Diamond Cut Diamond

Chapter One: Detachment

The War was over.

In Arya's mind, it was always capitalized, not simply a conflict of forces, but something she had given her entire life to.

And now it was over.

Besides the obvious relief, Arya felt a sense of numbness. A sense of being detached, floating on the edges of reality.

"I have given my life to the effort. Even before the war, I worked for the resistance for so many years. It is over, and it leaves me with nowhere to go," she thought, as she strode through the streets of Uru'baen.

And that was really that was the root of it. The life Arya had to go back to was one that seemed eons away. Home, Ellesmera, was her logical choice. She could return, and perhaps even rule if, in a century or two, her mother died or grew weary of her station.

"Not likely," mused Arya, wryly.

What it came down to, was that Arya had no purpose. There was no where she was truly needed (wanted.) And as she trudged through the city streets, in search of one of Galbatorix's magicians that had slipped away before his trial, she ordered herself to put her mind to the future. This was something she had only allowed small doses of in the past, looking too far ahead could cause one to lose hope. And that was dangerous.

Arya cast out her mind again, attempting to find the magic-user. He couldn't escape for too long…

Instead, Arya touched a mind that was familiar, if only because she had been engaged in combat with it.

"What's he doing out here? Has Morzansson got a deathwish?" she mused. "I wouldn't blame him. And it would certainly make life easier for those of us who have to deal with him," she answered herself.

Arya, against her better judgment, followed her tendril of thought, and reached an alley way where a man in a cloak was walking fast enough that you didn't get a good look at him, and slow enough that it didn't looked as if he was running away.

Arya touched his mind and was predictably met with barriers that put Uru'baen's defense system to shame.

"Calm yourself," she said, "I merely wish to ask you what you are doing."

A wisp of thought made its way through Murtagh's mental fortress.

"And what business is it of yours, elf?"

"It is my business because I am one of those who looks after the safety of this city," she replied.

"And I am a threat? I was cleared, elf, of every charge. I am free, so long as I cause no trouble. I am no more a danger than you."

"There is no need to become defensive." Arya was slightly annoyed now.

"Of course not! No, I should simply accept the fact that you have decided I am a menace."

"You cannot deny you are dangerous."

"As are you, elf."

"Why are you here?"

Profound annoyance emanated from Murtagh's mind. He paused a moment before replying.

"I'm looking for someone."

Arya could live with that. Practically everyone was looking for someone they hoped had made it through.

"That's good. I'll be on my way," she responded.

"Good. Now that you ensured the safety of the city from the Devil's Spawn," The thoughts were tinged with bitterness.

Arya broke the mental contact and walked straight on without turning her head to look at the cloaked figure who had paused by the wall to converse with her. She could feel his glare as she passed by.

"Why on earth did I do that?" she asked. "It was idiotic. There was no conceivable reason. Why? Why did I challenge him?"

The answer came, and Arya was slightly unsettled by it.

She had been curious. Here was someone completely mysterious to her, but was also, by some strange twist of fate, in much the same situation as herself. The detachment. He had nothing to go back to. And Arya had been curious as to his plans. Perhaps simply to get an idea of to follow. Something to go by, at least.

The elf shook herself. "And look how that worked out. It's better to give people their privacy. You know that."

She cast her mind out again, and resumed her search for the magician.

A few hours later, Arya sat in one of the castle's gardens. There were surprisingly large amount of them. The king's castle was perplexingly pleasant, decorated in taste that was, if not to Arya's elven standards, highly decent. The gardens were well-maintained, and the secluded courtyard Arya now inhabited had several lavender plants that filled the air with a calming aroma and an artificial waterfall that that babbled busily.

The entire Varden was lodging in the castle. Eragon had found it highly disconcerting, and Arya remembered his look of consternation. It was only natural for Eragon to have qualms about living in the castle from which his greatest foe had ruled. Arya didn't like it, but she was less disturbed by it.

"Of course Eragon minds more than you. He's the one who actually has morals, "said the ever-present, accusatory voice in her mind. "You, the cold, hard elf who can't even love, wouldn't care. Of course not."

Arya took some deep breaths of the lavender and attempted to calm herself. She was hardened, there was no denying it. Her life had made her that way. But she had done much good, and as little evil as she could.

It took a while, but as usual, the elf calmed her mind. It was a practiced art, which, she reflected, ought to disturb her. Arya sighed. The man she had finally captured (it had been only a moderate challenge) had been devastated. He had looked at her as if she was Death, and Arya had not even paused before sending him into a merciful sleep.

"I am not his executioner," she reflected. "We will give him a fair trial, and make our decision from there. That's all we can do."

Arya shook herself. She was being ridiculously emotional. "It's lack of things to concentrate on," she decided. "I had better find a direction to take my life in, and soon."

I am actually writing a serious, multi-chaptered story. Stop the presses.

Title may be hard to understand…let me know about that angle.

Arya/Murtagh is one of those things that manages to both have potential and be totally improbable. It's a neglected ship so I thought I'd try my hand. I fail at writing romance. Hopefully E2189 will help me… I can haz feedback plz?