Unintentionally Sexual Content in Eldest

arranged by Fragon Calfbreaker

Eragon extended his awareness as far as he could in every direction, hunting for hostile minds that could feel his probing touch and would react to it-the minds of magicians and those trained to fend off magicians.

***

Orik slapped a hand on his thigh. A touch of guilt made Eragon disguise himself with an awkward smile. He had forgotten the dwarf amid the goings-on. "I'm sorry I haven't visited you, Orik, but my studies have kept me busy. Here, give me your cloak." As he helped the dwarf out of his brown mantle, he asked, "What are you drinking?"

"Faelnirv," declared Orik. "A mosht wonderful, ticklish potion. The besht and greatest of the elves' tricksty inventions; it gives you the gift of loquacion. Words float from your tongue like shoals of flapping minnows, like flocks of breathlessh hummingbirds, like rivers of writhing shnakes." He paused, apparently taken by the unique magnificence of his similes. As Eragon ushered him into the bedroom, Orik saluted Saphira with his bottle and said, "Greetings, O Irontooth. May your shcales shine as bright as the coals of Morgothal's forge."

***

She remained perfectly still, her neck arched stiffly as Eragon sniffed her cheek and along the line of her wing. Eragon saw Saphira's clenched leg muscles flutter with an involuntary tremor.

During this silent exchange, Orik presented himself to Oromis.

A moment later, the heat leached out of the hammer, leaving it cold against Eragon's skin. He bounced it on his palm, then tucked it back under his clothes, whereupon Saphira said, “Stop daydreaming and get on my back.”

***

Eragon tore off his tunic and twisted in front of the mirror. With trembling fingers, Eragon reached around the nape of his neck. His calves and thighs soon began to burn. He was breathing so hard-he had to put his hands on his knees and bend over to pant. I've stepped into fairyland, he thought, hugging himself.

***

Going to the stream by the house, they quickly disrobed. Eragon surreptitiously watched the elf, curious as to what he looked like without his clothes. Oromis was very thin, yet his muscles were perfectly defined, etched under his skin with the hard lines of a woodcut. No hair grew upon his chest or legs, not even around his groin. His body seemed almost freakish to Eragon, compared to the men he was used to seeing in Carvahall-although it had a certain refined elegance to it, like that of a wildcat.

When they were clean, Oromis took Eragon deep into Du Weldenvarden to a hollow where the dark trees leaned inward, obscuring the sky behind branches and veils of snarled lichen. Their feet sank into the moss above their ankles. All was silent about them as they made love.

He felt suddenly vulnerable; he was completely exposed to the elf. Anyone or anything that might want to leap into his mind and control him could now do so.

Pointing to a white stump with a flat, polished top three yards across that rested in the center of the hollow, Oromis said, "Sit here, on my lap." Eragon did as he was told. "Cross your legs and close your eyes."

"Let us wash the sweat from our limbs," said Oromis when they finished.

***

And there you go, folks. Proof that Eldest is a Harlequin Romance in disguise.