Arya stood stiffly with Orrin by Nasuada's throne as the party whirled around them. Colors, scents, and the sounds of the Varden's motley band seemed to set the air athrum with a single chord of the peoples' joy. Still clad in her armor and ever battle-ready, Arya clenched one hand into the other behind her back, leaning slightly against Nasuada's carved wooden seat. She closed her eyes slowly, consumed with thoughts as her senses numbed to the celebrations around her. Her hearing was muffled, her throat parched, her skin cold and the scents of the night bland against the background of her misery. Her eyes drifted open slightly as Orrin leaned down and shouted something into Nasuada's ear over the din before leaping off her raised dais and joining the throng. The thought of dancing, of being merry at this of all times...nausea swooped low in Arya's abdomen and she reposition her weakening stance. Nasuada, too, Arya noted, looked drawn, and the elf was sure she knew the reason why. To her surprise, the dark-skinned leader of the Varden beckoned to her, chocolate eyes full of concern beyond her own pain.
"Arya...we are friends. You have not looked well for days. Can you not confide in me what troubles you?"
At first, Arya was taken aback.
Have I slipped so much that those around me can see through my attempts to remain impassive?
But as she looked at Nasuada's concerned face, Arya knew she had only her own best interests at heart. To have a friend such as Nasuada when she herself felt so out of place, so vulnerable...at least in this regard, the stars smiled on her.
Arya crouched tiredly beside Nasuada's seat so as to better converse.
"If - perhaps if we could go..." she began.
"I know. Certainly," Nasuada replied. She stood quickly and with a glance over her shoulder towards the reveling Varden, led Arya behind one of the fabric panels of her pavilion.
"Now," Nasuada began, "I would know your mind. It is the death of Eragon's masters, isn't it? Eragon himself has seemed to ail."
Arya noted the way Nasuada's eyebrows raised when she mentioned Eragon and attempted to dismiss the insinuation she felt sure was there. "Yes," she began, "they were...they were trusted and dear friends of mine. I find it difficult to confront the notion that I can no longer rely upon their counsel." She felt the troublesome emotions that had plagued her for the past week rise again, threatening to overwhelm her. And what strong emotions they must be, she mused, if they can cause me to abandon all decorum the way they did.
"Oh, Arya," sighed Nasuada, "I admit to you that sometimes I feel hopeless. The older generation is falling away; I learned when my father died that the time has come when I must rely only upon myself, where before I could place so much trust in others..."
Arya thought she detected bitterness in the young woman's voice. Adopting a gentle tone, she said,
"Trust is not misplaced if it comes from the heart."
Nasuada laughed ironically. "Ah, but what if head and heart betray each other? I can hide naught from you Arya; indeed, you were my only solace in the days following Murtagh's disappearance. Every day since, I have hoped, I have cherished some dream that he might return. Now, I only wish that he really had been slain in the tunnels beneath Farthen Dur."
She looked away, and Arya could see her tightening jaw and the convulsions of her throat. In an even more strained voice, Nasuada admitted, "I entertained notions that I loved him, Arya." She chuckled humorlessly, bright eyes now turned toward the ceiling as they gleamed with tears. "The son of my father's greatest enemy...How foolish I still am, though I try to convince everyone around me otherwise."
Arya leaned tiredly back against the paneled walls of the pavilion and slowly slid down until she sat upon the lush carpeting of the floor. "Nasuada," she said, wearily, but not unkindly, "did I ever tell you of Faolin?"