One of your writers-of-old is back! :)

I got tired of writing in the casual language of Chuck, so I turned my attention back here.

Seeing the sorry state of the current Eragon fandom (as compared to its glory days), I decided Eragon and Arya needed spice things up, so let me warn you, that it is a M fic with adult content, as they are adults. Which is questionable, because I'm not sure whether I'll find the right audience for this kind of fic here, as most of you may be younger than 'Mature'. There is also a lot of vivid imagery, please be warned.

It's been two years since I last wrote Eragon, so forgive me if the language is rather shoddy. I'm the one who wrote And So Begins Our Epic Romance, and what was just an experiment to see if my writing has improved since the first time I started writing, turned out to be 20k and a wasted two days before four very important exams.

Disclaimer: Eragon wants to belong to me.

Whisper to Me

-

Chapter One

-

The crisp morning air chilled Eragon's lungs as he slowly blinked awake. The tent was shadowy as the sun rested like a ripening peach on the horizon, long hours away from being the heavy, ready-for-picking fiery colour that would watch over them as they journeyed across the land.

The tent flap had not been closed properly, and gnats bit at his exposed ears, his mat was damp with formed dew. The grass was a lush green as he peered out of the open slit, shivering when a cold wind brushed his bare chest, dancing across his skin like the gentle fingers of Arya had whilst he had made love to her the night before.

It was silent, peacefully silent, unlike the skirmishes of the south east, where the black king's army weathered the overwhelming fury of the Varden by a single thread. It had been ten long years, and although invincible, Galbatorix was as vulnerable to the wiles of time as much as the next human. With each day that passed, the Varden grew stronger in anticipation of the day in which the usurper upon the throne would fold under the unrelenting passage of age.

Sighing with contentment, Eragon pulled the twisted cloths away from his lower legs, slipping on his rumpled tunic that had been tossed carelessly in the corner.

It was still early, but he knew that Arya loved to rise with the sun; no doubt she was bathing in the lake.

Buckling on his sword belt, he cast a glance behind him at the campsite before continuing on his way through the small beaten path to the shore. The smell of salty water and the sounds of the soothing tide washed over his senses, and a smile came upon his lips when the magnificent mountains surrounding the body of water came into view.

Automatically, his eyes searched for his lover, gleaming when her profile came into view.

"Arya?"

His footsteps quickened when he saw her bend over her protruding belly, naked, as the shimmering water dried on her upper torso. The waves lapped at mid waist as she sat in the shallows.

Her back was cold on his fingers, but she was not shivering, nor were her lips paler than the rosy tint they normally were.

Seeing no wounds of any kind to foster her odd behaviour, he simply shrugged off his robe. Arya's hand was tight on his wrist as he lifted her easily out of the water, wrapping the long fabric around her cool skin. Water filled his boots as they waded slowly out of the lake onto the grassy slope.

Eragon picked up her discarded clothing without a word; tying her loose shirt around her while she dressed quietly.

There was no sign of the discomfort she had displayed moments before, and Eragon cradled her stomach in both his hands with careful reverence.

When he looked up, Arya was watching him with a fond smile. He met her gaze; and she touched his jaw, laying her hand along his cheek.

"We must hurry towards Ellesmera," Arya spoke, turning with her hand firmly ensconced in his. Her gait was uneven, but her hips swayed as gracefully as they had when she was without child. Eragon followed obediently, feeling Saphira's enquiring in his mind.

Her expression was composed, but Eragon glanced at her periodically while she packed up the tent, noting the tense lines around her eyes and her tight jaw.

"Arya," He told her casually, "Go sit with Saphira."

She looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly, but to his relief, she acquiesced without arguement. A sure sign his suspicion was right. Saphira eyed the elf-woman before she lowered herself even further, lending Arya her paw as a step up to the saddle.

Without a word, he bundled up their campsite, sweeping it of any remains before he approached Saphira with a satisfied expression.

"The Varden's rally has totaled to five thousand men," Eragon mentioned to Arya as he slipped behind her, holding her around the midsection firmly. "I spoke to Nasuada last night while you were asleep."

Arya did not speak until Saphira's ascent evened out, but shifted uncomfortably on her back. She knew what he meant. The final battle was near, very near.

"You will fight." Her voice was quiet, as she stared straight forward.

Eragon was silent for a moment. They both knew this trip was not just a trip to her homeland, but his duty as a Rider, to ready the elves for the march back to the Burning Plains, the location of Eragon and Saphira's first clash as Rider and dragon in the War. and what they hoped to be the last.

"And you wish for me to wait in Ellesmera," She said, no regret, no offense or anger in her voice.

She had known from the moment she accompanied Eragon from the Dwarven mountains on this errand, that that was to be. It was simply too dangerous to stay near the conflict.

A large part of her yearned to feel the bloodlust, the heat of battle after so many years in this war effort, the sacrifices; Faolin, her father, the years of her life she had dedicated.

"I plead."

Arya sighed, partly in acquiescence and partly of Eragon's hand under her robe, stroking her skin tenderly.

She could tell he was getting restless, eager to see the end of these dark days, of Galbatorix's demise. Vengeance for those he also lost, and those like his mother that he hadn't been able to meet.

There was no doubt that Eragon was to be the one to vanquish the King.

-

Traveling wore out Arya. They were still a day away from the Great Forest and Ellesmera. Eragon looked across the fire to study her pallid skin and lethargic movements in the glow of the fire.

She leaned her back against a tree, Saphira keeping her company with her head on her paws as she lay next to Arya.

Between the two women, Eragon watched as Saphira licked Arya's hand with the smooth part of her tongue, impossibly lightly for a creature as large as she was.

Arya laid a hand on Saphira's nose with a tired smile, and Eragon's eyes dipped from her face to her stomach instinctively, a wave of fierce protectiveness warming his limbs.

Her stomach was very large, looking almost irregular as it caused dark shadows to play around it, situated low on her body in readiness for childbirth. His heart beat quicker at the thought of his child. Roran had been so happy when they had announced her pregnancy, clapping Eragon on the back, pleased, as he bent towards his own six year old son with the news he would soon have a cousin.

Very soon, he heard Saphira echo his thoughts, and he glanced up to meet her eyes, Arya's closed as she rested her head lightly against a trunk.

I can smell the change in the air, she informed him, she has child pains now.

Yes, Eragon agreed, looking affectionately at Arya, since this morning.

Saphira let out teasing rumble that made the ground tremble, but he could sense that she was as excited as he to see the child, I am surprised, knucklehead, that you could tell.

Eragon smiled good-humouredly, poking at the fire and the white-hot rocks underneath the burning twigs.

"It's just an ache," Arya interjected without opening her eyes. Eragon started with surprise, and she continued with an amused smile, "I can hear you two, don't forget."

He stood quickly, but stood on the hem of his cloak, stumbling before regaining his balance. A chuckle escaped Arya's lips and Saphira laughed in his mind.

Still very clumsy, his dragon mocked, I do hope you find your infant feet before you face Galbatorix.

"Especially now that you will soon have your own infant," Arya added. Her expression changed from her peaceful expression as she let out a little sound, shifting a little in discomfort.

Eragon crouched in front of her, a hand on her belly and one on her neck, at a loss of what to do. He felt like a teenager again.

He could face ten men, but could not dampen the feeling of insufficiency and confusion whenever he was around Arya. It had been four years, and every time she looked at him with her emerald gaze, he still blushed under her intent look.

"Will you let me ease your pain?" Eragon asked. Saphira huffed, knowing his intentions as they passed through his mind.

Arya placed her hand on his with a trusting smile, letting him lead her to their tent.

She did not speak, simply watching him as he lay her down. A gentle smile crossed her lips as she wound her fingers through his hair, pulling his head to her waiting lips.

His breath was quicker when they parted, and he whispered to her, feeling Saphira grumpily close the connection temporarily between their minds, "You are tired. Sleep."

The night was still warm from the fire roaring behind them, the light from the fire enclosed by the wards he had set up to maintain their obscurity from the outside. He could hear the spitting and hissing of the crackling leaves behind them in the middle of the clearing, and the vague scratching sound of Saphira sharpening her claws on a large log nearby.

He parted her clothing, revealing her milky soft skin, and he slipped his hands around her body. Arya's eyes were clear; she could see him in the dark as well as he could see her, but her eyelids fluttered when he lowered his lips to her breastbone.

She whispered indistinctly, and Eragon propped himself up higher on his elbow, careful to leave no weight on her as he settled himself next to her. It was quiet in the forest, the night animals creeping stealthily and he was sure that every rustle from Arya could be heard around the camp and through the trees. Her eyes closed slowly, millimeter by millimeter under his ministrations.

He watched as pale light struggled to infiltrate the woven tent, distorting over her hips as they coiled as he touched her. She stirred from her half-daze when he stroked her a little too overzealously, and he stilled, singing to her instantly, letting her settle before he caressed her slowly in long, lazy movements, feeling her blood pulse strongly under her skin.

Arya sighed, her muscles quivering. Eragon let his lips roam over her ear, letting his breath wash over her skin and watching with fascination, the small bumps that rose upon her skin.

His hand was warm and tender, and finally, dark into the night, her heavy breathing belying the fact she was hardly conscious anymore- her limbs trembled as gentle rolling waves coursed through her body again and again under Eragon's watch as he held her hips gently between his large hands until she succumbed fully to the heaviness of sleep, her lips still twitching lightly with the aftershocks, her body laid limp and relaxed on the bedroll, the tension in her face easing.

-

A heavy-handed blow woke Eragon from his light slumber. Choking, he sat up straight, fumbling over the blankets, automatically feeling for Arya.

There was a small feminine moan from beside him, and he turned, scrambling to his knees when his eyes rested on her curled form. Arya's skin was flushed, and she grasped desperately for his hand.

"Arya!"

The tent collapsed, a large rip appearing above them when Saphira poked her head through in her haste.

We shall fly tonight, Saphira said in a concerned tone. By daybreak, we will reach the city.

The bags had been packed into the saddle in advance, and while Eragon scrambled out of the ruined tent, Saphira easily lifted it onto her back, waiting for him to tighten the straps.

Behind him, he could hear Arya's small whimper, but she made no other sound, her face ghastly pale in the moonlight.

"Let me see," Eragon murmured under his breath, returning back to her. He reached out with two hands to her nakedness, probing the tender flesh around her abdomen. He barely knew what he was doing, but he had attended enough births in Carvahall to know vaguely what he was doing.

"We leave now," Eragon said sharply as he then withdrew his hands from her, heart beating fast. He didn't know much about elven women, but experience told him he needed to move fast, hoping he would not be delivering a child on top of a flying dragon several thousand miles high in the cool night air.

He wrapped Arya's cloak around her, grunting with her weight in his arms.

Saphira did not waste any time, forcefully jumping into the air as soon as he had clasped Arya across his chest.

The flight itself was a race against time, and even with all the power they had between them, Eragon could feel Saphira lagging after a few hours. Whipping winds dried the perspiration that dotted Arya's face, and with one hand, he held her face to his chest to avoid the biting torrent of the air currents as they darted over the land, moving faster than they'd ever had.

-

They had almost tumbled into the dusty square, but with a final burst of adrenaline, Saphira flapped her mighty wings once more, sending out debris and scattering stones with its force.

The city awoke in burst of panic as light streamed from open doors, half dressed elves bearing assorted weapons- from glinting swords to candlesticks. If this had been a normal day, Eragon would have laughed at the sight. But the rush to arrive, the worry over Arya, made him lightheaded with exhaustion.

Eragon heard his name cried over, as neighbours passed word of him. With only vague memories to guide him, he stole through Ellesmera, surefooted as he bore Arya's full weight.

Bursting through Tialdari Hall to Arya's chambers, he heard several footsteps behind him. Flashing a look around, he glimpsed a healer and a guard. With a sigh of relief, he found her room.

The familiar surroundings and scent calmed him, and he silently thanked Saphira's haste as he caught a quick glance of pale pink diffusing the green tree line while lowering Arya to the bed.

"My daughter!" Islanzadi looked the most incomposed as he'd ever seen her, hair loose and still clad in her nightclothes as she lay a hand on Arya's forehead.

Arya's cloak was damp from the moisture in the air as they'd flown. Three more female elves entered the room, armed with towels, sheets and water; their magic alight in their eyes. Eragon was pushed to one side as they crowded around her.

"Come," A hand gripped his arm, and he started in surprise as the Queen led him to a further away so the healers could do their job. Eragon resisted at first, but the people surrounding Arya blocked his vision of her.

"You'd better be invisible," She said, only a small note of teasing in her voice, "Or the females will decide you will wait outside."

"In Carvahall, the husband would be inside the room while his wife is giving birth," Eragon stated, though politely.

A knowing glint was in Islanzadi's eyes, as she patted his shoulder, "You are a warrior, you have seen gore," a smile was on her lips, "But even Evandar," she said nostalgically, "His skin turned so white he could have been a ghost when he saw Arya be born."

Waves of apprehension and anxiety still coursed through his body, but he smiled at the Queen.

His attention was turned back to the bed when he heard a commotion. Restraining himself, he tried to stand taller to see Arya, but sank back onto his toes in disappointment when he could not see anything over the throng of heads. But as his lips curled in displeasure, one of the healers crooked a finger at him.

"The princess is calling for you," She said, and Eragon's heart leapt, almost running as he strode over to the bed.

There was a giant clamp around his heart as he approached, jostling through elves when he glimpsed Arya. She was lying prone on the mattress, legs straight and covered by a white cotton blanket, a thin shift over her slender torso. Both of her hands cupped her swollen belly, and weary emerald eyes took him in when he squatted next to her. She extended a hand for his, gripping it tightly as he played with her fingers.

They did not speak, as she sought reassurance from his eyes. Arya turned her face into the stacked pillows, trying to muffle another moan, her cheeks reddening and eyebrows close in a frown.

Behind him, he could sense the women filing out with the Queen, the last one pausing for a second before she left. "Lord Shadeslayer, we will be back when the child comes. There is still time."

He nodded distractedly at her, leaning his head down next to Arya's. "We will have a beautiful little girl," He spoke softly, "And she will have your green eyes, she will have your sweet smile, and she will be the joy of Ellesmera," Eragon almost sang, watching Arya smile tiredly at him.

She touched his neck, curling her fingers into the little hairs at the back of his head, pulling him close so their foreheads touched, his lips vibrating from the movement of hers as she spoke, "And she will have my stubbornness, you will have to chase away the elf boys."

"Our little girl," Eragon repeated, kissing little butterfly kisses to her cheeks when she tensed again, a contraction racking her frame and a rush of warm air from her mouth at her cry brushing against his face.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, stroking her hair as she lay in his embrace, her body turned into his chest.

Arya moaned again. He watched her muscles ripple with the wave of pain until it subsided with her whimper, and he rubbed her stomach soothingly. He wished there was something he could do to ease the pain, but even magic couldn't help. She would just have to give birth naturally as women had done throughout the ages.

It was an almost an hour later, when Eragon was almost out of his mind watching Arya panting as she struggled for breath, before the healers came back. Islanzadi noticeably absent.

His heart was pounding, and it unnerved Eragon when he watched Arya. When he'd first met her, she was so beautiful, so untouchable, that it was ludicrous to imagine her heavy with child, lying on her back giving birth. She was so strong, defiant, it was impossible to visualize her contorted expression, face red with exertion, fear in her hooded eyes.

With the utmost composure and calm that Eragon wished he possessed, a she-elf stripped Arya efficiently, her gown transparent from her sweat, the fabric having stuck to Arya's stomach from the moisture, following the curves and dips of her hips, her breasts, and her belly-button.

They gently parted Arya's legs, Eragon clenching his fist tightly when she groaned, her thighs shaking as her belly trembled, not it's usual roundness as it lay flatter on her horizontal torso. The lamp light did not provide total illumination, and he was transfixed by the bead of sweat that rolled from her quivering breasts, down her middle, and into the darkness between her legs. Her arms were straining as she tried to push herself up, and Eragon slid his arms around her, propping her against his leg as he climbed partially onto the bed, his hands easing over her stomach and massaging her lower back.

Her head fell back against his shoulder, exposing a long column of slick flesh, her large belly pressed against her legs as she strained against his hold, her hips jerking as she arched to relieve the pressure. Arya seemed to be half-delirious, murmuring Dwarven prayers she had sworn never to repeat after meeting Gannel the priest.

It lasted for hours, even the elves grew jittery as their acute hearing registered the subtle changes in pitch of Arya's loud cries, her voice eventually growing hoarse. Eragon could see her trying to suppress her pain to save her dignity, but there was no stopping the sounds that tore from her throat. He had never heard her like this, except from those passionate nights they made love under the large tree in Surda at night, kissing to contain the groans so they would not be discovered, naked. The secrecy made the excitement all the more stimulating, but even then, as he hovered over her body, her legs cradling his hips as she grasped desperately at the large roots around them, she was no noisier than a whimper or a tiny cry, even when her head snapped back in rapture, and her mouth fell open with the pleasure of release, both of them half laughing as they let bathed in the afterglow together, still entwined, their arms wrapped around various limbs.

Arya's shoulders shook, her long black hair sticking to her back as another cry was gasped into the room, and he held her while she pushed with the course of a long contraction. The flickering from the hastily lighted candles played over her body, her face gleaming with perspiration dotting her face as Eragon accepted a wet cloth, drying her forehead and neck. She moaned as he wiped down her torso sensually, her hips instinctively twisting even with the weight of her swollen abdomen.

Her head nestled in between the crook of his neck and shoulder, her lips by his Adam's apple as she rested in preparation for the next set of pushing. Mindless of the others in the room, he swept his hands intimately over her body, kneading her side, her bare chest heaving against his own.

"Princess," The healer announced as she looked up from the bottom half of Arya, her hands hidden behind Arya's legs, "The child is crowning."

Eragon stored his amusement at the terrified looks of the healers at the back of his mind. It seemed they also had never seen their princess so vulnerable either.

He peered over Arya's shoulder, the vantage point was not the best, but his heart skipped a beat as he saw in vivid detail a small round object, covered with red matter. Islanzadi's warning rang through his head, and he grinned, trying to ignore the roiling in the pit of his stomach.

Arya would not be pleased if he vomited at the sight of their child.

She let out a long, agonized groan, and Eragon looked down into her watery eyes, kissing her temple in encouragement.

When she shook again with her effort, her stomach cramping and seizing with a powerful urge, Eragon pressed her stomach while she pushed, to ease the baby forward, feeling the lump of the child under his hands as Arya squirmed with his extra pressure, groaning for him to stop as the contraction kept her in its grips for the longest time yet, her heels digging into the bed as her hips sunk into the mattress while she writhed.

Please, she whispered, please.

Eragon could hear a tiny feeble cry, and Arya's eyes opened too in shock.

"One more!"

A woman was standing with the head healer, a soft towel in her hands, ready to catch the rest of the child. There was a tense silence that swept the room, so Arya's shallow gasping breaths were the only noise.

With a last release of her energy reserve, Arya bent forward one more time, clawing at Eragon's legs as she let out an almost primitive scream, the vein in her neck throbbing as she clenched her inner muscles tightly, shuddering when she felt the little body slip silkily from her at the very end of the contraction.

She fell back against his torso with a loud sob of relief as he caught her smoothly, little whimpers periodically accompanying her harsh breathing.

Eragon looked eagerly at the little wet bundle in the healer's arms. Another woman was checking the baby's mouth, and when she removed her hands, the infant let out a little sniffle.

His heart warmed at the sound, seeing nothing of the baby except for a small hand that clenched the blanket that laid against the elf's chest tightly in a fist.

"Lord and Lady," The healer said in a gentle voice, a joyful light in her eyes as she smiled at them, "Your little princess."

The blood from Arya's womb had been cleaned up to reveal a small face and a tiny body, hands waving as the girl was lowered onto her mother's moisture-coated chest.

Eragon bent over, peering at the newborn, her eyes very large as she stared back at the two of them. There was light golden fuzz on the top of her head, and she squealed when Eragon ran his hand over her back.

He was almost dizzy with happiness, a grin spanning his face from one side to another. It was so hard to believe this precious little creature, squirming, had only minutes before been inside Arya.

It was a miraculous thing.

Laughing in delight, Eragon looked at Arya with shining eyes. Her expression was one of wonder, as she traced the sweet little lips of her daughter with a slender, shaking finger.

"She is beautiful," Arya murmured in disbelief. She had never thought she would ever have a child growing inside her, never thought she would be a mother.

Little limbs shaky like a colt, the little child scrabbled with slippery hands over Arya's chest, small nose wrinkling as her mouth opened and closed without sound.

"Perhaps she is hungry," The single healer said, studying the child intently. She was the same woman who had left last before Arya had started her long labor.

Gingerly, Arya positioned the babe at her breast, and Eragon watched with fascination as she hungrily consumed Arya's milk, her frail ears twitching with her eager sucking. Eragon couldn't help stoking her smooth plump arm in awe.

"What shall we name her?" Arya asked quietly, one hand clasped in his, the other caressing the infant. Arya's eyes were flitting shut in total exhaustion, voice raspy from the force of her screams.

Eragon didn't reply, instead, he cradled her chin in his hands, "Thank you," He whispered sincerely, feeling his eyes wet. "Thank you for this gift."

Her eyes were closed already, but there was a little smile on her lips when her breathing evened out.

He stroked her forehead, sticky with drying sweat. The door was firmly closed for privacy when the last elf had slipped out unobtrusively, and Eragon went to the bowl of sparkling cool water, dipping a spare towel as it liberally absorbed water. Wringing it out, he pushed up his sleeves before smoothing it gently over Arya's skin, over her legs and between her breasts, carefully avoiding the suckling child.

The warmth of the candles helped to dry her glistening skin, and she barely moved as he drew a sheet over her body for her modesty, trying to smooth her rumpled hair so that it lay beside her in a wave as she slept.

"You are a hungry child," Eragon told his daughter, picking her up delicately, his arms naturally adjusting to the curve of the little body as he supported her head with one hand, "Orik will like that."

The little head was cushioned on his chest, and he sat on an empty wooden chair near the window. It was almost the evening now. He had not realised the delivery had taken a near two days.

Far off into the dark woods, he could hear a party in full force, cheering and loud singing around the royal palace.

"You will be much loved here," He told the angel, who was looking curiously at him instead of the navy sky outside, "You are the firstborn of the Elven Princess and the only Rider of Alagaesia," He informed her, "You have good blood, little one."

He grinned when Saphira touched his mind for the first time since arriving. She had been tired, but he had felt her strength with him through the whole birthing as she looked through his eyes at the going-ons of the room.

You have your own little one, his dragon commented lightly, and he felt her presence as she landed in the garden. Eragon opened the glassy window so she could poke her nose in.

With an annoyed grunt, she drew out, instead bending lower so that she could see into the room with a large sapphire eye. The child looks like you, Saphira said approvingly.

"She has her mother's eyes, and chin," Eragon said, his finger following the curve of her jaw. "What do you think about Evelyn?"

Evelyn? Saphira asked, it is a lovely name. Why do you not ask the youngling? Perhaps she will be like a dragonling and recognise her true name.

Eragon chuckled, I wanted to honour Arya's father, Evandar. Soon the war will be ending. It is fitting, is it not? To name her after a man who fought for the end at the beginning?

Yes, Saphira said slowly, little chick shall be named Evelyn. But it is not really an elven name, is it?

No, it is more human, Eragon admitted, But I am human.

"Do you like that, little Evie?" Eragon asked softly, humouring Saphira. He wrapped a blanket around the babe, tucking her comfortably into his arms. Her eyes were already closed, her soft mouth open in gentle breathing.

Does this remind you of Symbol of a Free Land?That fic was a kind of 'benchmark' while I re-wrote it in the form of this chapter so I could see whether it was better than the 'original'.

I hope I've improved, or I'd be a very sad case indeed. Being a part of the Chuck fandom has really pushed me to do better because of the high caliber of fics over there.

Baha, yes I have a plot this time as surprising as it is. Vaguely. And yes, there are inconsistencies with canon. Sue me.