A/N; Huzzah, huzzah! I'm crossing the 50k mark for NaNoWriMo today.

8D -happydance-

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The days continued to pass, some unbearably slow, some in a hurried and flurry of frenzy. Through it all, Arya underwent an assortment of tests, some obvious, while others were subtler. Some, she knew for sure were tests, but others she was not quite sure about.

There were Deynor's questions and Brom's questions that she often faced at the end of the day. Deynor's inquiries were solely based on whether she had listened or not, while Brom's were more… deep. Probing. They caused her to think, and Arya often found herself frustrated as she tried to deliver a full answer.

Faolin healed at a rapid pace, and was soon able to join Arya in her studies of the political affairs the Varden was involved in. He proved himself worthy of the knowledge, as he could always answer Deynor's questions. It was Brom's questions, however, that proved a challenge for him—more so than Arya. Still, he took being bested by Arya in Brom's inquiries graciously—just as long as he could beat her in answering Deynor.

This often caused a small amount of competition between the two elves—but only competition of the good-natured type. Glenwing would occasionally join them, but only briefly, as he was always around the Varden, everywhere at once. It seemed that though he was an elf, Glenwing had managed to charm the inhabitants of the Varden—human and dwarf alike—and that he had gained a respectable amount of liking.

Arya had to admit: she was rather envious of Glenwing. Whenever he went along with their little learning group, people would always acknowledge Deynor with a bow of their head or something of the like—and then they would flash Glenwing a smile or something similar.

It was through these excursions that Arya recognized the signs of what people truly thought of Brom. Though he was the founder of the Varden, Brom was not very well liked—most likely due to his oddness. He didn't fit, which Arya felt was possibly one of the reasons why he had given the position of leader to Deynor—which was also the most probable reason why Brom did not seem envious of Deynor holding the position of leader. Secretly, Arya felt as if Brom actually had more power than Deynor—but in a more understated way.

When Arya attempted to enter Brom's mind—yes, without permission—she found that there were extremely strong barriers thrown up against not only her—but for anyone who attempted to come in. When she had withdrawn, Brom turned to her with a peculiar smile on his face. "You will find that I have had years of training to perfect that," he had said, and then turned away.

At the present moment, Arya was perched at the end of Faolin's bed. In her right hand, she loosely held a flower. The bloom was of a delicate balance, and Arya was careful to hold it exactly right so that it did not crumple over. Deep, velvety petals colored a soft gray slowly shifted in to a variety of greens and blues as it neared the edges. The center of the bloom was a pale golden color, a color that reminded Arya somewhat of sunshine—she herself had to smile at that inference.

Her eyes fixed at the door, she simply resigned herself to waiting for the elf to return to his quarters. Swinging her legs in a casual manner, Arya drummed her fingers lightly on the wooden bed frame—not in impatience, but for simple habit.

She was dressed in a white dress, which was accompanied by rich, crimson floral patterns snaking up the side. Though she was not a fan of dresses and whatnot, Arya did have to admit—there was a part of her that told her she didn't really mind it… too much. Even with that consent from that odd minded part of her, Arya still wore a pair of leggings the same color as the flowery pattern on her dress.

A smile alighted across her face as the doorknob turned. The elf entered the room, and Arya leapt off the bed. She took a few delicate steps in his direction, and she felt Faolin's eyes follow her as she then continued to twirl lightly. Suddenly, she whipped around behind him and pressed her lips lightly to his neck. She felt the chuckle rumble through his throat and in to the air.

Though quiet and thoughtful—and, of course, more solemn—around everyone else, Arya found it easier to act normal when it was just her and Faolin. It was as if the two of them were reliving the old times back when they were young and free and careless, and… well, the list went on and on.

Faolin turned and wrapped his arms around her waist, and Arya just barely managed to squeeze her right arm out in order to preserve the flower. Stepping away from his grasp for just a moment, she turned lightly and held out the flower for Faolin. "Flower, Faolin?" she asked, and then gave a slight trill of laugh resembling that of a delicate chiming of bells.

Arya's delight, however, was marred considerably by the look of apprehension that suddenly crossed Faolin's face as he looked at the flower. Furrowing her brow lightly, she withdrew from holding the flower out. "What's wrong?" she asked, a genuinely puzzled look on her face.

Faolin's gaze flickered to almost every possible area in the room before finally meeting her gaze again. "Is there any meaning behind that flower, Arya?" he asked, gray eyes meeting green eyes full on.

Arya blinked, taken aback at the question. "Of course. I… I made it for you." She was astonished that he would be asking her something like this when he should know the full answer to his inquiry already.

Faolin looked sad as she said this, and looked away from her. "Then, Arya Drottningu… I cannot accept it."

"Why?" Arya's voice was nothing but a whisper now as her expression darkened to even deeper confusion.

Faolin sighed, and sat on the bed, grabbing Arya's hand and leading her to sit next to him. She tilted her head in attempts to catch his gaze, though he kept on averting his eyes—and he was not quite subtle about it, either.

"Arya… when you told me to leave and return to Du Weldenvarden, it was as if you were rejecting my love as well," Faolin began slowly, pausing in between words as if pausing to think what he should say every few words. Arya opened her mouth to protest, but Faolin saw this and placed a gentle finger on her lips. "And, when I left, the only thing I could think about was… you. I kept on repeating your words over and over again through my head, and there was nothing else. I couldn't think, I couldn't sleep—I couldn't do anything right. It was this that also partially helped in aiding the near defeat of Silas and I against the Ra'zac."

So Silas's death really was mostly my fault, Arya thought to herself glumly, and she bit her lip.

"And I do not believe that I can go ahead and accept your words and the like again, Arya. I cannot, unless I know for sure you will not go and turn your back on me once more."

Arya looked at Faolin, and for once, she saw how sad and how heartfelt his words truly were. "Faolin, I…" she began, and then trailed off. "I… don't know how I can do that." Suddenly, the words came to Arya, and they began pouring out—and she could not stop the flow.

Taking a deep breath, she began. "I can pledge my love to you—I can pledge it in more ways than one. I can offer you words; I can offer you gestures and all of it… But there is no true way I can make you understand… there is no way you can fully understand what I feel—unless you can get inside my mind."

Without warning, Arya closed her eyes and pressed in to Faolin's mind. She was surprised at the nonexistent reluctance in which he received her presence. No words were spoken between them, and Arya simply let down the barriers in her mind.

At this, emotions were let loose, and though Arya was afraid at first in doing so, she eventually eased up. Faolin, too, tensed at first, but then gradually relaxed, though he still appeared rather uneasy. He did not let his feelings go at first, simply going through and examining every single aspect of Arya's full emotions. He was the one who had lived with her through her whole entire life, and even he found and saw some surprising prospects in her mind that he could never have dreamed about.

Suddenly, Faolin let loose, and Arya was instantaneously filled with a large amount of emotions. The larger of the so consisted of passion, and Arya was not sure she could focus on anything else. When she delved deeper in to these thoughts of passion—directed at her, not very surprisingly—she felt amounts of tenderness and concern and a feeling as if he cared for her deeply. His thoughts were so clean, so lovely, so pure… Arya felt as if she were surveying the mind of an angel.

"I love you, Faolin," she murmured, as she was the first one to snap out of the trance-like situation. She swept her jade gaze over him momentarily before kissing his forehead lightly. With that, she stepped out of the room, shutting the door silently behind her.

He cared for her, he loved her, and the chances that he loved anyone but her in that way… Arya could not imagine it like that. She felt dizzy as she walked down the hall in the direction of her room, her hands placed directly over her heart. It was cliché, yes, but to know that he was here for her in such a way…

It was miraculous.