#I LIKE being able to put out these random slice of life/snapshot moments without full plots

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Shared (Eldest Short, after Arya and Islanzadí's reconciliation)

(A/N: Inspired in part by this post about Echo from The Bad Batch. Arya never stops unless she has to. It's just easier to deal with the trauma alongside Glen in between bursts of activity and research into Eragon's curse. It's always easier to sleep when you don't have to try, especially when you keep remembering the one you lost.

Islanzadí is...distinctly familiar with this particular problem.)

MODERN INHERITANCE: SHARED

“But you’re still eating, yes?” So this is what it was like to be mothered. “I’ve…I’ve rarely seen you since you began working on this…project.”

Arya couldn’t help the grin, leaning back in her chair. Being mothered felt odd for sure, but it did feel…nice. “I’m fine, mum. I’ve been eating just fine. And Glen and I just got back from Analin. I wasn’t intentionally trying to avoid you.” 

The assurance seemed to calm some of Islanzadí’s concern, a lightning-like strand of anxiety winking out as her shoulders relaxed. “I just wish you didn’t work yourself non-stop like this.”

The younger elf turned back to the array of paper on her desk and picked up a pen. For a moment, it seemed as if she was going to leave the conversation at that, wave Islanzadí off like she had so many times before their recent revelations. 

And then…

“I…” Arya gripped the pen a bit tighter than necessary. “It’s easier to sleep if I’m exhausted.”

Islanzadí took the confession in. It wasn’t surprising. Evandar had been much the same when his Recall was rearing its head, forcing himself to stay awake until he simply couldn’t any more. “...Less time to think?”

A grim smile twisted her daughter’s lips when she looked over her shoulder, leaning an arm over the back of the chair. “Less time to think.” 

“The nightmares–”

“Will come no matter what I do.” Arya tilted her head, stray fringes flopping over with the movement. “Glen had the best sleep schedule around before I turned up again, and he still had nightmares every few nights.” Again, she paused. “It’s just better if I’m out when my head hits the pillow. I don’t like–” 

Her eyes flicked to the bed, words dying in her throat. It was sized for two people. The sheets were still tucked tight, the comforter still crisp and only wrinkled where she occasionally sat to read and, in the…the weaker moments…try and catch the barest scent of him, remember what it felt like to wake up with him beside her, whispering to him in the night. Making sure he was there and safe, but now he wasn’t, Fäolin was d–

Islanzadí stepped forward, breaking her out of the yawning spiral.

“I know that you still sleep on the floor.” Her mother’s voice was soft. “But…sometimes, sleeping in a different room is a bit more bearable. It can help.”

Arya blinked. Another room? “What do you mean?” 

The smile was sad when it touched Islanzadí’s lips. “After…your father died. I couldn’t sleep in our room. All I could think about, every night, was that he was no longer beside me.” 

For the first time, Arya heard a crack of pain through the softness, the subdued notes of her mother’s voice not a lack of emotion but a blunting of it, a blunting of it to try and protect. But now…now they shared at least one particular pain, a certain loss that they could relate to in ways parent and child should never have to share. 

They were stronger for it, though. And infinitely more understanding.

“I would go to my study and sleep on the couch there.” An unexpected laugh bubbled up from the queen’s throat. “I suppose I never stopped that entirely. That’s why there’s always blankets on the armrests.”

Arya grinned. “I’ve always thought that couch was very comfortable.” 

“It is!” Islanzadí returned the smile, brighter than before. The light at her eyes dimmed only just. “If you are up to it, I think you should try it tonight. Get at least some rest?”

“Yeah.” Arya tapped the pen on the table idly, staring off at the bundled bedroll beneath the bedside table. “Yeah, I think I will.” 

Relieved, Islanzadí pressed two fingers to her lips and then to her daughter’s cheek. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the woman’s halfhearted protest at the gesture, and left the younger elf to her new project.