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modern-inheritance · 6 months ago

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Modern Inheritance: Stay (post-established relationship, extended war timeline)

Summary:

Even though they've been Claimed Mates for over two months, Eragon keeps waking up to an empty cot, Arya fleeing into the night once he falls asleep. His frustration comes to a head when he catches her in the act and she still leaves despite his pleading. Angry and hurt, Eragon confronts his new mate in the morning.

Eragon and Arya have their first argument after becoming mates. Turns out being magic-using, sword-wielding, Shadeslaying war heroes doesn't stop young, quasi-immortal love from hitting the same stumbling blocks as any other relationship.

(A/N: Eragon has abandonment issues. Arya is always walking a line of self sacrifice and duty vs what she wants and loves. Saphira is rolling her eyes at these two because even though she's never had any sort of romantic nor physical relationship, even she knows that you can't stay happy for long if you don't openly communicate.

There's more to this on both Eragon and Arya's sides for why they both are hurting beyond just what we see here, but I can't find a way yet to work it into a long form story.)

STAY

Eragon’s breath was calm, the rise and fall of his chest against her back steady and even. He hadn’t moved for some time now, and for not the first and certainly not the last time Arya cursed her damaged temporal awareness. Had it been long enough? She didn’t want to wake him, not when he was obviously so exhausted from the fighting. But staying risked that far more than leaving.

Carefully, timing her movements by each breath he took, Arya gently took the arm draped over her waist and lifted it just enough to slip out from his hold. She eased herself to the ground beside the cot and gathered her boots and socks in one hand, keeping her new mate in the corner of her vision. Satisfied he had not stirred, Arya shifted to a crouch and rose, silently willing the world to remain quiet for just a few moments longer.

The elf held her breath and stepped toward the tent flap to make her escape.

And suddenly froze, warm fingers tangling with her free hand.

Arya’s heart sank. She turned back to him, feeling her pulse jump to her throat when she saw his face. Not entirely awake, his curls tousled and pressed to the side of his head. The upward tilt of his brows confused and…hurt.

“Stay?” Arya bit her tongue and swallowed hard at a single word so thick with emotion. Eragon’s eyes glinted in the dim light. “Don’t go this time. Please?”

Her chest ached. The elf lowered herself to the ground again, knelt beside the man she loved and pressed her forehead to the back of his hand where he clung to hers. Tried to hide the trembling of her lips. That he could do this to her hurt. Just a few words from his mouth had her screaming inside to give in, to ignore her reality and simply climb back into the damn cot and huddle close to him.

“I can’t.”

“You can.” His grip around her fingers tightened. “Stay with me?”

Inhaling a shaky breath, Arya lifted her head and pressed reverent lips to his knuckles. “You need sleep.” He smelled of tilled earth, warm, soft cotton, dragonfire. Faint traces of milled soap and the tinny water from a washbarrel.

“I sleep better with you here.”

If she waited any longer she ran the risk of him convincing her, those liquid dark eyes and the pleas in his mellow voice.

She still could. She could climb back up beside him, the space she had abandoned still warm. Huddle up to his chest in the narrow cot and bury her face in his shoulder and forget everything for a few hours. Together just for the sake of drinking each other in, for the simple comfort of closeness that she never quite reached when sleeping with her shoulders pressed against Glen’s or waking under the weight of Brom’s heavy coat. Comfort and closeness brother and father by war could not give, and that she could not give in return.

She never wanted to leave him. Never, ever–

Arya abruptly stood and pulled away. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Eragon’s outstretched arm remained where it was as the canvas flap whispered closed. His hand hung in the thin air where he swore he could still feel her warmth, dissipating in the chill night. He lowered the limb to hang limply over the edge of the cot and curled his legs close to his chest, shivering.

Outside, he felt Saphira stir slightly, the ache and confusion of her partner leaking through their connection.

A gentle hand against her scaled side, a pulse of apology that Eragon could not grasp, and the dragon settled again.

Saphira reached to him in the safety of their link and enveloped his pain with her soothing thoughts, curling around him as she would in their many nights of travel and solace. ‘Sleep, Little One.’

‘She doesn't want me, Saphira. We’re Claimed, but she doesn’t–’

‘Life and love are rarely so simple. Breathe, and rest.’ Saphira nuzzled her mental self’s snout against his chest. ‘Wild dragons such as Arya take time. Worry about this when the sun is up, and ask of her then.’

Throat thick with swallowed emotion, Eragon nodded and returned his partner’s mental embrace. He cast off the blanket and retrieved Brisingr and his shirt, donning them both before slipping out of the tent and clambering over Saphira’s forelegs. She lifted her wing slightly and let him settle against her, a soft hum vibrating through her side.

The low tone soon lulled his troubled mind back into a state of exhausted sleep, all the while missing the press of his mate’s body against his.

Despite morning finding Eragon well rested, he could not calm the roiling of his mind. The more he tried to put the way Arya left out of his thoughts, the more the splinter dug into his brain.

It was not the first time he had woken to an empty space beside him after falling asleep in Arya’s arms, or with her wrapped in his. They had been Claimed Mates for over two months now, and in the nearly two dozen nights they had shared a bed, passionate or otherwise, Eragon could only remember Arya remaining with him till dawn twice.

It…bothered him.

He had shared his troubles with Saphira before. At her urging he had asked Arya why she left, and her simple answer of him and his partner needing uninterrupted sleep had left him dissatisfied but quiet. Despite Saphira telling him in no uncertain terms to push her on it if he still felt upset, Eragon had shrugged it o ff at the time. They were happy together otherwise.

But now…now Saphira was mentally trying to drag him back from the brink of anger as he marched through the camp.

‘Little One, give yourself time on this.’ Saphira’s exasperation was clear, sour in her thoughts. ‘Cooler minds are needed. Do not start this angry, it will not end well.’

‘I have to talk to her about it. I can’t keep doing this.’

‘Then talk to her about it. Do not yell, Little One. I can feel your words pulling at your throat like a battle cry.’

He pushed her away. Saphira’s thoughts flared their wings, the draconic equivalent of throwing one's arms up in frustration, and she retreated to the edge of his mind, a trailing tendril monitoring him as he finally found the subject of his ire.

Glenwing raised his mechanical hand in greeting, fingers giving a chipper click against his palm. “Good morning!” Brom did the same, barely a grunt into his coffee as he took a healthy slurp of the burning liquid.

Arya looked up from the report resting between her hands braced on the camp table, and flashed her mate a bright, vibrant smile. “Well, look who’s up! Figured we should let you sleep in after all the fighting yesterday.”

Eragon gave his father and the medic a curt nod but did not return their typical morning greetings. Instead he stopped a pace away from his original bodyguard, fists jammed into the pockets of his hoodie, and tried to keep the frustration out of his voice.

“We need to talk.”

“Sure.” Arya dipped her head, swiping up the half-full mug of herbal tea that rested beside the morning scout report. “What do you need?”

A fresh surge of animus tightened Eragon’s still stubbled jaw. How could she act so casually when he had begged her to stay the night before? Even with their agreement to keep their relationship as under wraps as possible, how could she not even acknowledge it in the slightest? “In private.”

The mug stopped for just a breath of a second in its travel back to the table. Arya swallowed the sip she had taken, the fire in her eyes warping to stuttered surprise and trepidation for the briefest moment before the ceramic clacked twice on the wood. “Of course. Tent?”

“Please.”

As they turned to leave, Glen caught their attention with metallic knuckles rapped on the abandoned mug. “Meeting in an hour, command pavilion. Don’t forget.” Arya flicked an informal salute off her brow in acknowledgement before the Rider and soldier disappeared out the flap of the mess tent and into the early morning light.

“Are you alright?” Arya reached up a hand to touch his cheek, concern evident. Eragon turned his head away, refusing the contact. The walk to his tent had been short, but even that span had brought his anger to head. Everything felt tight high up in his chest, some creature snapping just below his throat and clawing to get free. He could feel Saphira hovering at the edge of his mind, keeping a respectful distance while taking in the exchange through his senses. She would intervene at a moment’s notice should things get out of hand, but for once Eragon found her presence far from soothing. It buzzed like a lingering insect just out of his sight, and it took all his self control not to push his partner away.

This was his business. Saphira had made her thoughts on the matter clear to him earlier, and he did not want another woman in his life tangling his emotions like so much forgotten yarn.

The elf before him seemed to flinch at his sudden distance, surprise and hurt flashing across emerald eyes in the dim light. The dark little creature struggling to free itself from his throat cackled in glee at the woman’s reaction, taking some satisfaction that she was hurting too, before Eragon felt disgust at himself well up. That wasn’t what this was supposed to be about.

“Eragon, what’s–”

“Why won’t you stay?” Though he did not raise his voice, the words were sharp off his tongue.

Arya blinked, startled at his venom. “I don’t under–”

“You never stay.” Eragon threw a hand towards the cot they both had abandoned the previous night, the bunched blanket cold. “Every time we’ve spent the night together, you leave. You say we’re Claimed Mates, that means we’re there for each other, but the second I’m asleep you run off like you can’t wait to be rid of me!” Arya’s lips parted, eyes wide at the outburst, but he cut her off again. “Arya, you’ve said you love me. You said it in a language that, at its core, should not let you lie! But–But right now, I am really, really starting to question if you picked up some tricks in Ellesméra last time, because the way you act when you leave is sending some mixed signals here!”

He forced his next words past a growing lump in his throat, that angry creature turned to a whimpering and confused ball of pain. He hated that he was even voicing such a question, hated that she had him questioning it all. And hated, most of all, that he was unsure of her answer.

“Do you still even want to be mates?”

Arya grabbed his shoulders. He could feel her hands trembling through his shirt, her grip tight. Something in her eyes was screaming to him before she blinked and tried to cover it, that damned instinct to conceal any weakness even– especially – from him rearing its head. “Yes! Yes, Eragon I–” She suddenly faltered, barely hid the crack in her voice in time. “Unless you don’t, I just…I just want you to be happy, and–”

“Really? Are you sure about that?” Eragon crossed his arms, heart hammering in his chest. Her reaction was not what he had expected. But it was in the open now, and stopping now would fester their thoughts and feelings like fetid meat. “Because out there, we have to pretend that we’re not together, that we’re just what we were before. This tent is the only space we can truly be what we are to each other. And you won’t even stay till dawn!”

“Eragon, you–”

Oh it was well and truly out now. Everything came rushing out of his mouth like dragonfire, spilling and tumbling without the breath to guide it. “Oh, spare me! You’ve already used up the needing to sleep excuses!” Eragon bit down on his tongue, hard, at the sudden panic that flitted across his mate’s face. His voice had jolted in volume, and he had to struggle to pull it back down to kinder levels. “Just tell me the truth. Why won’t you stay, Arya? Do you want this relationship or not? Because honestly, at this point, I don’t need sleep,” A tremor of his lip escaped his control, the lump still building up and threatening to burst from his throat. “I need you! And if you don’t want that, then I think I deserve to be told.”

Arya’s shoulders were hunched, fists tight at her sides as she stared over his shoulder. He could see her shaking through the trembling of the wild fringes of her hair, the bob of her throat as she swallowed.

The silence stretched.

Every second hurt.

Still outside the mess tent, Saphira shifted uneasily. Eragon could smell the trickles of smoke leaking from between her teeth despite the distance. The push-pull of her affection for both of them, her loyalty to and love for him in his pain while a strange understanding of the elf hovered just out of his full vision.

And then finally. Arya spoke.

“I didn’t realize this upset you so much.” Arya’s words were a soft mumble.

Eragon lifted his chin. Her acknowledgement, however small, sparked a trill of pride at making himself heard. “It does.”

Blazing emerald met his gaze, and with a sudden pang Eragon saw unshed tears. “Eragon. I am so sorry. If I had known, I wouldn’t…I would have told you. I didn’t want you to lose sleep over me and–” She stopped herself, taking a deep breath and holding it for a long, long moment. “I do want to remain your Claim Mate, if you would still have me despite this. I haven’t broken the oaths we took. My stars and sun still burn for you.”

Relief flooded Eragon’s chest. A twinge of the hurt remained, but he had her word at the very least. Legs suddenly weak, he stepped back and sat heavily on the cot. Rubbed his face, feeling the prickle of stubble that he had yet to remove as the wave of emotions crashed down from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes.

At last he looked up at her. Arya still stood, now in front of where he sat, eyes downcast as his had been. Apprehension, something so unusual to see on her, hung about her shoulders in the dimly lit tent.

“Then why won't you stay?” All his pain and confusion leaked into his words. In some odd way, the emotions flowing out made his teeth tingle, as if magic and energy were a part of his raw feelings now made real in the air.

She would not meet his gaze. “I meant it. You need sleep.”

“Damn it, Arya….” The exasperated curse slipped out before he could stop it. He winced, knuckling his forehead as the thread Saphira held with him fired a zap of a warning into his mind. “I’m sorry. That was wrong to say. I’m…I just don’t understand.”

“We’ve said worse while we sparred.”

“That was then. We’re trying to communicate right now, not beat each other black and blue.” Eragon shook his head, curls flopping about his face. “Context is everything. I’m sorry.”

The phrase seemed to snap something in the elf’s countenance, a flutter of sharp brows dipping, the press of lips together in a momentary frown. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Arya pushed her hands into the pockets of her combat pants. Through the spidersilk-enforced fabric Eragon could see the barest outline of her knuckles rising up as she dug her fingertips into her legs. Seemingly unsatisfied, she pulled one free and settled it on the hollow between her neck and right shoulder, massaging some knot out of the muscle. “Eragon, when I say you need sleep, I’m…I’m saying you’re less likely to get it when I’m around.”

Eragon snorted softly. It earned him a gentle bump of her boot against his. “I have better self control than that.”

“That’s not what I meant.” The prickly tone pulled him out of the admittedly juvenile lapse. Arya’s frown had returned, expression hard. “I mean me being here would more likely wake you up.” Another jolt of apprehension. She turned her head and looked to the tent flap, fingers pushing hard into the back of her shoulder. “...I get nightmares.”

“I know.” Eragon reached out, offering his hand. That the simple gesture brought a tinge of a blush to the elf’s cheeks warmed his heart through his new confusion. He knew this of her. They had spent plenty of nights wandering the camp together, running laps with Saphira gliding overhead, and shared many late night meals throughout their friendship as the three of them worked their way through memory and misery.

Despite the anger draining, he couldn’t help the edge of exasperation that crept into his voice. “I already told you, Arya. I’m not going to hide when it gets tough. We’re supposed to be here for each other. You’re always there for Saphira and me. I can’t be there for you if you keep running.” He pushed his hand up further, closer to her. “Let me help you. Please! Stop treating me like the kid you met then and just…accept that we’re together in this.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? It’s not that simple!” Eragon blinked at the snap in the elf’s tone, her sharp teeth clicking together with a frustrated hiss. Still, he kept his hand out, not a hint of hesitation displayed anywhere. Arya closed her eyes and breathed, brows twitching as she tried to force the wave of her own anger down. “I don’t like to leave you. I don’t want to leave you. But this isn’t…just nightmares. You deserve–”

“How about you let me worry about what I deserve?” Eragon frowned. “And if it’s complicated, then explain it to me.”

“It’s not–”

“Arya. Enough. Talk to me, please. I want this, I want us, to work more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.” Still, he refused to move. He would fight for this. For them. “And we can’t do this unless we’re truthful with each other.”

Eyes still closed, Arya bit her lip. Using the afterimage of his outstretched hand burned against her lids, she gently pushed the offered comfort down. She couldn’t take it, not when he was right about this. She had been hiding the truth from him, no matter if it was from a place of concern for him.

“I’ve…I’ve been getting Recall. With the nightmares again.”

Calloused fingers closed around hers. Arya opened her eyes to see Eragon clasping both hands around the one she had tried to push him away with. His gaze was clear, completely unwavering as he held her in place with both touch and emotion.

“That’s never happened before, has it?” Concern was thick in his voice. His anger at her had seemingly fled at the confession, leaving only hurt, confusion, and, in some ways, relief at her assurances. Worry lingered, which was exactly what she had wanted to avoid. “When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

A nod of confirmation. “It started after Varaug.” At least she could name that Shade without her lips twisting in disgust, the syllables catching in her throat whenever his name came up. “He brought up some memories I apparently buried and didn’t really…understand the extent of until then.” Arya shrugged. She felt muscle etched at the surface of what remained of her skin ripple beneath the fingers still gripping her shoulder. “Dras Leona made it worse. It’s just how it goes with these things. I…I didn’t want you being distracted by my stupid fucking issues.”

Eragon pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, a mirror of her actions the previous night. Asked her with deep brown eyes, liquid and softly gleaming, to trust him, to tell him of her hurt so he could hold it with her. The need to know. And the need to help.

“You don’t need to always protect me.” His lips brushed over her skin with each word. “Let me help. Please, Arya. Stay.”

It damn near broke her to refuse him again.

“Eragon…I can’t always tell when I sleep if a nightmare will trigger a Recall episode.” Careful, she knelt down before him, staring up into his face as she covered his own grasping hand with hers. The abandoned patch of scarring pulsed weakly in protest, quieted to a prickling chill at the sudden absence of extra stimulation. “They’re not…they’re not like the times you’ve seen me have them before. The ones where I’m just seeing things or get a flash of something.”

Her grip tightened over his, just barely a second before she forced it to relax. Trying to hide that building stress he could feel hovering over her skin like a smothering blanket. “I never want to leave you. I hate it. I really, really fucking hate it. But Recall like what these nightmares can bring isn’t…it isn’t something you should see. It’s not just something I can be tapped on the shoulder and brought out of, it’s….” She stopped. When she spoke again, her voice was small. “It’s terrifying sometimes. Glen and I see each other through them. We’re more used to it and still, it’s scary to see someone you care for go through it. Grounding doesn’t always work, sometimes you just have to let them ride it out and stop it on their own. And mine are…loud.”

Faster than he could catch, Arya suddenly yanked her hands away from his. She let herself rock back, arms crossed and tucked in close as she pulled her knees up and folded in on herself. As Eragon watched, this woman who had become his goddess of war, second only to his goddess of the skies, seemed to grow smaller right before him in a way she never had before.

“Brom and Glen and Saphira all already know. They didn’t tell you because I asked.” Eragon lowered himself from the cot and settled beside his mate, shoulder to shoulder with her. The fact that his father, her war brother and his Partner of Heart and Mind all knew before he did twinged a spark of jealousy in his chest, but it wasn’t entirely surprising. She had always gone to them first, familiarity and long ties a comfort in chaos when she didn’t want to worry him. “I don’t want you losing sleep because I woke you up with my fucking Recall. I know you. You worry. You’d spend the next nights thinking you need to stay awake to stop it from happening.”

She turned her head to look at him, bracing her cheek on one knee to force herself to remain. “I don’t want you remembering when I woke you up because I was screaming. I…I can’t be the reason you lose sleep. That’s why I leave. That's why I can’t stay.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, Eragon leaned over and settled his shoulder against hers, his head tilting to rest against her hunched upper back. The patched leather that protected her shoulders smelled of her, gunsmoke, worked leather, pine and a battlefield frenzy that lit up her eyes like blazing infernos. It was cool against his cheek, soft even. Her heart muttered through her bones and echoed in his ear, little flutters from a deep seated anxiety she couldn’t quite mask when her very lifeblood could give it away to him.

“I love you.” The mumbled confession, heard so many times before, lifted a scoff he could hear through her shoulder blade. “I love all of you, Arya.”

She rolled her shoulders, the warning subtle, and he obediently lifted his head. A twinge of nerves, still oddly uneasy about him being so close to her scars. It hadn’t been that way till their relationship had started, her shyness about the remnants of her torture surprising them both.

No matter how many times he told her that he loved her inside and out, that strange little spark of concern for how he saw her remained. He filed it away in the back of his mind, a reminder to find some way to put that worry at ease. Someday.

So instead he mirrored her position and tilted his head back until he felt her shift beside him, felt her eyes boring into him as she sat up. Eragon gave her a gentle smile and reached out a hand to toy with her fingers, trying to distract her from the growing apprehension that always accompanied her forays into such vulnerable moments. “Hey?”

“Hm?” Arya blinked at him, owl-like. Still not quite relaxed, but easing into his soft presence again.

“Do you think…” He slipped his fingertips under hers, stroking the patterned ridges of her fingerprints with ghosted traces of his own. “Once the war is over, these Recall episodes will stop?”

Bitter sharpness tinged his mate’s response. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know, I know.” He kept his voice light, tried to show her through gentle touch and gentle words what he was aching to convey. “But look. Arya. I’m going to be with you as long as you will have me.”

Something flickered in her eyes, a quiet realization.

“I’m going to want to stay with you, and keep you close for as many nights as you can stand.” Careful, letting her read his movements before he got close, he tucked a few of the many wayward strands of hair about her face behind a pointed ear. “I know this is scary. For you, and for me. But I can’t take the running anymore. Not if it’s going to keep happening forever.” He drew his thumb down her cheek and felt her lean into his touch. “So maybe…maybe we try this. I can talk to Glen, if you’ll allow it. He can teach me how to help you when you get Recall. And we’ll both learn. We can try this out, just for a while.”

Eragon leaned in and pressed his forehead to Arya’s. Kissed the tip of her nose. “No matter what, I sleep better with you here. I promise. I love all of you, and that means I am ready to stand by you and hold you through whatever you need me to. And you won’t chase me off.” His eyes were bright, hopeful as she met his gaze. “Please?”

Arya closed her eyes. Drank in the scent of him, the feeling of him close. The things she wanted every time she forced herself to slip away.

“...Okay.” Eragon sucked in a breath as she finally spoke. “I’ll try.”

He kissed her cheek. Her lips. Lingered as she threaded shaky fingers through his curls to keep him close when he broke the gentle contact. “Thank you.”

It was a handful of nights before their schedules aligned again. Arya had trudged into his tent after knocking, looking as utterly exhausted as he felt. Unable to do much in such sorry states, they had simply kicked off their boots and shed their daily outer combat gear and fell into the waiting cot.

He didn’t know when sleep had taken him. The last thing he remembered was Arya’s back through the material of her shirt warm against his bare chest, his hand draped over her side and feeling her breathing even out.

Now, blinking a waking dream from his eyes, Eragon felt a familiar absence. Nothing pressed against his body but the cool night air.

Numbing weight settled on his chest. She had promised him.

Eragon reached out his mind for Saphira’s comforting presence, and then suddenly stopped.

Arya’s mind was still near his. Muted, guarded, ironclad and yet…fuzzy with sleep.

Careful, shifting his hip just so to avoid the one unevenly tensioned patch on the cot that always creaked, Eragon pulled himself to the edge of the frame and peered down.

The sight had him grinning despite the loss of warmth at his side. ‘My silly elf.’

As if she had heard him, Arya let out a soft mumble of protest, coming half awake. She didn’t seem to notice her mate looking down at her, only blindly felt around for the corner of the blanket she had commandeered from their stash and tugged it over her shoulder. She turned again, effectively rolling herself into a woolen cocoon with another soft grumble.

Eragon watched her settle again before laying back. He let one arm drop over the side of the cot, his fingers brushing against his mate’s shoulder.

‘It’s a start.’

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