I wrote this while I was unable to sleep, so forgive me if it's awful. Seriously, I finished at four AM.
Inhale. Exhale.
Arya's eyes were closed. The firelight cast a warm glow upon her face, leaving her hands shrouded by the cloak of darkness. No stranger would be able to see the torrent of emotions raging inside her. Breathe, she told herself, breathe.
She did not feel the familiar weight of her sword at her hip. She knew it was foolish to not carry it, knew that if her mother had not banished her from her presence, she would have been berated. She didn't care.
The moment she and her companions had made camp, she had discarded it, tossing it by her blanket. The weight of that sword had always comforted her. Not today. Today, it would only serve to unsettle her further.
Inhale. Exhale.
She should lie down and pull her blanket around her, allowing the gentle embrace of sleep to claim her.
She couldn't.
A lone tear traced its way down her sculpted face. In a sudden movement, she lunged at her sword and sheath, seizing them from where they lay mere feet away.
"Murderess," she hissed to herself.
She had trained for her entire life, learning to wield a sword and a bow. But it had only been intended for self defence.
It had been self defence. The Urgals had attacked them, not vice versa.
But she had still taken a life.
It had been sickening easy. A single sword thrust, and her weapon had cleanly entered the Urgal's chest. One strike had killed him, extinguished the fire that had been his life.
What was worse was that she had felt him go. She had felt him clinging to life for his last few desperate moments...and she had felt it end when she pulled her sword free.
Inhale. Exhale.
She had walked with her companions, hiding her emotions from them behind a mask of indifference. She had been the only one out of the four of them who hadn't killed before then. She wouldn't appear weak before them. She refused to.
She abstained from the consumption of animal flesh. She sang to trees to help them flourish.
But she had killed him.
The Urgal's face haunted her. Opening her eyes only made it worse, for then she saw what it was that she had taken away from him.
She knew not his name. It didn't matter. He was dead by her hand.
Arya opened her eyes and looked down at her slender hands, lifting them up to the firelight to see them more clearly. Perhaps it was just the flickering flames, but for an instant, she saw blood staining them. When she blinked, it was gone.
Inhale. Exhale.
Your reasons for killing were sound, she told herself. It did no good. What other way to defend all you love, Arya?
She blinked hard, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. Her lowered hand reached out to touch a wilted flower. It struggled for life, for another day.
She began to sing, softly, so as to not disturb her sleeping companions. She felt the magic inside of her surge through her veins, comfortable. It was more natural for her to sing than to kill.
When she withdrew her hand, she tilted her head to the side. The godetia had regained its light pink colour. Healthy.
She loved plants. She loved beauty. Beauty was in anything that lived. From a lowly cockroach to a majestic pine.
She, as well as every other elf, had been taught to heal what she could in nature, save what she could.
Plants did not feel pain. Yet there she was, restoring health to a flower, when she had taken a life not a day before.
Inhale. Exhale.
The past is the past, she told herself. You will need to kill again before this ends. This is an important cause. You vowed to serve your people.
How did it help anyone to strike down whoever stood in her way? If she and the Varden sought to fight Galbatorix's brutality with violence, they would destroy the world.
Inhale. Exhale.
Arya's breaths came faster now, shorter, edging toward a sob. She tried her hardest to restrain herself.
She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and hugged them to her body, grateful that her companions slumbered on.
Did their killings not bother them? Arya knew that her slaughter of the, to her, nameless Urgal would bother her for months, if not years.
Inhale. Exhale.
Sleep, Arya, she commanded herself, seeking a blissful numbness, an escape from the pain. She couldn't, scared of the monsters of mind, scared of who she feared she had become. Imagine you are home. You are safe. There is no need for slaughter.
Arya focused on breathing, allowing her eyes to drift shut. She could picture Ellesmera in her mind's eye. She felt a pang of loneliness. Ridiculous, of course. One of the closest friends she had ever had was with her, willing to be awakened for her.
She still longed for home.
Soon.