#mic asks

Heheheh I actually did a poll on this once.

For one, Angela never sneezes. She's never sneezed in her life.

Arya either sneezes in that sorta closed off 'HhchnCH' noise, or, and I'm blatantly modeling this after myself, slams her head forward when she sneezes, nearly bending 90º. Yes, she's hit her head on desks multiple times. No, you should not extrapolate anything about my own experiences with desks from this.

Eragon sneezes like a Farmer. Loud, can be heard for miles. But mostly out of his mouth.

Brom won the poll for most impressive sneeze. Fus Ro Dah Dad Sneeze.

Murtagh goes into his hands. Very dainty. 'ChnK. Bless meh.'

Nasuada also does Fus Ro Dah sneezes but only does so incredibly rarely.

Saphira? Fire sneeze. Every time. If Eragon sneezes, duck, because Saphira's not far behind, and vice versa. It's something all Dragon Rider pairs do.

Thorn does big ol dragon sneezes, but he uses his tongue to stop any fire from coming out his mouth. It chimney's up his noise instead.

Firnen is um...not all that adept at sneezing properly. He sticks his tongue out, typically accidently bites it at the same time, fire squirts out the sides of his mouth, his nose, his ears pop, it's just....it's so undignified.

Islanzadi would have you believe she has never sneezed in her life. Until Arya points out the dent on her work desk and loudly proclaims 'HA! SO I GOT IT FROM YOU!'

Glen is the only person around that sneezes normally. Except his arm can fall off by accident.

“He said that Morzan is my father.”

The silence that filled the tent made Eragon’s chest ache more than any of the injuries that now littered his body. Saphira reached out to him, trying to comfort the hurt, but he recoiled. This was his burden to carry, and he’d carry it alone. 

Nasuada stared with her lips parted, hanging on the edge of saying something but seeming unable to decide what would be the best response. 

Roran’s face was frozen in shock, but a familiar flush was creeping up his neck that signaled he was about to explode to Eragon’s defense like he would when they were children and the other kids mocked his lack of parentage. 

For once, Eragon just wanted his cousin to stay quiet as he turned his gaze to Arya, trying to gauge her reaction. He didn’t know what he wanted to see. Disgust? Pity? Sympathy? 

Her eyes were wide and a mix of gobsmacked surprise and...was that apprehension?...colored her expression. 

But Arya wasn’t looking at him.

The elf was looking at Brom. 

And the tent exploded into noise once again.

“HE SAID WHAT?!” 

Eragon staggered as Brom rushed him, a wild light in his eyes as he shoved Roran aside and seized the young Rider by his upper arms. “You believed him?!” He could feel the man’s muscles trembling with rage even as he shook Eragon roughly. “How could a monster like Morzan spawn a man like you?!”

Out the corner of his eye Eragon saw Roran already regaining his feet as Arya vaulted clear across the staging table to get to his side. The elf was millimeters away from yanking the enraged Rider off when Brom suddenly stopped shaking the young man and locked eyes with him. 

“You’re MY son, dammit!” 

Eragon’s hammering heart juddered to a stop.

“You’ve always been my son.”

Brom’s chest heaved as Arya pulled him away from the shellshocked Eragon. She was watching him now, looking for any hint as to how the younger Rider wanted to proceed. She released her grip on Brom and stepped back when Eragon gave her a shaky nod before turning to Nasuada.

Eragon bowed. He hoped that the stiffness of his stance hid the trembling of his limbs. 

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

With that he grabbed Brom by the shoulder of his armored coat and dragged him out of the tent, leaving a stumbled trail of burnt and broken soil crust in their wake. 

~

Eragon didn’t stop until he, Brom and Saphira were far enough from the command tent to cast deafening wards on their conversation. The moment they were in place the younger man rounded on the elder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Brom flinched. There was so much emotion in Eragon’s voice, a terrible mix of anger and betrayal that nearly masked the undercurrent of confusion and hurt. The sound made him want to throw his arms around the boy. He held back, knowing that right now, Eragon wasn’t ready. He wanted answers, and Brom would do his best to give them.

So he took a deep breath. “I couldn’t. If word reached the wrong ears that you were my son it would have put you in so much danger. I wanted you to grow up with a family that could give you a normal life, not force you to live every day in fear that the King would one day discover us.” Unable to stop himself, Brom reached out to put his hands on the furious young man’s shoulders. “Eragon, I wanted to protect you–”

Eragon gnashed his teeth and shoved Brom’s hands away. “But that was THEN! Did you ever stop to think maybe, once we all were already running from Galbatorix, to tell me who you were? The whole time we traveled, you never ONCE gave us an inkling–”

‘He told me, Little One.’ Saphira lowered her head to her partner. Eragon stared at her with shock. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted so badly to tell you, but before he told me anything Brom made me swear oaths to keep it secret unless absolutely necessary.’ She brushed her snout against his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

Saphira could feel him wrestling with the revelation, the twinges of betrayal and questions of who he could trust if not her to share everything. Her own regret and shame at being locked in her promise seeped across their link, and with a pang of guilt Eragon’s thoughts came to clarity. She had wanted to tell him, and would have if she could. She was not to blame for this.

“That was wrong of me.” Brom bowed his head. “I shouldn’t have burdened you with this, Saphira, especially under such oaths. I...I wanted at least someone to be able to tell Eragon if I–” He stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t–” Eragon cut himself off, the cauldron of emotions inside him boiling over. All his life, he wondered who his father was. He loved his family, Garrow, Roran, Marian, but there was something inside that he always craved. And now, to know he had been denied it when it was right there, so close to him this whole time…. 

He exploded.

“Even in Ellesméra, probably the safest place in all Alagaësia, you didn’t tell me!” Eragon jabbed a finger into Brom’s chest, nearly staggering the older man with his new strength. “I can’t believe you! Tell me, if Murtagh hadn’t assumed I was Morzan’s blood too, were you ever going to claim me as your son?! What, were you too ashamed of me while Durza’s scar made me an in–”

And suddenly arms were around him, squeezing tight. The familiar scent of sweet tobacco smoke, warm canvas, leather and sandalwood washed through Eragon’s senses. It evoked memories of their travels, of the nights spent at the campfire learning magic and swordplay. 

But even deeper still, lost in the reaches of his oldest memories, the feeling of Brom’s arms around him recalled the days spent in the storyteller’s tiny home while Garrow and Marian worked the fields. His patience with Eragon’s neverending questions. How, without him knowing it, Brom made sure his son was fed, sparked his interest in the world around him, did his best to guide him on difficult choices. How the old man always made sure his door was open to him, for advice, stories, or simply someone to sit with in troubled times.

He realized, then, that Brom’s was shaking as he tightened his grip on his son. Hot tears splashed on the shoulders of his armor, beading up on the aramid polymer. 

“Stars above, I’ve never been ashamed of you.” Brom shuddered in a gasp, then let words pent up for years pour out of him. “You’ve always been my son, Eragon. I was so afraid that...that I would lose you too. I don’t know a thing about being a father, and after all that I’ve done and all I lost I just...I couldn’t. I couldn’t let that touch you. 

“I wanted more than anything to tell you. I was just too damn scared. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I can do to make up for the past, but–”

Brom froze. 

Eragon settled his arms around his father, and hugged him back. 

https://vocaroo.com/i/s0SHHOFJn7tS

So, Eragon does feel a little jealous of Fäolin after Arya reveals he was the one she was in love with and had a relationship with, very much akin to his reaction in canon.

However! Over time, as Arya, and Glen and Brom by extension, talk about Fäolin more, Eragon comes to realize that Fäolin loved Arya for much the same reasons that he does. He recognizes a lot of what Arya saw in Fäolin in himself!

And, most importantly, Eragon matures and sees that Fäolin and the relationship he had with Arya made her happy. That Arya had someone like that for her, in her corner in ways no one else could be, was so, so important. And he is so happy for that. He's happy that she had someone that made her happy! He understands that Fäolin was special, was a very important person in Arya's life, and damn it, if he were still alive then Eragon is pretty sure he and Fäolin would be pretty damn good friends!

Just like Paolini, I don't think the relationship between Fäolin and Arya would have survived post-Gil'ead. I think they both would have changed enough to still love each other, but not be in love with each other. It would have exposed some cracks that never would have come to light had they not been separated so violently without confirmation of the other's status. And I think Eragon, after a year or two, would have realized that as well. Arya confides in him that she sometimes finds herself 'getting angry at a dead man for questions he can't answer,' and he realizes that while a part of her will always love Fäolin...she is no longer in love with him, and is, in some ways, recognizing Eragon's feelings for her and that they may indeed be mutual. But because he has sworn to never pursue her without explicit consent on her part, he just continues on supporting her and loving her in the ways that he can.

Iunno. What stands out to me the most is that Eragon understands Fäolin is and always will be a big part of Arya's life, both pre-relationship and during the relationship. They can freely talk about him and Arya can make comparisons or quips about past interactions with Fäolin and have Eragon laugh at them without feeling jealous or angry or set aside. He knows what they have is in the now, and he has nothing to fear, and neither does she.

(Also, I don't know if anyone has picked it up, but to be perfectly blunt here lol: Fäolin is always compared to the sun, very bright, warm, never stopping that cheery, playful side. Eragon, increasingly so as we move along the timeline and Arya realizes {and both does not realize, being our dumb as rocks demi lmao} her feelings, is similarly compared to the sun, but in a slightly different way. Yes, he's got that sunny warmth, but his warmth is deeper and warmer toned. At least, that's what I've tried to do. I don't know if i've gone too subtle or if it's popped up in only like one or two stories that have made it to post but it's a running thing I've done, especially when in Arya's pov.)

Heya! Thanks for the question!

So, for me, a lot of it is similar to yours. I also have a random little list, so let’s see here, uh…