The door to Arya's room swung open, and a woman in a red velvet gown stepped in. She was around the elf's height, maybe an inch or two shorter, and was in her mid-twenties. "May I have a moment please?" she asked. She was harmless enough, Arya decided, probably one of the ladies of King Orrin's court. The elven ambassador nodded motioning for the woman to take a seat.
"What may I do for you?" the elf asked.
The lady in the red dress smiled sadly. "I would like to tell you a story. Will you hear it?" Aryaa frowned slightly, confused, but let her continue. "There was once two minor princesses, one from the mountains and one from the lowlands. One day, the lowland princess's older brother was killed, and suddenly she became the heir to the throne. Her father promised her to the son of one of his barons in exchange for a peaceful end of his reign. Soon after, the king died by the hand of her new fiancée, and the lowland princess became the lowland queen. On her wedding night, the lowland queen poisoned her new husband with poison from her own wine cup. From that day forth, the queen ruled alone, without the support of her barons.
"As for the mountain princess, her brother's had also died, by sickness, not murder. When she became queen, her people loved her. And her barons served her. And also, she had her ever-loyal thief, who acted as spy, assassin, and saboteur.
"The lowland queen was jealous of her neighbour, and when she caught the rival's thief in her palace, she seeked to destroy him, and through him, the mountain queen… She cut off his right hand, not knowing that he'd fallen in love with her, and that she in turn loved him."
As the lady spoke, Arya found herself clenching the fabric of her britches in her fingers, knuckles turning yellow. "How did you know all of this?" she asked tightly.
The lady laughed, but it was a hard brittle sound. "Because I am the lowland queen, I didn't realize how much he meant to me until I was almost too late. Don't make my mistake, Arya. A fool can tell that you love him, and he you."
Arya turned away, suddenly afraid to meet the queen's piercing gaze, and aware of the unshed tears clinging to her lashes. "It's different with me and Eragon. I loved another man once. His name was Faolin."
"But Faolin isn't here anymore, is he?"
The elf chocked on a sob. "He died on this day, two years ago, when I was captured by Durza."
"Then Eragon recued you, and has been with you ever since. Do not dwell upon the past, Aryaa. Eragon is the one you should be with you now."
"And there's still the not inconsequencial fact that Eragon is more that a century younger that I am!" The elfs voice rose to a shout.
"And I am years older than Eugenides! What is age, when both of you are immortal! Gods damn you, give him a chance!" the queen yelled. Aryaa was surprised to elicit such a reaction from the seemingly cool-headed queen.
They were both breathing hard. The queen sighed, and stood. "Give him a chance, Aryaa. You won't regret it."
And then she was gone, disappearing behind a closed door. Aryaa heard no receding footsteps, but when she cautiously turned the metal doorknob, the queen was gone.