Death, he had come to believe, was a corrosive thing, and the more he was around it , the more it gnawed away at who he was. - Christopher Paolini

The poison dart hidden in the raisin tart. ...

"You need a name. I heard some interesting ones today;perhaps you'll like one." He mentally ran through the list Brom had given him until he found tow names that stuck him as heroic, noble and pleasing to the ear. "What do you think of Vanilor or his successor, Eridor? Both were great dragons."
No, said the dragon. It sounded amused with his efforts. Eragon.
"That's my name; you can't have it," he siad, rubbing his chin.
"Well, if you don't like those, there are others." He continued through the list, but the dragon rejected every one he proposed. UT seemed to be laughing at something Eragon did not understand, but he ignored and kept suggesting names. "There was ingothold, he slew the..." A revelation stopped him. Thats the problem! I've been choosing male names. You are a she!

That was a heroic deed.” Embarrassed, Eragon scuffed his boots against the ground. “I wouldn’t have survived if not for Arya.” “You are too modest, Argetlam,” she admonished. “It was you who struck the final blow.