* * *
'Little One. It is time to wake.'
Eragon grumbled something incomprehensible and rolled over, smacking his lips. Saphira nudged him with her scaly snout impatiently.
The dragon rider finally woke to a giant, wet, graphite tongue raking the front of his shirt and up his face, causing his hair to stick straight out.
"Alright, I'm up, I'm up,"
Eragon groaned out, shielding his face with the crook of his left arm. He warded off another slimy attack with halfhearted swipes of his right arm.
He spat out a curse as he suddenly became painfully aware of the state of his body. It had not been a good night's rest- he had been so exhausted that he couldn't fall asleep for several hours the night before. His aching frame certainly hadn't helped.
'Eragon, it is unbecoming of you to make your escort wait."
Saphira's voice sounded in his head.
Just send them away.
He instructed in his mind, only half awake.
I'll go on my own time- I need more rest.
He winced, massaging his shoulder.
Ugh, I'm still so bloody sore from training yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that... I'm sick of that damned witch and her hellish so-called "training." She makes me nostalgic for the days I had just started Brom's 'sparring sessions.'
'I might have shooed the girl away and defended your case, if this wasn't the day we are to meet with the leader of the Varden and your mentor, Lady Changing Star, in alliance talks that could change the future of the Varden, Farthen Dûr, and perhaps even Alagaësia itself, in a quickly shortening time.
Also, this girl doesn't seem all that frightened by me.'
Eragon shot up to a seated position, eyes flying to the mouth of the cave and the young woman that stood just in its entrance, hands laid politely on top of one another, as Saphira continued,
'Besides, I seem to remember that it was you who begged Lady Nephis to train you, before we even arrived in Farthen Dûr...'
Damnit!
Eragon swore at himself internally. He scrambled to his feet, grimacing at his screaming muscles, and swiftly bowed to the silhouette, quickly running a hand through his hair and forcing it back to its usual messy state before laying it across his heart. He kept his left arm tucked behind his back.
The young woman maintained her pristine, polite image despite the situation, which somehow made Eragon feel worse. If only he had waken up a few minutes earlier, he'd have been able to greet her on his own terms...
"I apologize for making you wait... You are my escort?"
He asked, driving the sleepiness from his voice. He maintained his bow as he waited for the woman to introduce herself in turn, raising his head slightly to sneak a glance through his messy curtain of brown hair. Her skin was a deep, gorgeous brown, and she had eyes the color of emeralds. She wore a stately dress of wine red, elegantly cut, with matching heels. It was the kind of attire that women wore to festivals back in Carvahall, only much, much fancier.
The woman, who looked to be about the same age as Murtaugh, curtsied and inclined her head to Eragon and Saphira, smiling politely.
"I am Nasuada. We have met a scant few times before, but they were all very brief. This is, however, our first time conversing. It is my pleasure to formally meet you, Rider Eragon, Dragon Saphira."
'I like her.'
Saphira remarked. She gave Eragon a mental nudge, helping him place the familiar appearance. Suddenly, he felt incredibly stupid. He hadn't met anyone else in Farthen Dûr with such a skin tone besides Ajihad himself!
The Leader of the Varden sent his only daughter to escort us!
He wanted to smack himself on the forehead. He should have skipped training yesterday and spent the time freshening up, maybe practice his politicking instead, as much as he hated doing so.
'Or, Little One, you could learn to wake up on your own. That would solve a number of your reoccurring problems with schedules...'
Ignoring Sapphira's light-hearted jibe, Eragon quickly switched to a diplomatic demeanor, calling back on the mentoring his Master had drilled into his brain during endurance training.
"The pleasure is mine, Miss Nasuada. I am honored by you, and in turn, Ajihad, by your presence. Thank you for sparing your valuable time in meeting us this morning."
Eragon said, finally rising from his bow. He had fixed a welcoming, but polite, smile on his face. Nasuada looked surprised by the manners, but quickly gathered herself. She returned the smile, and was about to speak, before she looked up sharply. Eragon eyes followed her left hand, which had twitched slightly towards a fold in her dress, perhaps to some hidden weapon.
She's a cautious one...
He thought, feeling a modicum of respect for the woman.
Saphira was raising her serpentine head high, looking down on Ajihad's daughter with her intelligent, sparkling sapphire eyes. Then, she snorted her acknowledgement, small plumes of smoke puffing out of her nostrils and drifting slowly to the ceiling as she dipped her head, closing her scaled eyes with audible clicks in a respectful gesture.
They had both learned much from Lady Changing Star on how to properly interact with royalty, and those close to it. Nasuada fit that bill excellently. If he hadn't known better, he would've guess that his master had arranged this meeting...
Nasuada's eyes sparkled as she stood from her cursty, appearing very pleased by the majesty of the dragon's gesture.
"Thank you, both, for your courtesy, though it is undue. My station is in no way deserving of your gratitude, despite my fathers position."
Eragon was in awe of her mastery over diplomatic intonation. He could feel that Saphira was impressed too. She sounded like a politician! He shot a quick thought to Saphira that they would have to be careful of their words around this woman.
"Please, follow me. There is still time before the meeting- or, I suppose they are calling it a breakfast- begins. I have been instructed to, pardon my improper language, "get you cleaned up and presentable for the occasion."
She smiled, a little more genuine. Eragon noticed the twinkle of humor in her eyes.
I suppose it isn't the worst possible first impression...
He gratefully took Nasuada's underlying bid for a relaxing of proper lingo, dropping his diplomatic air as he rubbed his neck and grinned, somewhat abashed.
"That would be greatly appreciated."
* * *
Farthen Dûr's city, Tronjheim, also known as the Dwarf Kingdom Capital, was truly a sight to behold. It was shaped similarly to a giant cone-like pyramid, or perhaps beehive, made primarily from white marble. The city was encased inside, furthering the likeness to some kind of nest.
Tronjheim sat in the middle of Farthen Dûr, the inactive hollow volcano, with a series of fields surrounding its base. If you were to follow them, you would eventually be met with the walls of the incredulously sized cavern.
Indeed, it was so large that, despite being inside of a mountain, it had its own clouds floating near the top of the city, though not much precipitation. With the view of the distant stalactites mirroring Tronjheim on the ceiling of the hollow volcano, it itself almost comically resembled a great stalagmite itself.
The mouth of the volcano sat miles above the great city, the only source of natural light in the entire place. It was the reason that, closest to the walls, plant life was scarce. Most, if anything, grew within a few miles radius of the great city.
The peak of Tronjheim, above its great main hall, was inlaid with a gem over sixty feet in diameter. It was called the Isidar Mithrim, or the Star Sapphire. It was a red sapphire that had been masterfully carved into the shape of a giant, upside down rose. The light from the volcano's mouth filtered through the rose's petals and cast gorgeous colors onto the halls floor.
Somewhere up near the top of the city was the Dragonhold, where her newest prospective student and his dragon rested. Apparently, in the age when Dragon Riders were aplenty, those that visited would take refuge in this place at the top of the city. There were a series of seemingly natural caves where they were allowed refuge. Some dwarves claimed that Tronjheim had been carved from a single great piece of stone.
He better have woken up on time.
Nephis thought absentmindedly.
Nephis had never seen anything quite like Tronjheim; It reminded her of the sketches of ambitious architects who tried to create drawings of what a compacted metropolitan city would look like. She had been told that a dwarf could spend their entire life within Tronjheim and never know anything else; it didn't even seem to be exaggeration.
Nephis had, at first, been concerned about potential discovery by anyone flying above the hollow volcano, leaving the entirety of Farthen Dûr bare.
However, in her first days here, when she had called upon her Aspect to fly up there herself, she realized just how greatly she had underestimated the size of the Beor Mountains. They were definitely a match for Godgrave... Besides, flying was not a common activity for the inhabitants of Alagaësia, and the mountain range spanned such a wide area that Nephis found it difficult to worry about.
Nephis' introspection came to an end as Barne, her dwarven bodyguard, who she sat next to in the drivers seat of the wagon, suddenly took a fist and pounded on the side of the wagon. Nephis new it was an attempt to wake up his companioning bodyguard, Sarner.
Farthen Dûr was so staggeringly large that a trip from the walls of the cavern, where Nephis currently lived, to Tronjheim, could take several hours.
The aging man had fallen asleep on the way, and while that would normally be cause for concern in a bodyguard, Nephis had no such worries. She had personally tested the two of them in a wide range of their capabilities. In the unlikely event they chanced upon trouble on the road, he would've been ready.
Nephis smiled slightly as she heard Sarner groan dramatically from the back of the wagon.
"Whaddya want now, half-man?"
Barne appeared unfazed by the rude name. He was chewing on a toothpick, expertly using his tongue to clean his teeth. It was a gross, but also impressive, habit.
"Get off yer ass, ye giant oaf."
The dwarf barked, retracting his fist.
"We're closing in on the gates."