A/N; I love my reviewers. A lot. :) They make me happy. Mucho happy.
x)
Mahhhh.
I've realized that I have a sort of repetition involving word choices & phrases… Bah, I've got to work on those, I know.
But, anywhoooo…
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"Daughter, you are not fit for such a task." This voice seemed to lack any variety in what it said, almost to the extent where sheer boredom was involved.
"Mother, I am fit for this task." In contrast, these words were said with a firm importance, as if fueled by a passion that would not be so easily brought down.
"I do not believe that you know what you are talking about, Arya. The job of an ambassador requires more skill than simply dallying around for your own fun."
The words should have stung Arya, but before her confrontation, she had hardened herself against any snide comments made by her mother that were made only for the sole purpose of trying to dissuade her.
"And I believe that I do know what I am talking about. The duty I will take on consists of endless devotion to the cause of the Dragon Riders, as well as to overthrow Galbatorix," Arya shot back.
This was a scene to witness, with Islanzadí sitting on her throne, garbed in an elegant gown of saffron-colored silk that beheld intricate stitching for a design, and Arya standing in front, her sharp features clothed in a deep russet tunic along with a pair of black leggings.
The effect of their clothing was enough to form somewhat of 'the prince and the pauper' scene, though it was betrayed due to the way both women carried herself—Islanzadí sitting high in her throne assuming a queenly posture, and Arya with her chin up and shoulders squared.
The room was spacious and lavishly furnished, with soft, scarlet red carpeting that caused one's feet to sink two inches in to it when stepped upon. Sunlight streamed through the windows that captured the luscious world outside of the throne hall through their glass frames, adding its form of illumination to the torches burning brightly inside the area.
If she had been here for any other reason, Arya would've marveled at the expanse of the throne hall, as it wasn't every day she was allowed to be in here. As a matter of fact, she wasn't exactly supposed to be in here right now—she had simply let herself in. The queen was, no doubt, tired from her work of settling certain disputes—even elves had their own troubles, no matter how in sync they appeared to be with each other—but Arya wasn't about to let her mother off the hook easy just because she was the queen.
"Arya," the queen began, attempting at another approach. "Please. I am tired and worn from the day's events. I will discuss this matter with you another time, perhaps when I am more well-rested."
Islanzadí slid down from her throne. As she neared Arya, she began to make a gesture as if she were going to touch her daughter on the shoulder, but then withdrew at the last minute. At this notion, all sympathy for her mother vanished from Arya as she once again toughened her heart and her voice.
"Islanzadí," she stated shortly in an icy tone, addressing her mother by her name. "I came here asking for an audience. Though I did not do it formally, I assumed this because I felt that I, your daughter, do not need to go through those formalities just to speak to my own mother. Since I have already gone to the trouble of being here, you can at least hear me out, can you not?"
Arya was somewhat taken aback at her words, though this did not do anything to stop her from speaking her mind. Even if it wasn't her normal demeanor, she would willingly take a step out of her shell in order to secure a position with the human resistance—which, she had learned after some prying from Brom, was named the Varden.
The Varden.
The name was a strong one, and Arya had to admit that it put forth a bold image in her mind. After all, in some ways, it could be that that the name was derived from the own forest of the elves, Du Weldenvarden.
"I have already heard enough, Arya, and I, as of now, forbade you to become ambassador of the elves," Islanzadí responded tiredly, waving her hand as if dismissing Arya from her presence.
Islanzadí wasn't trying to be cruel—quite the contrary, actually. She was attempting to show her daughter that she cared for her in such a way that she did not want her daughter's life endangered—but, obviously, it wasn't working. Instead, it was having completely the opposite impact.
And Islanzadí didn't know how to fix it.
"You forbid me?" Arya asked, a mock incredulous look spreading across her face. As if I haven't already gathered that from everything, she thought to herself with a mental sigh, she already treats me like a stranger and a foreigner; it's no wonder why she doesn't want to grant me something that can actually make me feel as if I'm doing something.
"Yes, daughter. As your mother, and the queen, I have a right to forbid things I see as unfit and not beneficial to the elves."
"Beneficial? Please, mother, pray tell me why this is not beneficial toward the elves? If we renew our ties with the human race, we have a chance of finding the next Dragon Rider!"
At this moment, Islanzadí whipped around to face her daughter. "Dragon Riders? They are nothing but a figment of one's imagination! They do not exist in any shape or form, and daughter, you should not believe any tales told about them!"
"They did exist, mother. They do exist, in fact—one of them does, at least. They will exist once more—and they will thrive," Arya hissed in response to her mother. She immediately regretted those words, for her mother was quick with her logic and asked,
"How do you know these things, Arya?"
It was the question that Arya had dreaded; she had wanted to prolong it as long as possible.
"Come to think of it, daughter, where have you gotten these fanciful notions to bond the elves and the humans?"
Another question that Arya did not find favorable to answer. She bit her lip as her mentality assumed a pose in order to figure out what to say in answer.
She had to pretend as if she had simply stumbled on the knowledge on accident, for she knew that if she let Brom's name slip, involuntarily or not, things would not turn out as planned.
In her perfect little fantasy world, Islanzadí would've immediately accepted her proposal of becoming the representative of the elves, and all would have been fine.
In reality, however, things were left to take their own course.
Instead of answering the question full on, Arya decided to angle around it, hoping to mislead her mother off of the original path. "Is it wrong for me, as a princess, to want to know about these 'fanciful notions,' as you put it?" she asked defensively, looking at her mother straight on, defiance etched in every fiber of her being.
It was obvious to Islanzadí that she was losing this battle, but she would not go down without a fight. "It is when you are still too young to have to bear such information," the queen remarked, her voice even and quiet. "Reports I have heard have been much too gruesome to let the elves know about."
"Reports?" Arya asked. "Are you meaning to say that you have not once set foot outside of Du Weldenvarden even after these reports bearing news such as the Fall of the Dragon Riders just to see what damage has been wreaked upon the innocent citizens dwelling in the Empire?" Though Arya had just admitted to knowing another fact about the Riders—the fact about the Fall—her anger blinded her too much to see.
I am only trying to protect her; I wish she would see, Islanzadí thought to herself dejectedly as she fought the urge to look away from her daughter's piercing emerald gaze, which were remarkable in their similarity to Evandar's eyes.
A fresh wave of sadness overcame the queen, but she remained in a regal stature as she tried to get Arya to understand her own point of view of the topic. "It is dangerous, which is why I have withdrawn our connections with the humans. If we keep to ourselves, Galbatorix will not bother the elves, as we have done nothing yet to oppose him. It is simple logic, my daughter."
"Logic! More like cowardice!" Arya cried. She faltered here, taking a few deep breaths in order to douse the flame of compassion for those not wanting to give in to the Empire that had leapt to arms in her heart and mind.
If it was one thing Islanzadí could not stand, it was a blow to her pride. She, the queen of the elves, who had suffered through many insults and snide comments, absolutely detested when she was called a coward.
Arya received a glare from Islanzadí so cold that it sent a chill running down her back. Never before had Arya taken a look from Islanzadí like that, not as far back as she could remember. Though Arya longed to break rank and flee, she remained where she was, awaiting Islanzadí's wrath of need be.
"Arya Drottningu," Islanzadí snapped, adding an emphasis to Arya's title that seemed somewhat of a mockery to it. "I leave it up to you whether or not you decide to pledge yourself to this human resistance. I leave it up to you whether or not you decide to receive the yawe."
A sense of relief washed over Arya, but then it instantly turned to fear as the queen continued her words.
"Know this, daughter, and know this well. If you therefore wish to join the resistance and become the ambassador of the elves, know full well that you are no longer welcome in my presence."