Disclaimer: The Inheritance Trilogy and all the characters and settings therein are the creative and legal property of Christopher Paolini. This story is being written without permission and without intent of profit. The plot is, to the best of my knowledge, my own. Original characters and places not seen in the Inheritance Trilogy belong to me.

Arrogance

For the first time in an age, Nasuada was sick with something not unlike fear.

Not that she would have ever admitted it, of course.

"Calm down," she whispered under her breath. She hopped off the dumbwaiter and latched it into place.

From the bottom of Tronjheim, the Isidar Mithrim seemed much smaller, but now, as she walked silently over the gleaming surface, Nasuada felt a chill. How on earth had the dwarves ever found a sapphire of such monstrous size? And if they had so many jewels, why couldn't they donate some of their vast wealth to the Varden? Father needed it more than the dwarves did.

A low rumbling interrupted her thoughts and she froze. An earthquake? Nasuada thought stupidly before turning around to find the source of the noise.

Her breath caught in her throat, but she managed to keep her surprise off her face. Idiot, she thought bitingly. You came to find a Dragon Rider. Of course there's going to be a dragon.

"Are… are you Saphira?" Nasuada asked carefully, keeping her eyes on the blue ones that stared into hers.

There was no reply (well, obviously; dragons can't speak, Nasuada thought) so she steeled herself and tried again.

"Please, I am looking for Rider Eragon. Do you know where he is?"

The dragon bared a fang at her and Nasuada gulped. One more try, she thought. Then I'll turn around and run. Hopefully that's a dragon's version of a smile.

Nasuada curtsied elegantly, dipping her head and sliding her dress over the floor in a carefully-rehearsed motion (it never hurts to be polite, she reasoned). "Please, could you tell me where Rider Eragon is?"

The dragon seemed to smile at her.

"I am here."

Nasuada stifled her shriek of surprise and spun around, mentally berating herself: stupid, stupid, stupid; Father said there were assassins out to kill me and now I—

—and found herself facing a boy who was younger than her. A red sword (Morzan's sword, beware the betrayer) hung at her hip and there was something elvish in his human features.

She had no doubt in her mind who this was.

Immediately she dipped into a curtsy, knowing that, being of low birth, he wouldn't appreciate how carefully delicate, how reminiscent of the courts of the old Riders it was. "I am Nasuada," she said.

He grinned stupidly and said, "You obviously know who I am, but what do you want?"

How rude! she thought. If only it wasn't so important to get the Varden on his good side…

She smiled a bit too widely and said, "My father, Ajihad" —thinks you're a nitwit— "sent me here with a message. Would you like to hear it?"

When he answered in the affirmative, she tucked her hair behind her ear and recited the message, leaving out the part where Father had called Eragon impulsive and foolish. It wouldn't do to be impolite, even if he was.

"Did you climb all the way up here just to tell me that?"

"I used the pulley system that transports good to the upper levels," she said, realizing that he probably didn't know what a dumbwaiter was. "We could have sent the message with signals, but I decided to bring it myself and meet you in person."

At this she flushed, thanking the rosy glow of the Isidar Mithrim and the darkness of her skin for hiding it. Stupid me, she thought. He doesn't know any of our signals. I doubt he even knows how to read.

But he didn't seem to notice her slip. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked, pointing towards the cave with the dragon in it.

Where would I sit in a cave? she thought, unable to mask a giggle. "No, I am expected elsewhere. You should know, my father decreed that you may visit Murtagh, if you wish." She paused, thinking about the gloomy man in the cell. She bit her lip. Usually she agreed with Father, but Murtagh had done nothing wrong. But at least Murtagh had a friend who'd visit him, make the cell feel less empty.

"I met Murtagh earlier," Nasuada said, hoping to convince Eragon to go. "He's anxious to speak with you. He seems lonely; you should visit him. His cell's on the lowest floor, next to the statue of Morgothal." Realizing he probably didn't know who Morgothal was, she hastily added, "It's a figure of a man holding a dwarf in his arms. The statue's close to the north stairwell; if you go that way, you can hardly miss it."

"Thanks," Eragon said distractedly. Nasuada felt a flicker of annoyance when she saw that he was barely paying attention to her directions.

Then he looked at her, suddenly brimming with questions. "What about Arya? Is she better? Can I see her?" he asked eagerly. He added, almost in an attempt to hide his impatience, "Orik wasn't able to tell me much."

At first, she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Then Nasuada gritted her teeth and clenched her hands into fists, wishing she could go for her dagger and cut him open, Dragon Rider or not. Her thoughts whirled in rage. You ungrateful, brainless…argh! Why do you lust after someone literally seven times older than you? Can't you see that Murtagh is infinitely more precious to you than an elven princess who barely knows you? He's your friend, for goodness' sake!

She smiled to disguise (albeit badly) her disgust and said, "Arya is recovering swiftly, as all elves do. No one is allowed to see her except my father, Hrothgar, and the healers. They have spent much time with her, learning all that occurred during her imprisonment."

Nasuada glanced nervously at Saphira, hoping the dragon hadn't sensed her fury. To her relief, the dragon was busy licking her claws, paying no attention whatsoever.

"I must go now. Is there anything you would have me convey to Ajihad on your behalf?"

His answer was ridiculously predictable.

"No, except a desire to visit Arya. And give him my thanks for the hospitality he's shown us."

Nasuada fought off the urge to strangle him.

"I will take your words directly to him. Farewell, Rider Eragon. I hope" —I never see you again— "we shall soon meet again," she said in an overly-formal tone. Nasuada curtsied and left haughtily, still brimming over with anger.

How dare he walk into Tronjheim and act like he owns the place? Nasuada thought angrily, ignoring the dumbwaiter. She could take the stairs.

He's just a kid who led a horde of Kull to the Varden and caused the deaths of twelve—twelve—men. He didn't care at all, she thought vehemently. I did. I cared. I visited their families and bought them flowers. I let them cry on my shoulder. So why does everyone love him so much?

He was stupid and he was arrogant, but what she could stand the least about him was that everyone forgave him—for bringing the enemy army to their front door, for doing…something… to that poor baby, for getting Brom and twelve others killed.

I won't forget, Nasuada promised herself grimly. I hate him.

She would keep her promise through the harsh years to come. What she didn't count on was forgiving him.

Of course, this takes place in the first book—where Nasuada is still allowed to be a child, before she had the burden of the Varden thrust on her shoulders. Therefore, I wrote her as I thought she should be before losing her father and learning more about the world. She's immature, a little jealous, and all-in-all a little less wise than the way she appears in Eldest.

And yes, I know it's not the next chapter of The Rise of Surda. Kill me for procrastinating.