Mates

by WeirdPonytail

Summary:

It's taken time. War and growth and healing and maybe a bit of help from an elven biology lesson concerning brain chemistry and hormones making it undeniable even for the DENSEST of demisexual/demiromantic elves to realize they are in love with someone.

But it's official now. Eragon and Arya are mates. He loves her, and she loves him. For a little bit of time, they can pretend the world isn't burning and drink in that new normal.

And then the next morning comes around and it's very difficult to keep werecats in bags around here, hm?

Notes:

Wow, look at these two dorks in love. A bit of a heads up that this is lightly spicy? Not terribly so but implied. It’s little more than a heavy petting start to Eragon and Arya’s first time together in MIC, and Eragon is basically enthralled by the fact that he gets to touch Arya in this way. Arya’s not so good with putting feelings into words. Eragon borderline worships. It’s just a mix of everything, but very short. It’s not smut.

The next chapter is how everyone else finds out they indeed did seal the deal so to speak. And it's not for lack of trying on their part to prevent anyone finding out! Oh and Saphira knows, but she's being very nice and giving them privacy.

Chapter 1: Wonder

---

It wasn’t the first time he had seen her without a shirt. 

Hell, it wasn’t even the first time he had seen her without a bra, though he would never admit to that aloud. Lots of things happened when the battle call sounded unexpectedly, and getting a glimpse by accident had occurred more than once. He knew what she looked like under her clothes, to the point that now whenever they changed into their armor together he didn’t get the giddy nerves his teenage hormones used to flood his system with. 

But this time? This was a very different situation. 

The clothing had barely hit the floor before she was on him again, lips crashing against his in an almost desperate kiss. He met her just as roughly, the years of want finally finding an outlet as her fingers tangled in his hair. 

His own hands had instinctively dropped to her hips, gliding over newly revealed skin to pull her onto his lap. The textures that registered under his calloused fingertips sent a not unpleasant shiver down his spine, hard and firm and rough and smooth as he felt bone and muscle, scars and skin. She still felt so soft and warm to his touch, arching into his wandering hands with a whimper against his lips. 

He didn’t want to lose contact, but something in his mind urged him to pull away. Not to run, not to stop this new dance, but to simply look at her as she was in this new light. He got his chance when she broke the kiss and pulled back, her eyes searching his face. She knew what she wanted and she still paused to gauge his reaction, to get confirmation to continue. He was new to this, and instinct could only drive one so far. 

He smiled, beaming reassurance. Yes, this is what he wanted. A hand on her shoulder stopped her from leaning in again, and at her lightly furrowed brow he simply ran his fingers over her skin. She subconsciously leaned into the sensation, a low hum of appreciation resonating through her chest as he caressed first her breast, then down her abdomen. He wanted to memorize every inch of her, map her body with his hands until he knew it in the finest detail. 

He pulled her close again, replacing his exploring hand at her collarbone with a gentle nip of his teeth. The soft gasp, the way her arms wrapped around his shoulders for support as he trailed lower, the way she moved against him. He’d never forget it.

It wasn’t long till he heard impatience in the tone of her voice, the grip in his hair tightening and pulling him to meet her gaze. 

“Sorry.” He breathed, enjoying the way the soft exhale made the woman shiver. He tugged her hips, kneading her flesh with a somewhat sheepish expression coloring his lust darkened eyes. “I don’t think you get just what you do to me.”

She laughed softly, her knees tightening around his frame as she shifted. The increased friction elicited a groan from the man beneath her. “Oh, I think I have an idea.” The words came as a breathless pant, cheeks flushed in a way he had never seen but wanted to see again and again.  

“No, you really don’t.” He pressed his lips to her throat again, gentle this time. Despite the lightness of his touch he could feel her shudder, heartbeat quickening further as he murmured words against the points she had shown him. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” His hands wandered over her sides, fingertips grazing the scars that lined her back. “All of you.”

He pulled back again, and in his gaze there was wonder. Disbelief and awe that she was finally his, and that he was finally hers. An undying adoration, a promise to remain hers for as long as their eternity lasted. He saw her as she was inside and out, not the surface but everything about her that made her who she was. And he still wanted her, treasured her, loved her, would stay by her through it all and more and again until the sun and stars themselves burned away. 

She couldn’t put into words how it felt to be seen in such a way. Couldn’t put into words or a glance how she felt about him. Burning and almost painfully wanting him, not just now but before and after and not just his touch but his mind, words, time, just time with him. There was no way to say it, no way to put any understanding or reason into a simple touch, a phrase, a sound, a look.

So she kissed him again. Gently. Deeply. Entwined her mind with his and let him know in a way that couldn’t be done in words. 

She had never been good with those anyway. 

And when he gasped against her lips, and held her even closer, she knew. She could finally put words to it.

Deeply. Madly. Wonderfully in love.

---

 

Chapter 2: Mates

Summary:

It's the morning after, and Eragon and Arya are trying to be at least discrete. The entire camp doesn't need to know that they're a couple now, and giving it time to settle is always a good idea.

Except, well...Arya might have forgotten about something that tends to happen when elves become long term partners.

---

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 that revealed the tips of her sharp teeth in the dim light. “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 in a wild, unrully mop.

“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 their way into 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 these last months. Except when she felt Eragon’s arm around her shoulders, 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 make us rings? I can make them like Roran’s and Katrina’s, we’ll never have to wonder 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 curly mop, 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 worth it. 

---

 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 25 of Modern Inheritance