A/N; I had a really good day today. :) Just thought I'd share. x)
But, my good day has made me tired. Bah.
But not tired enough to attempt another chapter. ^^
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Arya found her quarters to be pleasant. Though they were nothing like the lavish furnishings offered to her back in Du Weldenvarden, she found them satisfactory to her simple tastes.
Her room consisted of a solitary bed fitted with clean sheets, a couple of chairs accompanied with carefully embroidered cushions, and a desk carved roughly yet elegantly. Atop the desk, Arya was delighted to see a few flowers; stems cleanly cut and dipped in a little vase. Just this little gesture made a sense of warmth fill Arya from head to toe, and though her face remained calm and placid, there was a sense of lightness and happiness to her movement.
It was such as simple thing—just a few flowers—yet Arya felt absolutely thrilled. As she thought over it, she had not seen a flower in a while; the only terrain she had crossed had been mostly bare of any vegetation.
As she inspected the flowers, she saw that two of them were alike, colored a rich shade of deep pink with graceful petals curving out from the golden center. A smile touched upon her lips as her eyes graced upon the third and last flower, this one standing out from the other two by quite a long shot.
This flower was the same flower that Faolin had made for her, during one of the long and warm lazy days of a summer solstice. Though Arya had kept a few of the blooms in her room back in Du Weldenvarden, the appearance of a single one of them now enthralled her just as much as ever. Her fingers lightly brushed the dark sable petals that encased a splash of royal blue coloring in the center. As she was gazing at the flower, a note left on the desk caught her eye.
The note contained just a few words written in neat script that contained many flourishes, but bestowed upon those words was enough to make Arya understand.
Wiol ono. Faolin.
For you. Faolin.
Leaning down, Arya brushed her lips against the flower and then proceeded to do the same to the note left for her. With that, she set to cleaning herself up. A tub of mildly hot water had been placed in the corner of her room, and she quickly situated herself there, scrubbing most of the dirt from her journey off of her. Once she was finished, she was glad to find a change of clothing laid out on her bed.
Though she did not quite agree to the clothing that they had chosen for her, she knew that it was either garbing herself in what was given to her, or wearing her traveling clothes. With a sigh, she resigned herself to slipping in to a soft, simple cotton dress. The material was not bad, and the deep, forest green color of it was rather nice—the thing that bothered her the most was the fact that it was a dress.
Securing the pale yellow sash that went along with the outfit, Arya strapped her sword on to it. Though the sash was not the equivalent to a sword belt, it still had a surprising amount of resistance to tearing, and for this, Arya was glad. She would not feel safe if she was not able to at least carry her sword.
With a final lingering look at her quarters, Arya stepped in to her boots and was gone from the room, closing the door behind her securely.
Arya's boots made a slight sound at every impact, her footsteps quick and light. Not quite knowing where she was going, she simply wandered about, a daydreaming look entering her eyes.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" a voice sneered, causing Arya a rude awakening from her contemplations and reasoning.
Arya wondered what she could give as a response. As she looked up, she stared in to a burly man who appeared clumsy and who had the appearance of someone who was a little too fond of their drink. "Hello," she answered in a tranquil voice, much in contrast to the man's boisterous words.
"Don't talk much, dearie, do you? Well, we can change that, can't we?" the man continued, throwing a sloppy grin on to his face.
At this moment, Arya thought that the man not only was too fond of his drink—but was also currently a little occupied with a drink.
The man took a step closer to Arya. "You're a mighty fine thing, yep, yesiree," he continued, obviously oblivious to Arya's extreme discomfort. Never before had she experienced something like this, meaning that she had no idea what to do as the man continued advancing on her.
"Excuse me, sir—" Arya began defiantly, but was then cut off as the man continued in his drunken stupor.
"Wouldn't mind a pretty little thing like you for some entertainment," he said. "Because, as you can see, the Varden's numbers are not increasing very quickly, and that means that we have less and less women joining our forces. Things have been quite boring…" At this point, the man heaved a large sigh, getting himself carried away with he was saying.
As talk of 'entertainment' reached Arya's ears, her hands immediately flew to the hilt of her sword, ready to draw it in a matter of seconds and to deal a couple of death blows. Then again, it would not be right to kill this man—not if she was interested in negotiating with the Varden.
Still, she knew that this man had to be punished. "Sir, I am not a young, naïve girl who can so easily be forced in accomplishing a man's whim," she stated, raising her chin. Even Islanzadí would be proud, Arya found herself thinking.
"Oh, so you say, my dear," he growled in her ear, his hands grabbing her sides roughly.
Rage flashed through Arya, and without thinking, her hands flew up from her sword hilt and immediately dealt the man a slap straight on the face. She knew that it was not much, but in the man's state of clumsiness, it would prove to be good enough of a distraction.
Arya turned out to be right, and she was glad to see the man take a couple of large steps back, appearing dazed. Seeing a moment to free herself, she darted to the side, only to nearly run over Brom who had been walking nonchalantly through the area.
"Brom!"
"Arya?"
The simple exchange was enough, as Brom's eyes soon traveled to the figure of the man who was easily about twice the size of him when it came to body mass. To Arya's amazement, however, Brom did not let the man's size intimidate him.
"Enough, Ramrir," Brom told the man firmly.
Ramrir glared at Brom. "Would you be one to deny a soldier who fights against Galbatorix a bit of fun once in a while?" he asked, his tone of voice having a whining edge to it as he spoke.
Brom gave an exasperated sigh. "Ramrir, answer this question: is that the way you would speak in front of a princess?"
"A princess? I see no princess here."
"You were talking slander to one just right now." With that, Brom gestured toward Arya who was pretending to be interested in studying the ground.
"A princess, eh? Princess of what, may I ask?"
"The elves."
Ramrir stared at Brom, disbelief clearly marking his facial appearance. "Elves?" he asked, sobering from his former state.
"Elves."
Ramrir brought his gaze to look at Arya, and he saw for once her Elvin features—sharp features with delicately slanted ears and eyes. Arya thought for a moment that Ramrir was about to profusely apologize—but she was completely wrong. Instead, Ramrir turned his head and spat at the ground.
"Elves! Bah! Those no good cowards hiding deep in their forests while the humans and dwarves are actually trying to do something and attempting to undermine Galbatorix!" Ramrir retorted angrily. "Those traitors care only for themselves and are more interested in creating pretty little plants rather than assisting the resistance!"
Hearing these words, Arya felt as if she had just been slapped. Cowards? Traitors? Was that truly how the humans viewed the race of the elves? Biting her lip, Arya looked at Brom, waiting to see the human's reaction.
To her horror, Brom nodded as if agreeing with Ramrir.
"I can see, Ramrir, where you get your sense of frustration against the elves from. But mind you that the elves follow their queen no matter what, and if their queen forbids them to have interactions with the humans, then there is not much else they can do," he answered.
"Then what about her?" Ramrir snarled, pointing directly at Arya. "You said she was a princess. Should she not be following orders from her queen, therefore remaining back at where she came from?"
When Brom failed to come up with an answer that would both protect Arya's rough past with her mother and satisfy Ramrir, Ramrir threw his hands up in an irritated motion. "You see? I do not wish to have anything to do with this elf, mind you, and I would rather die before having to do work or take orders from this elf princess," he hissed. With that, Ramrir turned on his heel and left.
Arya was left rendered speechless as she stared after Ramrir's retreating figure. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Brom pressing a hand to his forehead and giving a sigh of vexation.
Seeing Arya looking at him, Brom gave the female elf a rueful shrug. "I am sorry, Arya," he murmured quietly before disappearing off as well, leaving Arya standing in the middle of the hallway.
Arya watched Brom's diminishing figure as well, then turned and fled in to her room. Barring the door to make sure that she would not be disturbed, she resisted the urge to fling herself on her bed and bawl. Instead, she drew the curtains covering the large bay window. Seating herself on the window seat, she allowed herself to be mentally drawn outside, where things had not changed much since her latest encounter with the human race.