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.

Grief

"Nasuada, Daughter of Ajihad, the Council of Elders wishes to formally extend its deepest condolences for the loss you, more than anyone else, have suffered…"

She was barely listening.

"You have our personal sympathies as well. We all know what it is like to have a family member killed by the Empire."

There was a pause. She realized that she had to respond.

"Thank you."

She lowered her eyes, trying to keep the tears in. Everything ached—her head, her eyes, her throat…her heart…

"Although this is your time of mourning, a quandary exists that you must resolve. This council cannot lead the Varden. And someone must replace your father after the funeral. We ask that you receive the position. As his heir, it is rightfully yours—the Varden expect it of you."

How undemocratic, a soft voice murmured in her head—her own, usually so biting and internally rude. Father…Father, you would be ashamed of them… Her throat burned.

"I never thought I would be called upon to take my father's place so young," Nasuada said, struggling to keep the quaver out of her voice. "Yet… if you insist it is my duty… I will embrace the office."

She ignored the satisfied words spilling from the Council's lips, barely managing to move enough to twitch her lips in what she hoped were smiles. She felt as if she were surrounded by a grey haze…so tired…

Nasuada lifted her eyes in time to see Falberd fidgeting under Arya's cold stare. Any other time she would have smiled to see the elf expertly toying with him, carefully waiting before opening her mouth just long enough to create an uncomfortable silence.

But not now.

"I cannot speak for my queen, but I find nothing objectionable to it. Nasuada has my blessing."

She managed to choke out a word of thanks, more than what any of the Council members had received. Arya was not quite a friend—one is rarely ever friends with elves—but there was something about her unchanging features (when Nasuada was a baby, Arya had looked exactly the same) that appealed to her, a pillar of steady, fixed support.

Unlike humans, elves could live forever.

"Is there anything else that must be discussed?" Nasuada asked, throat still aching. "For I am weary." So tired…

There was a vague noise from Jörmundur and she tuned in enough to hear, "…you won't be troubled until the funeral."

Her mouth seemed to move on its own, asking for privacy, repeating sounds that felt meaningless to her numb ears.

Wait, Nasuada thought as the room's occupants moved to leave. I forgot something.

It took her a few moments to remember it, but when she did, she opened her mouth and asked, "Eragon, will you please stay?"

He obeyed without a word, for which Nasuada felt grateful. Her throat hurt too much to argue.

"So we meet again, Rider," she said tonelessly, remembering the last time they'd met—she distinctly recalled she'd wanted never to see him again. She had felt such fury, too—how strange, to now be floating in an insulating cloud of grief. That had been before the battle, back when Father was still here.

She swallowed to ease her aching throat and said, "You haven't greeted me. Have I offended you?"

It seems I've offended some gods, whoever they are, Nasuada thought sadly. Father was a good man…Why did he have to go? Was it to punish me?

She didn't hear him until he said, "There, now we may speak without being overheard by man, dwarf, or elf."

Nasuada exhaled, lowering her tense shoulders. "Thank you, Eragon. You don't know what a gift that is." I might as well soften him up, she thought. It's what Father…what Father would have done.

A huge, scaly head loomed over her, but the grey haze stifled her fear. Instead she looked up, into that giant, perfect blue eye.

She did not remember how long she sat staring into that single sapphire eye. Her only sense was of looking at the bands of color striating the dragon's iris—light blue, dark blue, deep-ocean blue—and at the perfectly black slit in the center. She floated in her cloud until she was tugged back to earth by Eragon's words.

He mouthed something meaningless, something she'd heard repeated over and over again since she got the news. But this time, it came from the dragon.

"I grieve for you and your loss."

Nasuada looked up at the dragon, seeing something not quite human but so very close in those eyes.

"Your strength must become the Varden's when you assume Ajihad's mantle. They will need a sure guide."

Even if the words were being spoken through a bratty little kid that she just didn't have energy to hate at the moment, she felt a chill run over her, dispelling the haze.

The Varden needs me.

Eragon continued, ignorant of her new awareness. "Before Ajihad died, he charged me, he commanded me, to keep the Varden from falling into chaos. Those were his last words…"

Almost immediately, a bit of her old fire returned. Why did it have to be you, Eragon, who heard those precious, precious words? Why, Father? I wanted to hear you tell me loved me. That you never wanted to leave me. Couldn't you have left the world with words of love for me?

Nasuada felt coldness spread over her. I know the answer already, Father. Duty…duty is everything. You had to do it, didn't you? You had to make sure that the strong would keep us safe. Keep the people's hope safe.

"…I'm not sure what Ajihad meant, nor exactly what he wanted, but I am certain of this: I will always defend the Varden with my powers. I wanted you to understand that, and that I've no desire to usurp the Varden's leadership."

Nasuada was unable to restrain a giggle that tore through her aching throat. You had it all planned out, didn't you, Father? He's not quite sure what's going on, but he'll protect the Varden to the last! Even in death, you're still pulling his strings. Brilliant, Father… I am honored to be your daughter.

She mumbled something about the Council's plotting to disguise her laugh. To her surprise, Eragon was completely dumbfounded.

"You have no intention of letting them rule you?"

I am the leader of a rebellion now, Eragon, her inner voice said disapprovingly, wagging an imaginary finger at Eragon. Do you think I would be all that worried about doing what others tell me to?

"No," she said aloud. "Continue to keep Ajihad's instruction secret. It would be unwise to bandy it about, as people might take it to mean that he wanted you to succeed him, and that would undermine my authority and destabilize the Varden."

Her voice had crept into one of easy command, the one Ajihad had taught her—

"Act like you know what you're doing, and nearly everyone will believe you."

—so long ago. It would serve her well now.

"He said what he thought he had to" –instead of saying, Tell my daughter I love her— "in order to protect the Varden. I would have done the same. My father…"

She felt the words stick in her aching throat. With difficulty she swallowed and continued.

"My father's work will not go unfinished, even if it takes me to the grave. That is what I want you, as a Rider, to understand. All of Ajihad's plans, all his strategies and goals, they are mine now. I will not fail him by being weak."

I will honor him by being strong.

"The Empire will be brought down, Galbatorix will be dethroned, and the rightful government will be raised."

The Varden will be safe.

It will be so because I wish it.

It will be so because you wished it, Father.

A tear dripped out of one eye and ran down a cheek.

Eragon stared, and in his wide eyes Nasuada could see a piece of the boy he was fade away. She saw the man he would become.

"And what of me, Nasuada? What shall I do in the Varden?"

This time, when he spoke, she could hear a glimmer of maturity in his voice. Nasuada looked him in the eyes.

"You can do whatever you want," she said, enjoying the surprise Eragon showed—he's still too easy to read, perhaps I ought to fix that—at her blunt wording. "The council members are fools if they think to control you."

Now to inflate his ego even more.

"You are a hero to the Varden and the dwarves, and even the elves will hail your victory over Durza when they hear of it. If you go against the council or me" —you had better not— "we will be forced to yield, for the people will support you wholeheartedly. Right now, you are the most powerful person in the Varden."

And that's the truth.

But you don't have the intelligence to use your power—you're just a boy playing with a sword, completely helpless in politics. You will be the Varden's tool. I will guide you in Father's place.

Eragon looked pleased with himself, but his arrogance barely bothered her anymore.

"However, if you accept my leadership, I will continue down the path laid down by Ajihad: you will go with Arya to the elves, be instructed there, then return to the Varden."

He was speaking to Saphira now, the words connecting their souls. She looked at him, curiously watching the invisible interplay between Rider and dragon. Nasuada couldn't hear anything, but Eragon's face was easy to read: confusion, acceptance, surprise.

The he drew his sword.

Nasuada's heart jumped into her throat. One hand closed around her dagger. No. The door was locked, the room magically silenced. No one would hear her scream.

Eragon suddenly stopped and bent to one knee. Before she could calm down, he had Zar'roc out in front of him, blade flat on his palms.

What…?

"Nasuada, Saphira and I have been here for only a short while. But in that time we came to respect Ajihad, and now, in turn, you. You fought under Farthen Dûr when others fled, including the two women of the council, and have treated us openly instead of with deception. Therefore, I offer you my blade… and my fealty as a Rider."

Shock thudded through her, silencing the voice inside her that wanted to laugh. (What did you expect the other women to do? Should Sabrae suffocate the Urgals with her perfume? Should Elessari smother them in her chest? You men don't understand—their power is not in swords or bows, but in words

With an admirably steady hand, Nasuada lifted Zar'roc (Morzan's sword, beware the betrayer) and looked at the etched symbol for a long time.

A thought suddenly struck her.

Had Galbatorix ever used this sword to swear Morzan to him?

A shudder of disgust almost made her drop it, but she retained her grip.

Not Morzan's sword. Eragon's.

Gently, she touched the tip to Eragon's bowed head, unconsciously noticing that he was kneeling on the wrong leg.

"I do accept your fealty with honor, Rider, as you accept all the responsibilities accompanying the station. Rise as my vassal and take your sword."

A tingle ran through her as Eragon stood and she handed Zar'roc back to him. My first vassal. How…disappointing. No fanfare at all.

And yet…

"Now I can tell you openly as my master," Eragon said, "the council made me agree to swear to the Varden once you were appointed. This was the only way Saphira and I could circumvent them."

Nasuada felt a burst of laughter escape her. When did he learn how to say "circumvent"? It sounds so wrong coming from his mouth. And it seems he has learned a trick or two—not enough, perhaps, but at least he is not under the Council's control.

"Ah, I see you have already learned how to play our game," she said to him, smiling. "Very well, as my newest and only vassal, will you agree to give your fealty to me again—in public, when the council expects your vow?"

He said exactly what she wanted to hear: "Of course."

"Good, that will take care of the council," she said matter-of-factly. "Now, until then, leave me. I have much planning to do, and I must prepare for the funeral…"

The funeral…

She continued after the briefest of pauses. "…Remember, Eragon, the bond we have just created is equally binding; I am as responsible for your actions as you are required to serve me. Do not dishonor me."

"Nor you I."

There was a pause.

Suddenly, her inner voice shrieked with fury. How dare he presume to say such things to his master, his superior?! I, dishonor him? Our reputation has probably suffered enough because of his lowly birth—how dare he, how dare he

She ignored the ranting voice. Nasuada was perfectly willing to put up with Eragon's complete lack of tact if it meant keeping the Varden safe, at the cost of not being able to waste time hating him anymore. She could not be childish. The hope of a world rested on her shoulders.

If only it were not so heavy…

She looked into his eyes and remembered something. Nasuada said softly, "You have my condolences, Eragon. I realize that others beside myself have cause for sorrow; while I have lost my father, you have also lost a friend."

A ridiculously underappreciated one, but a friend nonetheless.

"I liked Murtagh a great deal" —more than you did—"and it saddens me that he is gone…" Nasuada trailed off. "Goodbye, Eragon."

He nodded and left, closely followed by his dragon. Saphira looked over her shoulder at Nasuada and lowered her head gracefully in a slight bow. Then they were gone.

Nasuada collapsed into a vacant chair, listening to their footsteps echo in the halls. A smile crept onto her face.

With your power, you will keep the Varden safe, Eragon. Use it well.

Father wished it.

AN: Why, you ask? I'd only just finished First Impressions a couple days ago…

Because of Nasuada. She has no dragon. She has no magic sword, bow, or powers. She has no superhuman strength—and yet, her power is greater than Eragon's.

Nasuada is a leader. And despite her loss and huge responsibilities, she upholds everything she's expected to, leads the Varden to victory, and at the same time rules justly.

Ajihad's death and the handing over of the Varden's reins of power to Nasuada represent a turning point in Nasuada's life. She is more mature than she was before. She understands now. That's why I chose this section of Eldest to reinterpret.

I hope I portrayed her well. It's rather difficult—she's in grieving for her dead father, but she also has to be strong and take care of the Varden. Throughout she also shows a political cunning in achieving her and her father's goals. It was not shown in Eldest because it was from Eragon's point-of-view, so that slyness is a bit of my own invention. But if you think about it, it did work out nicely—Ajihad used his dying words to make sure the Varden would survive, and that later became Eragon swearing fealty to Ajihad's daughter. Useful to have an overpowered magical dragon-riding warrior watching your back, isn't it?

And just like in the other one-shot, all dialogue is taken directly from the book. Some is omitted (with ellipses) because it felt wrong to have Eragon spew out some nonsense like "Current circumstances are unkind to hasty statements." This is a farm boy we're talking about; he should have an appropriate vocabulary. And it sounds so weird. I mean, no one talks like that, even medieval peasants. It sounds like a fortune cookie.

The rest of the omitted dialogue is left out (with ellipses) because I felt that it would flow much better without too many words. Nasuada is in shock for most of this. I wouldn't expect her to be listening to all of it.

And again, I'm sorry this isn't the next chapter of The Rise of Surda. This just feels like something I have to write.

- dream