#Eragon and Arya giving off massive Mustang and Hawkeye vibes

[modern-inheritance]

Random Bits of Writing #6: Some Credit

(A/N: This takes place well before Arya and Eragon become a couple, but they're at a very easy and very good point in their friendship, where Eragon is pretty much almost at Glen and Brom's level for how Arya sees him in her 'war family' in a way. Saphira's always been way up there, but it's been a decent amount of time and Eragon has regained her trust after the whole Bloodoath thing. Everyone has been looped into a black tie fundraiser in Surda to try and get in some more support for the war effort, and Arya was volun-told to be Eragon's platonic date to keep an eye on him and keep others/strangers from dancing with him to keep him as safe as possible. They both have perfected their outer masks for how to look and behave at official events, and they're doing their best to keep them up while also chatting on the way there. I bashed this out in 15 minutes, so it's crap but I had fun.)

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"I promise I won't embarrass you." Eragon smiled as the elf took his offered arm. Together they walked the entrance, simply two more people in the sea of faces that were streaming towards the massive courtyard lit with golden lamps and shimmering with faint music. Saphira's bulk was already curled in one of the open corners, her scales reflecting the lights in a beautiful display.

Arya shook her head with a soft smile at his assurance. Even as she did, her eyes never stopped scanning the people around them, roving across hands and faces and ceremonial blades. "Hate to say it, but I'll probably be the one embarrassing you. It's been a long time since we've had one of these." At that thought the smile faltered, though only just long enough for Eragon's sharp eye to catch it before it returned.

The young Rider nodded to a passing nobleman, murmuring through his false flash of teeth, "I'm guessing you and Fäolin were a pretty stunning sight for all these folks." He found himself somewhat surprised that the dead elf’s name didn’t bring any flash of jealousy. Instead he felt some odd sense of warmth, almost like the soothing peace before finally falling asleep. Happy that she had someone, even if he was gone now. 

If she noticed his different tone, Arya showed no sign of it. She kept that little grin at her lips, the nearly coy expression of a hastily selected piece of arm candy that many of the noblewomen around them held. A mask to hide the sharp steel of two blades down the sides of her flat soled boots and the pistol strapped to her leg beneath the high collared black dress. “I couldn’t show favoritism. Glen, Fäolin and I were a packaged deal or we didn’t dance at all.” The grin took on more of a smirk, the very tips of draconic teeth showing as she suppressed an eyeroll Eragon could practically feel in a tiny shiver up the arm that wrapped around his own and heard in the dry tone creeping into her voice. “‘Course, if I showed up with or danced with any man we could hear half the place whispering about how I must be sleeping with him. I swear the Surdan court has nothing else to talk about besides who’s ffff…flouting about with who.”

A choked off wheeze snuck past Eragon’s guard at Arya’s quickly caught swearing. Oh, she was trying very hard not to be herself. “Well, that shouldn't be a problem tonight. Everyone here knows you’re a bodyguard for Saphira and me, and I’m pretty sure they all know we’re close friends.” As if summoned by his mention of Arya’s true duties, a couple moved to brush by the pair. With practiced ease, Arya shifted her stance, pushed Eragon just enough in the direction she needed to force them to squeeze past her side rather than his. “And it’s open war right now. I doubt anyone thinks you of all people are sleeping with anyone considering your service history.” It was his turn to smirk, a slight blush on his cheeks as boldness in their familiarity still made his heart patter just a little faster. “Not that I would know if you were sleeping with anyone.”

At that Arya let out a genuine laugh, and Eragon could not help but rip his gaze from the crowd ahead to take her in. There was warmth in her eyes, enough to break through that familiar happy squint as she covered her mouth to try and stifle the sound. For once nothing escaped her braid, carefully combed back and done in a traditional crested braid style that ran from the front of her forehead and down her back after much fussing over from Glen. Damn it, she looked stunning in an altogether different way than he usually saw. And while she glowed in the low light and looked every bit a goddess to him…he wished more of her true self shone out of this odd, put together facade that they both had to play in official events. Give him a goddess of war any day, and as long as it was her….

“No. No, I’m too busy.” Arya’s voice, still bubbling with laughter, shook Eragon from his reverie. There was the familiar smile, the wild fire in her eyes and feral love of life gleaming in the sharp teeth she bared. A flash, a moment, only for them to share as she leaned in closer and hugged his upper arm to playfully growl, “I spend all my time having to watch over this whelp of a Rider that’s got such a taste for trouble that his dragon has twice the wit he does and even more brains in her head after how many times people have tried to bash his in.”

Eragon barked out a laugh of his own. “Oh, owch, Major! Credit where credit’s due!” Arya just beamed at him, and he had to stop himself from jumping when she subtly pinched his ribs through his suit coat. “Saphira has at least three times my wit!”