A/N; Seth Clearwater is my babyyyy. 3
No, I don't care about Edward or Jacob or Bella… Frankly, I'm not that big of a fan of the Twilight series.
But Seth is my puppyyyy! 333
Anyway, thank you to all my reviewers. ^^ I'm really glad that turkey day break (haha, that's what I call it) has come upon me. O:
I am currently listening to the album "Walk This Way" by The White Tie Affair. Very good band. O: You know… I get the feeling I've already said that they were a good band before… Heehee.
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Arya resigned herself to sitting on the floor. Chloe joined her, while Mia perched on the wooden chair and Sophia sat on Arya's bed after gaining position from the elf. The four of them remained in a lengthy silence before Chloe spoke.
"Why did you come here?" she asked, and Arya was surprised at the girl's boldness. Still, she had to admit that if she were in Chloe's place—or any of the girls for that matter—she would be interested in why an elf all of a sudden came to the Varden bearing the wishes to accomplish something as great as fixing some type of connection between the Varden and the elves.
"I came here to renew the ties between the Varden and the elves, as over the years, it has depleted in to naught," Arya answered, choosing her words carefully. She did not want anything she said to be held against her if these girls turned out to not find her a very favorable person.
This answer seemed to satisfy both Mia and Sophia, but Chloe still looked as if she were waiting for more. When Arya saw this, annoyance flickered briefly, though she fought it down, as once again, putting herself in Chloe's place, she too would not have been satisfied by such a simple answer.
"But you surely know that elves are scorned here," Chloe stated bluntly, receiving warning glances from the other two girls, though she ignored them. Arya had to admit—she admired the girl's frankness in whatever she said.
"I do," Arya responded, giving a slight incline of her head. "But," she added, raising her chin, giving her an aura of pride, "I did not come here to worry about what others think of me. I came here to, for the good of all the races, rekindle the relations between the Varden and the elves."
"That is a very noble of you," Sophia murmured from her spot on the bed. Arya lifted her eyes to look at the girl. Sophia met the depths of Arya's jade eyes dutifully, and Arya was not quite sure, though she felt as if she could detect a hint of fear flitting through Sophia.
Arya accepted this praise with what she hoped was a gracious nod. Silence fell upon the room again like a vulture, stretching its reach from the ceiling that had been carefully crafted with tools of the utmost delicacy down to the plain, smooth surface of the floor. It filled every nook and cranny of the space, yet Arya still felt strangely comfortable. She felt eyes studying her, but she paid them no heed, as she took her earlier words deep in to her heart.
Why should she care what the humans and dwarves thought of her? Why should she care about making a good impression, since, after all, the only way to attempt at a true and honest impression was to be herself?
Suddenly, however, these thoughts struck Arya as ridiculous. It was impossible—how on earth could she bring herself to ignore the glances thrown in her direction as if she were some type of disease sent to plague all of them?
You are not perfect, Arya, she thought to herself sternly.
A voice inside her mind spoke up. Then maybe it would do you some good to try to be perfect?, it asked her.
Though the obvious answer should have been 'no', Arya found herself rather compelled to think about it first. "No one is perfect," she said, not realizing until after she had stated it that she had voiced it aloud. Three pairs of eyes turned to her, and Arya met each and every one of them head on as soon as she saw that she had spoken aloud. Now that she had done so, she would not go back on her word. If any one of the girls felt the need to argue with her, she would stand and argue straight back.
Though Arya did not quite feel it, there was a subconscious part of her that was changing. It was as when Faolin had left, he had also taken the part of her that yearned for a sense of joy—a sense of fun. Tomorrow, she would face the first day of many in conducting business with the Varden—and all of that would surely eat up the rest of mirth she managed to find in her time servicing as an ambassador. Even if Arya did not wish to do that, she had no choice. If it was one thing she had received from her mother, the hereditary sense of pride was what Arya got the most. It was this sense of pride that prevented Arya from throwing the towel and going back to Du Weldenvarden—she would grit her teeth and bear the hardships of her decision.
"That… is correct," Chloe said, drawing her words out slowly as if contemplating over the matter for a matter of moments. "And this is probably due to the fact that everyone has their own view of what perfection is. In each person, perfection is never the same—while one attempts to achieve one thing, another might wish to accomplish something else."
By now, it was quite obvious to Arya that none of these girls—least of all Chloe—were the pampered and spoiled type. Life in the Varden had obviously hardened them, and Chloe demonstrated her knowledge well through the points made in her clear, even-toned speaking. In some ways, they reminded Arya much like herself—with a few minor setbacks, including the fact that they garbed themselves in dresses.
Dresses had never agreed well with Arya, for she found that it was cumbersome to have to move quickly when necessary in them without worrying about which way the skirt of the dress was going to go next.
"What is this?" a soft, fluttering voice asked, drawing Arya out of her thoughts. When the female elf looked up, she saw that it was Mia who had spoken. Mia was currently looking at Arya, a questioning look in her eyes overpowering the one of fear—though Arya knew it was still in there somewhere.
Mia was holding a piece of parchment. Which one, Arya did not know—but she knew it had to be either her piece of poetry, or Faolin's poetry. Neither one of them mattered more than the other—both of them were close to Arya—nor she did not like the fact that she had left them out on her desk when anyone could see them.
"Nothing," Arya answered, trying to not make it sound as if she were desperate. "May I have it?" she asked, reaching out and gesturing for Mia to hand the parchment over. To Arya's relief, Mia did so, and the piece of parchment was soon safe in Arya's clutches.
Looking down at it, Arya saw that it was her own poem. It was somewhat of an answer to Faolin's—and Arya was glad that Mia did not know how to read the Ancient Language, for the poem was relatively emotional.
Chloe peered over Arya's shoulder. "That's the Ancient Language, is it not?" she murmured quietly, surprising Arya with this statement. Arya whirled around while still sitting down and stared at Chloe disbelievingly.
"You know the Ancient Language?" Arya asked in a whisper.
Chloe gave a slight tilt of her head. "Not very much—most likely not as extensive of a knowledge as you do, by looking at your poem. But I did happen to pick up a few words from Du Vrangr Gata."
Should it not be 'Du Gata Vrangr' if said properly? "Oh yes?" Arya remarked. "Who are they?" She tried to mask her curiousness, but failed considerably.
"They are a group of magicians that ally themselves with the Varden. They support the Varden fully—but in no means are they necessarily underneath strict orders from Deynor. They are quite new, and there is no head of them yet, meaning that all the magicians are still in somewhat of a disarray." This explanation came from Sophia, who appeared to know the nuts and bolts of the entire Varden.
"How do you know this?" Arya asked, for she had been underneath the influence that a mere slip of a girl could know so much about the Varden. Though she had come to the recent conclusion that these were girls who faced very grim experiences, she still wondered as to what extent their knowledge of the Varden reached.
Sophia looked at Arya warily. "Because I," she proclaimed, "Am Deynor's only daughter."
This caught Arya by surprise, and she set herself to studying Sophia again. Now that she did so, the subtle similarities between the two became visible to Arya. Both looked as if they were subjective and would bend to anyone's will, yet underneath… Underneath lay a dignity unmatched by most.
"Then you," Arya remarked, drawing out her words slowly, "Are his successor?"
"Not necessarily," Sophia murmured, casting her eyes downward at the floor. "It is… Deynor's decision."
Would you look at that?, Arya thought to herself. Brom made an interesting decision in who he wanted my companions to be.
"Brisingr…"
The usage of the word from the Ancient Language instantly made Arya look around wildly. When she did so, she saw that Chloe's eyes were fixed to the page that Arya had foolishly held upright. In an attempt to make it appear as if it were out of habit, Arya folded the page in half carefully.
"That means 'fire', doesn't it?" Chloe asked, looking at Arya intently, and Arya nodded as an answer.
To Arya's relief, Chloe did not press on with the poem. Instead, a silence once again blanketed the area.
A knock on the door sounded.
Arya leapt up and went to the door, unsure of what to expect. When she opened the door, she once again peered in to the face of Loraes.
The small boy was panting hard, and it took a while for him to catch his breath so that he could speak. "My lady… Brom urges you to… to come with the utmost hast. It is important… and cannot wait…"
The state in which Loraes was giving her his message was what surprised Arya the most. He appeared rushed and though he tried to, it was hard for him to say what he had to say calmly. Something wasn't right, and this… scared Arya.
"Go, Loraes, go!" she whispered to the boy. At this, Loraes turned and began running, with Arya in swift pursuit. She did not even know what was wrong—she just knew that this situation she was to face was dire, and that Brom had called upon her for some reason unknown to her.
Suddenly, Loraes tripped on his feet, and took a hard fall on to the ground. Arya skidded to an easy stop and knelt down. "Loraes?" she asked in a voice that sounded more serene than she truly felt. "Are you all right?"
The boy gave a groan and pushed himself off the ground. His face was dirty, and he had succeeded in getting a cut on his face from a sharp rock. It was not deep, but it was, however, rather long. Before Arya could get the chance to try to help heal the boy, however, he had already set off running again.
Arya truly had to admire the boy's courage—but she also had to frown upon his eagerness to continue on without tending to wounds. Though his cut was not serious, there was always the possibility of infection, which would then leave the boy with nothing but a nice scar—if it healed itself eventually.
Then again, a scar would be a nice mark to impress any females with.
Arya! Get a grip on yourself, she thought to herself sternly as she followed Loraes, her raven black hair billowing out and trailing behind her.
Abruptly, Loraes stopped, and Arya just missed him when she, too, halted. They had come upon a gruesome scene, and fear installed itself within Arya as she beheld what was laid out in front of her. It was a matter of seconds before she reacted.
A cry of anguish issued from the elf princess.