To make this clear: the Eragon in this fic is the Shadeslayer, not the first Eragon. This story is AU, therefore if I want Eragon to be alive in the time of Arya's youth, then he will be.

Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon, but I might as well do, since Brisingr is written exactly like fanfiction anyway. I'm wondering whether he found the time to read our stories and incorporate it into his book… ;)

Chapter Four

The Nobleman and the Bodyguard

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The next day was spent mostly in the training field. Eragon and Arya sparred without tire for hours on end, neither could get the upper hand without the other turning the tide and fighting back with a flurry of blows.

Crowds had long since left when they realized their princess and Brom's boy sparred without pause.

They sure were not the best in Ellesmera, but Eragon had certainly put on a show with his ferocious blows that had evolved from necessity of killing and efficiency with his traveling.

Quite a pair, Arya was his perfect complement, graceful and cultured, beautiful movements and skillful handling of her sword.

Saphira lay languidly in the far corner, eyes closed and smoke curling like wisps of grey silk from her nostrils, as she slept, ignoring the persistent clashes of metal.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Eragon slid his blade over Arya's guard, one that he had found that she continually left slightly open, and as the edge stayed, a hairs width from her neck, she reluctantly surrendered.

As they lowered their swords, Eragon laughed and folded himself to the lush grass. Lying on his back, his sword still held loosely in his right hand, the iridescent beams of light reflected off the metallic blue, creating patterns on the ground a few feet away from his position.

Arya only sighed, disappointed but exhilarated at the workout. She brushed small beads of perspiration from her forehead, shaking her arms out, bones still vibrating from the strength of his sword on hers.

Slowly sitting next to him, she let her arms hold her body in recline, she twisted her torso to watch her companion, and with a start, she found his eyes on her already.

The humour had died from his intent stare, and she could not however she tried, decipher his thoughts, as closed as his face was as he held her unwavering attention.

She cocked her head in curiosity, then leaned all the way around, turning her lower body to prop herself up with her elbows as she lay on her stomach next to him in a more comfortable position.

Before she could steady herself after rolling over, he reached out and catching her arm, with a sudden tug -the movement of his hand so quick that it was but a blur- jerked her support from beneath her, causing her body to fall neatly onto his.

The breath was knocked out of her lungs for a short moment, before she recovered from her shock. Her face was inches from his, she became intensely aware of the personal parts of her chest pressed against his, and the way her soft thigh lined up against his powerfully built one.

There was a lovely flush on her face when she realized where her thoughts had turned to: the hard, definitive lines of his muscle structure under her.

Oh, these are not the thoughts of a bred princess! She scolded herself, but another part of her was more interested in exploring this new development.

Suddenly, it was very, very quiet. Her palms were uncomfortably moist, and a tinge of heat erupted in her navel that made her shift. His eyes were dangerous. The thoughts of the scandal it cause if they were ever caught in this compromising position fled her mind.

Her hands found themselves at his collarbones, where the folds of silky aristocratic tunic slid between her fingers. The exquisite feeling was accompanied with warmth from his body and it made her head spin strangely.

She didn't like this. Arya had never been one to distract easily, and she did not like the way he made her forget about self control so easily. She'd always prided herself on her ability for cold reason and clear-headedness.

But his eyes, so bewitching, his scent so pleasant.

What would it be like to bring a man to bed?

She could not believe she'd just thought that! Her cheeks stained an even deeper red.

An urgent siren in her mind futility tried to capture her attention, and a sensible voice told her they'd been friends only for a few days…

"Princess Arya?" A familiar male voice rang out over the deserted field, laced with questioning and a tone she never encountered or thought to associate with that speaker.

Something akin to an electric shock ran through her veins and flowed into her companion, pulling them apart with a jolt.

Arya scrambled back, her ever gracefulness failing her in this instant, she couldn't meet anyone's eyes.

Eragon had already found his footing, and offered her a hand. She took it after some hesitation. She had been so carefully groomed for politics, her lessons on portraying herself as a dependent female came back, and instruction of cultivating and honing her political image that it made her guilty to lose her head like she had.

"Faolin-"

Her voice was horribly breathless, and she winced, annoyed at herself for being caught so unlike herself.

Her bodyguard strode forward, touching his lips in greeting and she barely had time to reciprocate before he clutched her arm in his firm grip, pushing her behind himself.

"Who is this?" Faolin eyed Eragon with hostility, drawing his own sword swiftly, "If he has been giving you trouble-"

Arya brushed her hand over his raised arm, causing him to lower his weapon slightly. Stepping from behind him, she positioned herself between the two men.

"Do not hurt him, Faolin," She said calmly, walking to Eragon again and picking up his discarded sword with a sweeping bend, her fingers brushing through the soft blades of grass to wrap around the cool leather covered hilt.

Eragon took the sword gratefully from her much smaller hands, nodding in thanks. Sheathing his sword, he stepped forward with a disarming smile.

"I mean no danger to Princess Arya. We were honing our swordsmanship against each other," He said calmly, very aware of Arya's hand resting on the crook of his arm.

"Yes, I rather think your own is well honed enough." Faolin said mysteriously, glancing between Arya and Eragon.

Arya frowned, "Faolin, what are you implying?"

Faolin looked at her incredulously. "My Lady, do you know who this human is?"

Although his emphasis was subtle, it was clear of he expected Arya to recoil instantly from Eragon.

She did not.

Arya sighed, "This is Eragon, son of Rider Brom, who is a very honourable man. I expect his chivalry to have been passed on to Eragon himself."

Eragon's fingers twitched unnoticeably. How long had Arya known his identity?

His heart sank. He had half expected her to step away from him.

Staring at her for a moment, Faolin seemed to withhold a sentence on his tongue, until Arya silenced him with a warning glance.

The other man bowed, sweeping his sword away into its sheath. He seemed to steel himself before he spoke. "It is a… honour to meet Rider Brom's son in the flesh. Forgive me for my boldness, sir, I was out of place."

Eragon stepped forward cautiously, taking Faolin's hand in a strong grip of respect.

"Of course. It is good to meet you too. Arya has only spoken of you with the highest regard."

Faolin gave him a curt nod. There was a pause before he remembered his reason for seeking them out.

"Lord Eragon, Lady Arya, your presences are needed in the council room. Your respective parents have asked that you sit in and learn while they discuss current affairs."

Arya smiled at Faolin, "Very well, we have wasted enough time already. Let us go."

Hehe, hi? Been awhile, so I thought I'd update this before Epic Romance.

Poor Faolin, sorry I had to ruin your might've-been-relationship with Arya.

I'm concerned I might get carried away and make Eragon or Arya too Mary Sue. You'll tell me when I do, won'cha?