ear Eragon saw a dark bruise, clearly outlining a bite mark. His hand flew up to the tips of his own ears, and with a rapid blush he felt a slight bolt of soreness on his left.

“Oh.” He looked down at his food. “Well, that’ll do it then.”

The tent filled with soft laughter, and with a jolt Eragon realized it was the other elves.

“About time!” Yaela called, shaking her head with a smile. “We’ve been waiting.”

“Seconded on that.” Glen beamed. “Half of us were about to start putting bets on you two.”

Blödhgarm’s sonorous voice cut through the rabble. “As long as this does not affect your duties–”

“It won’t.” Arya was standing, face still splashed with color but her expression firm. “It never has and it never will. And from all of you!” She pointed menacingly at the other tables where her kind gathered. To Eragon’s surprise, the laughter and jovial attitude died immediately. “Not a word of this leaves this tent. This is our business, so no hint of this goes in any official or unofficial reports. Understood?”

Blödhgarm cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. The elfling typically followed the loose command structure set since he and the rest of the spellcasters had arrived. This was a bold move, though in truth he had long ago learned to expect those from the Queen’s daughter.

He nodded. “Understood.”

Arya dropped back onto the bench, leaning against it for support as she looked suddenly drained. “Good.” She rubbed her forehead. “Okay, good. That’s the main thing. Okay.”

The tent slowly returned to the soft murmur of quiet conversation, though this time a little more hushed. Arya turned back to her food, poking at it with a fork as the other occupants of the table did the same.

“Sorry about that.” Eragon looked over at Arya’s mumble. “I…I got scared for a second. Islanzadí….” She closed her eyes, and took a breath. “I just don’t want someone else telling her.”

“No one will.” Glen assured. The two across from him looked up. “And I want to say congratulations to you both.”

Brom cleared his throat and set down his coffee mug. “I am…entirely unsure as to what I’m supposed to do in this situation but…” He nodded. “I’m happy for you two as well. Just…be careful.”

The acceptance of his father instantly sent a broad smile across Eragon’s face. “Thank you.” The wiggly glimmers of excitement had wormed their way back into his chest, making his heart flutter.

Arya, however, wore a half twisted smirk of trepidation and amusement on her lips. “You’re both going to tease us mercilessly about this, aren’t you?”

‘They’ll have plenty of help with that.’ Saphira’s toothy grin flashed through the minds of the four at the table.

The elf shook her head with a laugh. “Fine. I guess there’s no avoiding it.”

Eragon shook his head, and for the entirety of breakfast didn’t lose his smile.

It wasn’t until after, a few days after in fact, that the young Rider and his original bodyguard had a moment of time alone again. They didn’t spend the time as passionately as they had that night, but instead sat together in Eragon’s tent, letting the quiet drape over them.

In some ways, Eragon mused, their relationship hadn’t really changed. They had done this before as friends many times, just sitting together in a little piece of solitude away from the war and tumultuous world around them. It had taken time for their shoulders to touch but from that point on they leaned on each other for support, a moment of contact that didn’t signify danger or a brief spark of comfort that would flit away.

The only difference was that this time Eragon was sprawled out, his head resting in the elf’s lap as she gently combed her fingers through his hair. His own fingertips wandered her side, feeling the muscles beneath shift as she breathed. Occasionally his palm would slide over her hip to lay flat on her back, relishing in the warmth that seeped from her skin to his.

They stayed like that for a time before the young Rider tilted his head upwards. “Arya?”

“Hmm?” She brushed his bangs away from his eyes. He’d probably ask her to help cut his hair again soon. It was getting longer than he usually preferred, the back nearly touching his shoulders.

“What the others noticed before. The marks. What’s it mean?”

“Oh.”

Eragon sat up when her hand paused. “You don’t have to–”

“No. No, you should know.” Arya was blushing again, and Eragon couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped his lips. She had so rarely blushed before, but now, having to explain the base instincts of her race to him had her stomach turning in knots. “Many elves don’t commit to a partner. When they do, it’s…it’s expected to be long term. Like, long term.” She bit her lip, trying to find the best words. “We instinctively marked each other because of the whole…pheromones…thing. And usually that mark means that we’ve committed to each other. Exclusively.”

Eragon frowned slightly. “So...did we essentially get married while having sex?”

Arya laughed at that. “No! But…it just means we’re monogamous. Usually there’d be more talking about it first.” She looked down, her voice dropping. “I…I didn’t mean to lay claim to you like that without asking. I should have asked, and it’s considered practically illegal to do so without asking. I…” She took another deep breath. “I do love you, Eragon. And I also know that you are young, and could have anyone you want. You reciprocated the bite because of instinct, without knowing what it meant, and I shouldn’t have let it get to that point.”

Concerned at the rising distress in her voice, the young Rider slipped his fingers between hers and squeezed her hand. A pang hit him when her grip remained loose.

“I should have asked you and explained it. And if you want to reject it then we can just heal the marks, you don’t have to be bound by–”

He was relieved that his lips on hers silenced her. Her fingers immediately found his hair as he leaned into her, his own hand falling to the back of her neck to hold her close. When he pulled back he felt a tingle of pride that Arya was somewhat breathless.

“Well, if you should have asked….” He murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. “Ask me now.”

“What?” She fumbled, lightly putting a hand to his chest. “Eragon, you don’t have to–”

He shushed her gently, brushing her lower lip with his thumb. “How do I ask then?” He didn’t know why she looked so dumbfounded. He hadn’t exactly kept how much he loved her, how much he had wanted her and wanted her by his side forever, a secret. Worry wormed its way into his mind. What if she didn’t? What if that night was all just pheromones and battlefield friendship being mistaken by biology for genuine love? “I won’t if you don’t want me t–”

“You use my name. You ask if I will be your mate until the sun burns out or our feelings fade the same.” The words tumbled from her mouth in a rush. Her dark eyes looked into his, and for a moment Eragon saw past the rough and tumble exterior, the battered memories and steely conviction, all the things he had thought he had seen through before and he saw something new. She was pleading with him, begging for him to say the words despite the fear that kept sneaking up, the fear of losing him like she had lost so many others and the fear that one day his feelings would fade, that he would turn away from her to find another.

Eragon met her gaze and gently cupped her face in his hands, nose to nose with the woman he couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt so strongly for.

“Arya Dröttningu, will you be my mate until the sun burns out or our feelings fade the same?” He smiled softly, his voice that low rumble again. “But mine won’t.”

Arya’s fingers tightened in his hair and she closed her eyes, teeth digging into her lip. The last time she made this claim, the man she held had indeed burned out with the sun. He was buried leagues away, beneath sun dappled pines and with a black morning glory climbing the trunk of his living grave marker. That pain, that ache, the feeling of seeing him fall, it never went away.

Except when she was with him. Except when she felt Eragon’s arm around her shoulders the last few months, except when he couldn’t help but hug her after losing sight of her on the battlefield, when he looked at her with those dark eyes of his, when he laughed, when he touched her at all and when he slid his wonderful hands across her bare skin that night and stole her breath from her lungs with every damn kiss. It had happened so slowly yet so fast, and even though the pain was still there she could pass it by and know.

Know that it was okay. Know that Fäolin would have wanted her to have someone again. Know that Eragon was here, and alive, and she’d do everything she could to keep it that way. Know that she was the bodyguard this time, know that he would be safe with her, with Saphira, with Brom, with everyone else and everyone in the Varden was working to keep this one man and his partner of heart and mind alive.

And the King be damned if he was going to try and take another from her.

Fuck, she really did love him. And he had made it clear that he loved her.

She was already saying it, eyes open and locked to his.

“I will. Eragon Bromsson, will you be my mate until the stars burn out or our feelings fade the same?” She slid her hand over his, murmured against his lips, “Mine won’t either.”

“I will.”

When Arya pulled back she was met with one of the most Eragon expressions she had ever seen. He was beaming ear to ear, eyes shining with that childlike light that always had her on the edge of laughter. He was practically shaking with excitement, and suddenly grabbed her hands.

He dropped off the cot and onto one knee, clasping both her hands in his and kissed them, trying to hide the giddy smile. “We’ve done it your way, now I get to do it mine. Arya Dröttningu, will you marry me?”

At that Arya couldn’t help but laugh. He was too much. “I’ve told you, elves don’t marry, you big dope!”

The smile never faded. “Then can I at least get you a ring? I can make them like Roran’s and Katrina’s, we’ll never have to be wondering what part of the warzone we’ve managed to get to again!” Eragon was practically bouncing, and again pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Pleeease?”

Damn it. The way he looked at her from under his bangs, gaze a mixture of pleading puppy and somehow alluring, made it nigh impossible to refuse him. Laughing again, Arya shook her head in disbelief. What had she gotten herself into when falling in love with him? “Fine! Fine. But nothing fancy!”

The bouncing increased. “Can I say we’re married?” Arya’s sharp frown still did little to dissuade his joy. He knew better than that, knew that she didn’t like that kind of personal information being slung around the Varden where any spy could seize on it. “No. Okay. Can I at least tell Roran and Katrina that we’re officially mates?”

Arya sighed, teasingly making it sound as long-suffering as possible. “You can tell Roran and Katrina. Brom and Glen already know, but you can tell them it’s official if you want.”

The elf jumped when Eragon let out an elated whoop and leapt to his feet. “Saphira!” He was out of the tent before Arya could blink, and then back again, grabbing her hand and pulling her out with him. “Saphira, we need to go see Roran and Katrina right now!”

As Saphira launched them into the sky with a bugle, rippled with her own draconic laughter at her Rider’s joy, Arya just shook her head again and laughed with them. Whatever the hell she had just gotten into, it would certainly be interesting.