"You knew."
The voice in Arya's head was, as usual, accusatory.
"You knew before he made the fairth. You knew by the way he looks at you, the way he speaks around you, the way he acts as if in a daze whenever he is near you. And you did nothing."
The elf leaned against her tree. The magic of Agaeti Blodhren made her weepy and more emotional than she usually allowed herself to be. True, she had gone far into the woods where she would be undisturbed by merrymakers, but even so, she was being more emotional than she had allowed in years.
In fact, Arya Drottingu actually felt like she might cry.
"When was the last time I cried?" she asked herself. The answer was clear, Arya had cried during her imprisonment in Gil'ead. Still, the elf did not count that. That had been part pain, part despair. When was the last time she had cried for purely emotional reasons? When Faolin and Glenwing had fallen, of course.
But that too was in the heat of battle. When was the last time she had cried over a strictly personal matter, such as the one that was now pushing tears to her eyes?
"You know," said the accusatory voice again, and Arya cursed it.
The last time Arya had cried had been on a night much like this. The stars had been shining, the moon smiled down benevolently, and all had seemed in perfect harmony.
It had been an insult.
The tranquil babbling of the brook next to which Arya had collapsed had seemed to cruelly mock her, and the stars to bear cynical witness to her foolishness.
"And now, history repeats itself," she thought wryly.
She and Faolin had been walking through the gardens of Tiadari Hall, something they often did. Arya had planned the encounter, planned her speech, set everything out the happen as she wanted it. Arya had learned to keep her life in rigid control.
They passed her flower. Would he have made her such a flower if he had not loved her? Arya had gathered her courage.
"It's a beautiful flower, Faolin. Thank you again."
"You know I was glad to make it, Arya," he responded, graciously as always. Arya's heart swelled.
"I—Faoilin, I must tell you something."
And he knew too, there had been that shift, that slightest frown…he knew what was coming and I plowed on, unthinking.
Just like Eragon.
"We have been—friends for a long time. We have spent much time together and after all we have been through…I love you. We have much in common…we have done so much together.
His face…I should have known.
"Will you love me as I love you?"
"An little eloquent speech. A few sentences that took you as many hours to come up with," said the voice.
"Arya…you have been a wonderful friend but…that is all. I do not, I cannot think of you in any other way. I am sorry, I do not wish to hurt you, but that is the way of it."
And Arya, having spent months, years even reflecting on her feelings felt the truth wash over her like cold water.
"I—I understand. We can still be friends, yes?" she asked, keeping her voice level.
"Of course, Arya," he had responded warmly.
And she had made some excuse and run off to the little creek to cry.
It had not been that bad. When she had exiled herself, Faolin and Glenwing had been her friends. They had never spoken of the incident again.
But Arya had never forgotten it.
Now it seemed she was back to that night, but instead of her face, recoiling from the rejection, it was Eragon's the hurt was etched on, and her's that was issuing the ultimatum. Her's that was crushing the love that was offered.
It was ridiculous, and more than a little sad.
But Arya did not cry, for she was different now, and only sat and stared at the sky.
"I did what was right, and he will have to accept it. He is young, he will move on. This was just an unfortunate event. I did the mature thing. And it is over."
"You don't even believe that," whispered the voice in her head.
I know it's been done. Arya/Faolin, Faolin rejecting Arya, Arya's feelings after the Agaeti Blodhren…there's really nothing all that original. I just wanted to try my hand and getting inside Arya's head. People maim her so much… This is only a guess at her emotions and life.
This was written after the fashion of Five Minutes and Easier Than Confusion which are attempts to glimpse the characters emotions, something many people (myself included) feel Paolini lacks.
Concrit please!