The chapter itself was damn hard to write and I had to cut it some, so you'll get most of what I trimmed in the next chapter. This is the last of the dwarven chapters from book canon too, so we'll move on to Elesméra by chapter 13!

I can't wait to show you what I have in mind for that. Please continue with care, I don't know if it's in need of trigger warning, but there is torture described in this chapter.
Also, I had a beta reader for this chapter, thank you Woody-chan for reading this first I know it was still a bit of a mess back then!

Enjoy, everyone!

Chapter 12

BRING THE PAIN, LET IT BURN

Eragon

It had been two hours and twenty-five minutes. Since then, Vanir had been unreachable, like the elf had vanished from the face of the earth. Eragon paced the office and growled from deep in his throat. His human body should not be able to make this sound, a fact he didn't care about right now. He let out another inhuman growl and glared at the floor with flashing eyes.

The door opened, his eyes snapping to the dwarf. The Grimstborith had left to speak to his magic users investigating the scene. Seeing if there was anyone who could tell them about the incident. Orik cleared his throat. "My men have found and questioned witnesses of the abduction. The attackers subdued Vanir and took off in direction of the tunnels leading to the old structure underneath Tronjheim. They're pursuing this new lead right as we speak."

Hope blossomed in his chest, his heart that was heavy with worry beating faster at the thought that he could catch the people who'd taken Vanir from him. A voice inside him was telling him to catch up to them, so he could tear these attackers apart, because Vanir was his.

Another part of himself was shocked at the dark path his mind took. He locked the bloodthirsty thoughts away and busied his mind with the dwarf's words.

"There's a city beneath the city?" he asked.

Orik nodded, then he shrugged. "It's from the time we built Tronjheim, and before that even. I can't tell you much more than that since we abandoned the project long ago. Now it's home to exiled dwarves and clan less knurlan. Many are following strange customs, and they avoid us above as much as we avoid them down there."

"It's perfect to hide someone."

"Yes, but whoever they are don't know that Kvîstor is from there. His mother married clan less and prefers to reside there, so she would know if someone brought an elf to the old structures."

The guard who'd alarmed them of the kidnapping, Eragon remembered his name. He'd barely spoken to him, and from his clothes he'd looked like any other clan member. He slowly nodded, the plan taking shape in his mind. Orik had his men searching for the elf already.

"Could I speak to her?" he asked, which was met by a drawn eyebrow and a hum of contemplation.

"I don't want you to walk into the line of fire, but I fear I won't be able to stop you." Orik said. Eragon had to admit, his clan brother knew him well after all this time. "Would you stay here if I ordered you to?"

"No," Eragon said, "I couldn't. He means much to me, Orik. I hope you understand."

The dwarven king nodded, his eyes bright with sympathy, a sad smile visible beneath the beard. They hadn't spoken about Eragon's relationship yet, but Eragon hadn't made a secret out of it. Being attracted to a man wasn't something that you could openly speak about. At least not in a small village like Carvahall. His cousin was surprisingly accepting of it – or maybe not so surprising since he would have eloped with Katrina if it had come to that, so convention was not something Roran strictly followed. Would Garrow have accepted him? Eragon hadn't spent much thought on this, but he liked to think that his uncle would have come around. They'd always been the odd family living outside the village. Garrow could have remarried after their aunt had died, but he had only ever loved his first wife. Their uncle had believed in marrying for love, so maybe he would have at least understood that.

The elves were completely different, their views sometimes alien to him. Vanir hadn't had a problem to be bonded to a man. He wondered how the dwarves viewed relationships, since he'd only ever seen Orik with his wife Hvedra. They'd been incredibly open in their affection, but he'd not seen any other couple.

As if Orik had read his thoughts he now said, "I understand. As is my duty as husband to Hvedra, it is your duty to Vanir to save him."

Eragon blushed, his own upbringing making it hard to talk about this. "I love him. I don't know if I should, but I do."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Your heart decides to love a prickly elf, who should tell you that you shouldn't. Guntera gave us hearts to love each other, not stones."

The words made it easier to breathe. They were spoken with conviction that Eragon seemed to need to speak further. "I grew up being expected to find a wife, like my cousin. Roran would have inherited the farm, so I was probably going to get an apprenticeship somewhere, before settling down too."

He sighed; arms crossed as he leaned against the desk. "I know I loved Arya. It's just that these feelings were less and less over time after she repeatedly shut me down. And since then I found myself falling for another. It's crazy."

"It's possible and completely natural to be able to find both genders attractive Eragon." Orik said. His voice lacked any judgement, which made Eragon believe him. The indlvarn slowly stood, one hand tangling between short strands of hair.

"Thank you. I feared you would hate me for, you know."

"I would never. You should have more faith in me."

"Yeah." He looked down before he fixated on the double doors to Orik's study. He had to find Kvîstor's mother, find out if she knew anything. Maybe then he would be one step further in finding Vanir.

The darkness was somehow deeper beneath the city where the elven flameless lamps didn't brighten the way. Instead the air was smelling of damp earth and stone, the path before him visible and casting shadows by his magical orb of light. Orik had warned him of the chance that some of these dwarves down here were hostile to outsiders, some even driven mad over time. Eragon had assured him he would stay alert and left in search of the dwarf. Kvîstor was only a step behind, navigating through the maze of tunnels with familiarity. His mother lived in what was a village of stone buildings, the structures inhabited by clan less knurlan who followed less popular views on religious themes. Orik had called these dwarves deep-dwellers, for they lived deep in the mountain. Eragon hadn't heard of the term before.

She had been from the Ingeitum clan and met one of the dwarves from here, sacrificed her old life and moved into the deeper parts of the mountain. Despite cutting all ties, the clan had taken Kvîstor in after he'd wished to become a warrior.

Eragon saw the strategic advantages of this, after all, they'd been warned of the attack led by Durza too from a dwarf not affiliated with a clan.

Their walk came to an end before a small hut. The stones were rough and small religious symbols etched over the door. Kvîstor entered, followed by Eragon who had to duck. Down here, the lodgings were more to dwarven size than anywhere in Tronjheim. It was less grand focus on art and beauty, and more of practicality in its structures. A bit like Ellesmèra, the buildings grew out of the stone, and were part of the surroundings.

Kvîstor spoke in dwarvish with his mother, a woman with signs of aging on her face and a motherly aura. She was garbed in thick cloth with mineral dust at the hem and her bare arms were surrounded by colourful stone pearls on string. They clinked every time she moved.

Her house was holding practical things, like a stove and a bed behind a curtained off area, a table with a single stool, and a wash basin. Then, there was a shrine devoted to Guntera, with small figurines carved from sandstone that must be other dwarven deities. Eragon wasn't sure.

The house held no windows, but the interior was lighted by candles. Eragon had distinguished his mage light when they'd reached the village borders and he could see her smile now and embrace Kvîstor. Her voice was rough on the dwarven vowels, Eragon having problems understanding single words.

She greeted him too, and Eragon politely returned the greeting, along a quick sentence thanking her for letting them into her home. Seeing him speak her tongue seemed to please her, quickly chattering in dwarven. He stared at her a bit lost and was saved by his guide taking over, asking her about any occurrences lately.

She frowned in thought and replied something. Kvîstor turned to Eragon. "She saw knurlan from the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin lurking around the tunnels facing west."

Eragon and Kvîstor thanked her, the dwarf promising to come visit soon, then they left. The west tunnels were further from the way they came, so they trekked along the border of the village structure, and tried to blend in. Eragon saw why they'd needed the dust coloured robes; they were the same as everyone else here.

The Az Sweldn rak Anhûin must be arrogant enough to think they could simply wear their clan robes without standing out. Or maybe they hadn't expected them to search down here. After all, most clans ignored the exiled and clan-less dwarves who inhabited the tunnel system deeper down.

They were just rounding a corner when Eragon heard footsteps coming their direction. Quickly, he dragged Kvîstor with him into the shadows. With bathed breath he glanced into the direction from where the noise originated. A dwarf with light armour patrolled the area before them. His clan symbol over the shoulder guard showed the sign of a tear. Eragon felt his earlier suspicions confirmed. It was the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin.

Eragon and Kvîstor didn't want to alert the guard, so they backtracked, and through another passage they continued. Kvîstor was knowledgeable in the hidden passages and the other clan was not. They had guards everywhere, but only stationed at the main passages. They used this advantage to creep through the small, hidden tunnels. Eragon had to draw in his wings to get through. They still scraped at the stone on all sides.

Finally, they came to a heavily guarded building, the dark stone lit with the light of flameless lanterns. The dwarves stationed before the entrance were carrying battle-axes and swords, to fight in the cave like space. They also wore clan marked armour, unlike the assassins from before. If it wasn't clear before that Vermûnd didn't fear to be discovered, Eragon thought, then it was now.

Twelve dwarves. He counted only two battle axes; the rest carried swords. The blades were curved, probably the same poisonous ones.

Lurking in the shadows, they planned their approach.

Vanir

Vanir woke up with a headache and startling silence inside his mind. His movement was restricted, because as he tried to lift himself up from the cold ground harsh rope bit into his wrists. His shoulders ached from the position he was in with his arms behind his back. The side he had lain on was bruised.

He couldn't see, which made him panic at first. Taking a deep breath of stale air, he discovered that he was somewhere inside, the smell of earth and stone indicating that he was still inside Farthen Dur. Or another mountain. He hoped he wasn't unconscious for long, for his capturers to take him far away. He needed to calm down. The cloth covering his eyes was what hindered his sight. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. Had he been drugged?

Vanir tried to struggle against his bonds, discovering that they were holding fast. Faica umbar, he thought. By the stars, how had he gotten into this situation?!

His mind was still nothing but a vast emptiness where his bond should be. He grew anxious, but soon discovered that it was still there. He just couldn't reach it or feel it. Already he felt exhausted just from searching for the connection.

The elf sighed. He had been attacked the moment he'd stepped outside the library, drugged, and kidnapped. Eragon would never forgive him if he were used as a hostage.

Where was Eragon? Had he been taken too? Were they held separately? Or, his mind supplied him with a darker possibility, this wasn't planned. Maybe they'd killed Eragon and Vanir was just the safeguard in case it went wrong. A plan B.

Time was hard to measure in complete darkness, with nothing but your own thoughts for company. But it must have been long enough for someone to bring water. Vanir was not freed from his bonds, the dwarves talking in their language like grinding rock. Two held him in place, the third one bringing a cup to his lips and Vanir was forced to drink the water which tasted bitter. They had drugged the water. He was backhanded for spitting it out and forced to drink it all. He tried to kick the dwarf and from the sound of pain he must have hit somewhere. The dwarf spit angry expletives in his tongue, gripping Vanir by his hair ungently and shaking him. Vanir didn't understand what was said obviously. The dwarf let him go, and Vanir fell back to the ground with the other guards no longer holding him in their tight grip. The ground scraped against his knees.

They left again. He was alone in the darkness. Time ticked away slowly. Vanir tried to stay alert, but whatever had been in the water made him drowsy and he succumbed to restless slumber. His dreams were disjointed images, a world created from his memories and re-imagined in fantasies that he couldn't remember upon waking.

The guards were back, and they were in a dark mood. He sensed the restlessness coming from them, the fear. They were like cornered animals and it made them dangerous for him. Bound and drugged, he was at their mercy.

The two dwarves made him kneel this time, their grip unrelenting on his shoulders and arms.

Cold metal was pressed against his flesh and white-hot pain lanced through him as it caved a path through his flesh. Vanir shied away from the pain - his mind was awash with agony. The slow drag of the blade, the feeling of his skin parting and blood flowing out. He couldn't escape. Everything was a clear memory through the pain. They didn't interrogate him. They were silent. It made him much more aware of what was done to him.

Vanir had no sense of time anymore, but he remembered them breaking the bones in his fingers. It had hurt beyond what he'd believed a break could hurt, because they'd used magic to burn the flesh afterwards. He didn't want to know what his hands looked like now. The stench of it had him vomit and the smell of sick added to the stench inside.

His captors had been carving into him with that blade for a while now and it didn't seem like they would stop anytime soon. The cold sharp pain of it was nothing new, and with his throbbing hands, he didn't even flinch anymore.

The blade stopped, and Vanir heard them murmur around him, then they left him. His body sagged to the ground despite it aggravating his wounds. He let out a whimper, the first sound he allowed to escape his lips. He'd only once made a sound when they'd broken and burned his hands. Then he'd screamed.

The ground was cold, and he shivered. His mind was muddled from the pain, Vanir barely noticing when he slipped into unconsciousness. He dreamed.

Blood dripped down the stone, red splashes of colour. The scent of iron in the air, the pain that wasn't his but felt like it was. His fangs were visible when he curled his lips in a snarl. He growled, and his eyes flashed to the trembling dwarf held in his grasp. They should fear him, he thought.

Like the rats they were. They should pay for their crimes!

The dwarf let out a squeak as he was hurtled against a wall, the nauseating noise of bones breaking followed by a howl of pain. Whimpering, the dwarf huddled against the wall watched on as the indlvarn let loose. He would later remember it with clarity, the way his brothers had been slaughtered without mercy.

Wings, blue and stained at the tip with blood, looming above the heads of the ones responsible for this. They were casting a shadow over everything, underlining the ferocity of the beast bringing their end. Who had they thought they were? This was the end. They'd misjudged. Arrogant in their ignorance, their lack of understanding of the predator that was a dragon. They'd seen the tamed and civilized bonded dragons, the riders with their companions. Even Shruikan had been more of a tale, the evil in a story, the evil that existed in an impersonal way.

This was real, and the flames licking at the form of the man shaped being seemed the material from their nightmares. The screams echoed off the stone walls, followed by silence.

Vanir woke up to a hand stroking his head, his eyelashes fluttering open and met with the dim lantern light. For a moment he wondered if he was still dreaming and the sight of a worried Eragon was simply wishful thinking. His hands reminded him that he was very much awake.

"Eragon?" his voice was weak, and he coughed. The bit of water he'd been given hadn't been enough, his throat was parched.

Eragon's eyes shimmered blue in the darkness and his skin was licked by flames that didn't seem to harm him. His fingertips were wicked claws, but Eragon was careful when he used them to lift Vanir from the ground. Vanir hissed at the pain still. Eragon apologized, whispering words in the ancient languages. The cuts stopped bleeding, the skin sealing back together. With another spell, the threat of infection was erased too.

They moved out of the room where Vanir had been held prisoner. Vanir was exhausted, not noticing where they went, but he trusted Eragon. At some point, he recognized the room they were in as the quarters assigned to them in Tronjheim.

Eragon laid him carefully on the bed and sat next to him on the bed. His hands had transformed back and were now inspecting the damage done to Vanir's hands. Vanir hadn't been able to see it before because of the blindfold, but he could now see the red burned flesh, the blistered skin and the bruising where the bones were broken and shifted out of alignment. His hands had tripled in size and looked nothing like hands anymore. He felt sick at seeing the damage done to him.

"It will need time, but I can heal them." Eragon spoke. "It's not even going to scar. Not like the cuts from my claws. I can heal your hands, Vanir."

Vanir felt numb and didn't answer. Eragon didn't wait for one, he simply began his healing. The magic washed over his limbs and settled at his hands, taking care of the burns, re-growing flesh. The swelling was forced down, the bones moved back to their place where they should be. He felt detached from it all, not feeling the pain anymore, but also not able to feel anything below the wrist as the magic took care of the damage.

It took hours to repair his hands. Eragon had circles beneath his eyes afterwards, and his hands shook as he took Vanir's hand in his, now completely healed. Vanir had feeling in them again. He moved the finger joints with ease, testing his movement ability. Flawless, like nothing had happened at all. IT was all just a memory now.

They still hadn't left it behind them, he could see the haunted look in Eragon's eyes when he looked up. Their bond was still empty of thought. Only feelings drifted through. Vanir felt relief, anger, sadness. Then there was love, and joy at having him back, that he was safe. He returned these with his own happiness to be reunited with the man and stayed in the mental embrace if his exhausted state allowed him.

"The Az Sweldn rak Anhûin planned to either kill me or make me kill for them. They took you as a hostage, because they knew they could use you to make me kill Orik."

Vanir wasn't surprised. The clan had been threatening Eragon with a blood feud, but their leader wasn't stupid.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Eragon had mentioned a planned assassination, which must have failed if he was here.

Eragon squeezed his hand which would have been painful hours ago. "I should be asking you. They won't try this again. I made them pay for hurting you." He said darkly.

Vanir was too tired to ask, and he had a suspicion that his dream wasn't just a dream. Better he stayed ignorant for once.

Eragon then lay down beside him, taking the elf into his arms.

"Orik will need me to be thee for the trial. We found enough evidence for the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin to be exiled until they will elect a new clan leader. I told Orik, I can't promise not to rip Vermûnd to pieces if he says anything, but he insisted I had to be there."

Vanir made a sound signalling he was listening. He was tired and his body wasn't hurting anymore. Eragon was here, holding him, and the drugs finally wore off, their bond unfurling and humming between them again.

Vanir drifted into sleep.

Roran

The air was heavy with the promise of rain. Signs he'd long learned to recognize, before as a gift because it meant their crops would flourish. Now, the rain meant mud and wet clothes, hard travel conditions and the high chances of illness.

His boots clung to the damp soil as he spied down on the road, the slow crawl of the imperial convoy still the size of ants. They were too far away to sight the rebels up on the hillside, hiding between the brush. Eldric had ordered them to spread out and hide for now. Their position was to their advantage, they would attack the moment they had the convoy in direct sight on the road below.

Roran smiled. He felt nervous energy spread through his body, the anticipation of a fight.

He couldn't wait.

Their attack was preceded by the lack of bird calls around them, and the utter silence safe the trot of horseshoes on caked dirt. The arrows hit first, a handful of archers shooting their deadly projectiles at the unsuspecting men. The surprised shouts of the imperials mingled with the cries of the now advancing Varden, whose weapons were threateningly swung in the air and glinting in the dying light of dawn.

Roran who was with the advancing group let himself be caught up in the sense of battle around him. He struck a man with his hammer, the soldier falling to the ground with his pike clattering to the ground. His wrist cradled to his chest, broken. Roran dealt another blow, to the helmet. It shattered the man's skull, because he dropped to the ground, not moving.

Then the imperials were retaliation, the shock having worn off. Varden and imperials fought, with the rebels lashing in a quick but deadly strike, like a viper tooth snake. Roran found himself battling another man, the outcome much the same. Then he was nearly speared from the side as another attacker tried to catch him off guard, but a quick shield spell from Cairn prevented any serious wounds.

And then, the fight was over, as quick as it had begun.

Roran looked around, saw the grim but victorious grins on the other's faces. Eldric was climbing on top of the payload, a carriage with weapons and resources. His second in command was going around, ordering the corpses to be stacked and burnt. There was no burial to be held for the imperials. Roran wasn't sure how to think about that. They were the enemy, but they too must have families who would mourn them.

He sighed and got to work.

Eragon

Lady Nasuada,

The relations with our allies, the dwarves, will be continued with our shared friend, king Orik. Much has happened since; king Orik had to banish the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin for their treacherous plans against his reign in peace with the other races of Alagaësia.

I hope this letter reaches you in good health, and I regret not informing you of this the usual way. My magic is unfortunately drained, and I am taking a detour to Du Veldenvarden for further study with my mentor. I'll try to make haste. The next time I'm locked into battle with Murtagh, the victory will be ours.

Regards,

Eragon

Notes:

Maybe some of you have noticed, but I have actually no idea how homosexuality and other genders are viewed in Alagaesia. Paolini gives us nothing, safe the homoerotic subtext sometimes and that one scene where Roran licks dirt with erotic thoughts...

So I decided elves would be the most open about expression of gender and sexuality, dwarves would be a bit like Orik and say it is Guntera who gave them love, so monogamous relationships between male/male and female/female wouldn't be rare.
Humans would be a bit difficult, with close minded villages, where tradition is simply strong on one opinion, but that also doesn't have to be the norm and people like Roran and Katrina will be supportive of Eragon's relationship.

Thank you for reading. See you for the next chapter!