A/N; I loveza music. 8D
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The eyes of those already located in the room traveled up to Arya. No one made a motion, but they were all watching her intensely, waiting for her reaction. She supplied them with yet another cry of anguish, which was much unlike her normal demeanor. Just as she was about to rush forward, someone stepped up to restrain her.
"Arya," Brom murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder. His eyes flickered up behind her, and when Arya looked over her shoulder, she saw that Chloe was standing there, closely flanked by Sophia and Mia.
"What are they doing here?" she hissed to Brom, her voice inaudible to anyone else. As she watched the three girls behind her, she saw Sophia moving to join Deynor on the opposite side of the room.
"They followed you, no doubt," Brom answered calmly. It was this calm and peaceful tone that suddenly installed a feeling of anger within Arya. How could he remain so tranquil and at ease?
"And what is he doing here?" Arya asked, gesturing downward to where the figure of someone lay, not dead, but unconscious.
Without waiting for an answer, Arya bypassed Brom's restraining hand and knelt down at the makeshift cot, her lips pressing down in to a firm line as she tried her hardest to banish any part of her that was about to breakdown.
Though he was unconscious, this alone frightened Arya greatly, as did the harsh wounds marking his body. It was a sight she had never seen before, and it was a sight she did not want to repeat. It was the scene of her friend, her caretaker, and her lover lying in front of her. Wounded.
Faolin.
"How did this happen?" Arya asked, her voice tense. She looked up and stared directly at Brom. When she failed to procure an answer from him other than a silent gaze, she stood up and looked to each and every other face in the room, ending on Deynor's. "How did this happen?" she repeated.
Calm yourself, Arya. He is not dead, a voice inside her said. Though Arya knew that this was right and she should listen, she was still stubborn.
Brom suddenly voiced Arya's thoughts aloud. "He has not died yet, Arya."
"He certainly looks the part, doesn't he?" Arya snapped.
Silence.
"Is this what awaits all those who try to serve the Varden?" Arya pressed, throwing her angry green eyes around the room, making sure that none escaped how she truly felt about this. "Is this what I have to look forward to in my attempts to do good for the elves and the Varden?"
Silence.
No one moved. With this, Arya turned her back to them all, pretending as if they were not there. Eyes viewing the more visible of Faolin's wounds, she touched each one lightly with the palm of her hand. At each one, she murmured, "Waíse heill." Each one healed rather well, though there were many of them. By the time Arya had completed the task of healing Faolin's wounds—and she did not even know if she had finished with all of them, as their still might be some more she could not see—she felt the drain on her strength.
She knew that she was being overdramatic. She also knew that nobody in the room was of fault for Faolin's injuries, and that she should not have acted so rash in her words.
But she… did not care. Faolin was hurt, and that was the sole thing that mattered to her right now.
Looking down at his face, the urge to cradle his head in her arms overwhelmed her, and she had to concede to it. His eyelids were pulled over his silvery eyes, and his lips were parted slightly. Faolin's face seemed to renew a feeling of peace within her, and Arya was able to look back up at those crowding the room without feeling the need to antagonize them.
"How did this happen?" she asked in a composed manner. Absent-mindedly, her fingers reached down and slid themselves through the fingers of Faolin's right hand.
Finally, Deynor spoke. "They were ambushed by a small group of Ra'zac—four, perhaps," he said, and at once, everyone in the room stiffened at the mention of the creatures—no, monsters. "Silas, Faolin's companion, took down one of them with his sword, but the others were not quite as easily struck down. In ordinary circumstances, I have no doubt that Silas and Faolin could have bested the group of Ra'zac with no problem—but the monsters had the slip of an advantage due to the fact that it was late at night, and there was not much light visible.
"The two of them managed to, indeed, best the Ra'zac, but they were left at that point, injured and with no supplies—and, as they were stranded in the middle of the Beor Mountains at that point, they turned back. Silas managed to tell me all of this before…"
Deynor faltered here, making Arya look at him curiously.
"…Before he passed on."
These words struck Arya like a harsh blow. She had never met the man Silas, yet she felt as if it were fault he was dead—and perhaps it was. Arya could not dwell on this matter for much longer currently, as a cry rang out shrilly from Mia, who backed up against the wall, wringing her hands. Her face was contorted in a manner that consisted of nothing but pure agony, which startled Arya.
Arya threw questioning eyes in Deynor's direction.
"Her lover," he answered, and all of a sudden, the man looked much older than he truly was. A sense of tiredness occupied the whole of the man's body, and he heaved a large sigh as the sound of muffled sobs coming from Mia spread throughout the room. Arya felt her own eyes stinging slightly with tears, but blinked them away quickly. She could not afford to have herself crying in this situation.
What must Mia be thinking? Was she wondering why her lover died, while Arya's was spared? If that was the case, then Arya… did not know what to do.
Standing up, the elf princess made her way to where Mia was. Keeping her distance, but coming closer than the others in the room were, Arya halted in front of the weeping girl. She was aware of eyes burning in to her figure, but for her own sake—and Mia's as well—she ignored them.
"Mia," Arya murmured softly, looking intently at the girl's bowed head. Mia would have to look up at her sometime, wouldn't she? "You loved him very much, didn't you?" Arya asked, though it was pointless asking the question—the answer itself was evident from the way Mia was all of a sudden mourning so deeply.
It took a while for Arya to get a response, but Arya's patience was soon rewarded with a soft utterance from Mia. "Yes," the girl whispered, her voice thin and tired. The misery in the girl's voice cut daggers in to Arya's heart, and she deeply wished she could do something about it.
Arya was never good at giving comfort to someone; it was probably another one of the hereditary traits she had received from her mother.
Thanks, Islanzadí, she thought to herself sardonically.
"I am sorry," Arya murmured, hesitantly reaching out to touch the girl's shoulder. When Mia failed to produce an answer in response, Arya attempted at empathy. "I, too, know what it is like to lose love," the elf added, her thoughts momentarily flashing back to Islanzadí.
Mia looked up, for which Arya was glad. What she did not intend to see, however, was the flash of rage that passed through the girl's eyes. Confused, Arya did not say anything, though she knew that she had somehow stumbled upon a tender subject that the girl was touchy about.
"How can you know? Your lover is laying right there, still alive and still breathing!" Mia snapped. Her voice was still frail, yet it possessed a large amount of anger.
Arya wanted to say something—she truly did. The mixture of surprise of having such an outburst from Mia as well as not knowing how to explain her relationship with her mother… it slowed down her thinking and made it difficult for her to figure out what she could say to console the girl.
"I… I am sorry," was all the elf could choke out.
"Yes indeed? Well, as you can see, my lady, saying sorry is not bringing Silas back, nor does it help ease the pain of knowing he died defending an… an elf!" By now, Mia was trembling, as her heightened emotional status turned to one of pure anger directed solely at Arya.
Arya was at complete loss of what she could do. She reached out a hand once more to restrain Mia's rage with her arm. It did no good, however, as the girl tore away from Arya's touch.
Arya stepped back, and bit her lip. She threw a glance around her before backing out of the room. She knew that she should stay and face her frustrations and fears, but she couldn't help it. Backing up out of the door, she turned and fled down the hall.
Tears welled in Arya's eyes, and she bit her lip once more as she ran. She ran just for the sake of running, as she had no idea where she was headed. Suddenly, she came to a halt after a while. Common sense regained its grip on her, and she looked around, eyes searching for a sign of something familiar
It was at this point when Arya had to admit something. Though she did not like it, she had to say that she was rather… lost.
She sunk down to the ground, leaning her head against the wall. Closing her eyes, Arya inhaled and exhaled deeply, running her fingers through her hair. She needed time to clear her head, but it was as if she could not settle her thoughts.
Everything was overwhelming her. She could not stand any of it, nor could she understand any of it. It was just her second day in the Varden—her second day. Already, she had succeeded in uprooting part of the Varden—and her own sanity, for that matter.
Arya remained this way for a while, sitting still and not moving.
Suddenly, a light trill of musical melody fluttered to Arya's ears. Surprised, she opened her eyes. She heard him before he saw him, as the melodies intensified and footsteps rounded the corner.
"Arya!" the elf called out cheerily. Arya looked up, and met Glenwing's eyes. A smile alighted upon her face, which was surprising, as smiling was the last thing she felt like doing.
"Glenwing," Arya responded tiredly. She was about to stand up when Glenwing slid down to sit beside her. He turned his head to look at her, and put his arm around her—not in an intimate way, but a way that suggested at friendship and comfort.
"I heard about Faolin," Glenwing stated in a simple tone, no actual deep meaning behind his words. "But at least he's still alive, right?" he added in an optimistic voice when Arya did not respond.
Somehow, the way Glenwing said it, made it seem less serious—at least to the point where Arya could relax from her seemingly large amount of tension. Once more, Arya did not speak. This time, Glenwing did not press with any further words. Instead, he let out another intricate little melody. Arya picked up on the melody, and soon joined in with a harmony.
It was at this moment when Arya felt at peace. Her lids lowered half over her eyes, and she leaned her head lightly on Glenwing's shoulder. It was in a friendly way, as it always was with Glenwing—something that Arya knew that, in this world, was hard to find.